Kent Haruf - Benediction

She went inside and stood at the door, looking for him. It was cool in the air-conditioning and the jukebox was playing. Three men sitting at the bar turned to look at her at the same time as though they were linked together, one of them said something but she didn’t hear it and didn’t care. A few other people were at the bar, and a man and woman were sitting in one of the booths against the wall. From the doorway of the next room she saw that he was sitting alone in a booth, he had on a pearl snap shirt now and black jeans, and he was watching two women across the room playing shuffleboard at the long table with an electronic scoreboard nailed to the wall above it. The women looked to be having a good time, laughing and talking too loud, then one of them spilled the can of sawdust out on the floor and that seemed funny to them. They bent over to scoop it up.

You want some help over there, ladies? Richard said.

Come on over here, cowboy.

If you’re not afraid to, the other woman said.

That was funny too, they sat down on the floor laughing.

Don’t damage yourselves, he said.

Lorraine walked over and slid into the seat across from him.

You decided to join me after all, he said.

I was always going to be here, she said. What do you mean?

I couldn’t be sure after the way your father was. What’s he got against me?

He doesn’t like you.

What’s there not to like? He doesn’t know me.

He thinks he does. Enough to form an opinion.

Of what? The kind of person I am? I don’t need him to judge me. What does he know anyway?

He’s been around for seventy-seven years. He knows a few things.

Because he’s old and dying doesn’t mean he knows anything.

In this case it might.

He looked around the bar. The two women were playing shuffleboard again.

You want a drink? he said.

Yes. I do.

He waved at the barmaid and she saw him at once and came over.

She looked closely at Lorraine. Why, I haven’t seen you in years. You’re Lorraine Lewis, aren’t you.

Yes.

Marlene Stevens, the woman said.

I remember you, Lorraine said.

I was two years behind you in high school. I used to be Marlene Vosburg.

How are you doing?

I’m here, so I guess I’m all right. I got two kids in high school now myself. What about you?

I had a daughter.

The woman’s thin face flushed bright red. I’m sorry, she said. I knew that. She laid her hand on Lorraine’s. I’m sorry for saying anything. Can I get you a drink?

I’ll have another Scotch, Richard said.

You, hon?

A margarita. No salt.

I’ll be right back.

They watched her walk away through the wide doorway into the front room. Little towns, he said. They all think they know you.

She does know me. Something about me anyway.

They know too much. I don’t like it.

You don’t have to.

He looked at her across the wood tabletop. Are you going to be like this all night?

Like what?

Like you got something up your ass.

That’s a nice expression, Lorraine said. You didn’t have to come here.

I wanted to see you.

You don’t think so now?

He looked at the two women and looked back. Do we have to do this? Just tell me that.

Not if you can be nice, she said.

The waitress returned and set the tray on the table and set the glasses in front of them. Richard handed her a twenty-dollar bill on the tray and she started to make change. That’s yours, he said. Keep the rest.

Well thank you. I’ll be right in here if you need something. She went back out to the bar.

Was that nice enough? he said.

It’s a start, Lorraine said. It was nice to her. That’s all. It’s not that much.

No?

You’re no saint yet.

At midnight they left the bar and she followed him in her car over to his motel at the west side of Holt on the highway. He was still trying to be nice when they were in bed, and he slid down in the sheets and helped her to have her desire first.

When she woke in the morning she looked at his face and bare shoulders and arms and felt a little better toward him. They walked down past the row of parked cars to the motel café for breakfast. After they ordered he said, Come back to Denver, will you at least do that much?

I can’t now. You understand that.

I don’t mean now.

We’ll see.

Are you thinking of staying here?

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t tell yet.

After breakfast she kissed him and went home and he started back to Denver. When she got out of the car she saw that her mother had set the sprinkler going on the north side of the house and her father was sitting in his chair at the window.

Daddy, you’re up already.

You’re late, he said. It’s the middle of the morning.

It’s only eight o’clock.

You’ve been out all night with him.

What’s wrong, Daddy?

He looked at the tree shade outside and she came across the room and sat on the arm of his chair.

I was worrying about you, he said. That’s what it is.

What are you worried about? If I’ll manage the store?

No. Hell. You will or you won’t. That’s not worth worrying about anymore. It’ll happen or it won’t.

What is it then?

He looked up at her face. I just was wanting you to tell me if you was happy or not. I’d like to know that before I’m gone out of here.

She rose and drew a chair close to him, facing him, and took one of his hands. No, she said. I’m not happy. If you want to know. Can I tell you that even now?

If that’s what the truth is.

It is. Since Lanie died. I never have been what you’d call truly happy.

You don’t get over it, do you. When a child goes. You never do.

I think about how we would be now. I want to talk to her. I want there to be long talks between my daughter and me. I have things I want to tell her. That boy that drove the car and killed her, I could do something terrible to him right now today. I swear I could.

Her eyes were shiny. Dad squeezed her hand and they sat quietly, both of them looking at the tree outside the window.

After a while he said, So what about this Richard?

I don’t know, Daddy. He’s okay. He’s just wants to have a good time, go out drinking and take me to bed afterward.

I don’t have to hear that part of it.

You asked.

Well, are you in love?

No. There’s no one that way. I don’t know if I’ll ever find that kind. I’m too torn up inside.

I was hoping this morning you’d tell me you was happy.

I’m sorry, Daddy.

I’m sorry too. For you, I mean.

What about you?

Well, yeah, I been happy. Sure. Except for the one thing.

Frank.

Yes.

I know more about that than you think.

I figure you know a lot, Dad said.

I know what happened here with you. And other things that happened in town.

He told you.

Yes. A long time ago.

THE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL drove up to the house after dark. He was watching for her as always from the front room of the parsonage, his father and mother were back in the kitchen and didn’t say anything to him anymore when he left the house. He went out across the porch to the car and got in beside her. She looked no different than she had the other nights, still dressed in black with the red lipstick dark on her mouth. He wouldn’t have been able to tell that something was going to happen.

They drove for an hour up and down Main Street and along the residential streets of town and then turned out north on the highway. The farm lights were lit up in the night, the headlights of her car bright on the narrow highway ahead of them. Then she headed the car off on a gravel road and he sat looking at her with the air coming in through the open window, her music playing, she wasn’t talking very much but sometimes she didn’t, then before they got to the place where they had parked once or twice before under a cottonwood tree she stopped the car and reached and turned off the music and they sat in the road with the engine running.