Bent Road - Lori Roy [92]
“Got five good ones up here,” he shouts. “Hardware looks good, too.”
“Did you say five?” Jonathon calls up. “Five? All in good shape?”
Daniel looks at the last door. “Yeah, five.” He coughs.
“All have good hinges?” Jonathon calls back as he appears at the bottom of the stairs.
Daniel motions for Jonathon to come up and see for himself.
Celia takes two mugs from the cabinet overhead and fills them both with coffee. Reesa, sitting at the head of the kitchen table, stitches the belt back onto the body of a lavender and green plaid apron. The fabric is faded and frayed at the seams.
“I’ve never seen that one before,” Celia says, setting one of the mugs in front of Reesa.
“Haven’t worn it.” Reesa drapes the apron across her lap, demonstrating how little of her it protects. “Covered more of me when I was younger.” She smiles, which makes Celia smile and realize that Reesa, after all these months, is making a joke. “Made from a feed sack,” she says, holding the apron up again.
“From a feed sack?” Celia asks. “But it’s such lovely fabric.”
“Mother always picked the nicest ones for aprons. Different sack, different fabric.”
“Do you have others?” Celia asks, looking at the bag sitting near Reesa’s feet.
“Mmmm,” Reesa says, meaning yes, and she lifts the bag into her lap. “Here’s another.” She holds up a blue calico bib apron with a solid blue ruffle sewn at the waistline. “Mother always liked ruffles. Here,” Reesa says, handing the apron across the table to Celia. “This’ll fit you still.”
Celia frowns at the comment, thinking Reesa means that someday Celia will outgrow it, too.
“I couldn’t, Reesa,” Celia says. “Those are antiques. They’re too special.”
“Mmmm,” Reesa says, again meaning yes.
While Reesa inspects the blue calico apron for torn seams, Celia takes a deep breath, and says, “Will you tell me about Eve?”
Reesa continues to run her fingers over the worn cotton, pulling the thin belt through two fingers and tugging when she gets to the end. “What’s there to know?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
Behind Celia, her bedroom door is closed. Having been up late fixing the back window and watching for Ray, Arthur is taking a nap.
“Arthur is getting more . . . well, more angry. Don’t you think? I’m worried about him. And about Ruth. It seems that . . . there is something else. Something I don’t know.”
“The child is gone. Dead and buried. Not much more matters, does it?”
“No, definitely not. But something is eating away at him. You see that. I know you do. He stayed away from here for so long.”
Celia waits, but Reesa doesn’t respond.
“He thinks he should have saved her, doesn’t he? His father thought that, too. He blamed Arthur. Blamed Arthur for Eve’s death.”
Reesa pulls a spool of blue thread from her sewing case, wets one end by dabbing it on her tongue and, lifting her hands to catch the light coming through the kitchen window, she pokes it through the eye of her needle.
“Reesa,” Celia says, leaning forward. “Please tell me what happened. I’m worried about what Arthur might do.”
“What happened twenty-five years ago won’t change what’s happening today.”
“Maybe it won’t,” Celia says. “Or maybe it will.” She stops talking when Arthur walks out of the bedroom, running a hand through his dark hair.
“The boys back yet?” he says, buttoning his flannel shirt and walking past them toward the bathroom.
Celia looks at Reesa as she answers. “No, but soon I hope.”
Reesa pulls off a yard of thread and ties one end in a knot. The bathroom door closes.
“I just can’t help but worry,” Celia says.
Daniel steps back as Jonathon walks up the stairs, carrying with him a small paper bag filled with hardware from the cabinets. “Here,” he says, handing the bag to Daniel. “Cabinets are no good, but I got all of the handles and knobs.”
Daniel takes the bag, cradles it in one arm and points at the first door with his screwdriver. “Looks good to me,” he says. “Scrape them and paint them. They’ll be okay.”
Jonathon nudges Daniel as he passes by. “You’re finally