Kent Haruf - Eventide

Oh.

But I sure do miss him.

DJ watched her face. She smiled at him.

But now what about you? Where’s your daddy and mama?

I don’t know who my dad is, he said. I never met him.

Didn’t you? What about your mother? Where’s she?

She died a long time ago.

Oh hell, she said. Listen to me. I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I’m sorry I ever said anything.

DJ looked past her into the backbar mirror, where he saw himself reflected above the ranks of bottles, and he saw her blonde head and the back of her white shirt in the mirror. He looked down and picked up his pencil.

You go on and do your schoolwork, she said. You just have to call if you need something. Will you be all right up here, do you think?

Yes, ma’am.

I’ll be right here if you need something.

Thank you.

You’re very welcome. She smiled. You know what? You and me could get to be good friends, do you think we could?

I guess so.

Well, that’s good enough. That’s being honest. She set the coffeepot on the hotplate and moved out from behind the bar again to work among the tables.

LATER A WOMAN WITH SHORT BROWN HAIR AND VERY blue eyes came to the end of the bar and stood beside DJ. Don’t I know you? she said. I’ve been watching you for half an hour.

I don’t know, he said.

Isn’t that your grandfather? Sitting over there with those other men?

Yes.

I took care of him at night. Don’t you remember? I saw you when you came in early before school one time. Before I went off duty.

Maybe so, he said.

Yes, I’m sure I did.

Then while she was standing beside him at the end of the bar, Raymond McPheron came in at the front door of the tavern.

Well, look at that, she said. This must be hospital reunion night. I didn’t think that man ever came out.

RAYMOND STOOD AND TOOK HIS GLOVES OFF AS HE looked around. He was wearing his silver-belly Bailey hat and his heavy canvas winter coat. He moved out of the doorway and stood behind the men sitting on the stools, waiting until the bartender noticed him.

What’s it going to be?

I’m deciding, Raymond said. What have you got on tap?

Coors and Budweiser and Bud Light.

Let me try a Coors.

The bartender drew the beer and handed it to him past a seated man and Raymond reached him a bill. The bartender made change at the cash register below the mirror and brought it back. Raymond took a drink and turned to look at the people sitting at the tables. He drank again and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, then unbuttoned his heavy coat.

The woman who had been standing beside DJ came up and tapped him on the shoulder and Raymond turned to look at her.

There’s room down here, she said. Why don’t you come join us? Raymond took off his hat, holding it in one hand. You remember me, don’t you? She smiled at him and took two little steps, as if she were dancing.

I’m starting to, he said. I’m going to say you must be Linda May from the hospital.

That’s right. You do remember. Come join us down here.

Where?

At the end of the bar. There’s someone else I think you know.

Raymond put his hat back on and followed her along the bar. The men turned on the barstools to look at him as he went by, watching him with the woman. She stopped beside DJ. How about this young man here? she said. Do you remember him?

I believe I do, Raymond said. This must be Walter Kephart’s grandson. I never got his name though.

DJ, the boy said.

How you doing, son?

Pretty good.

Is your grandfather here with you?

DJ pointed to the table against the far wall.

I see him now. How’s he doing? Is he doing pretty good too?

Yes sir. He got over his pneumonia.

Good, Raymond said. He looked at the boy again and noticed his papers on the bartop. Looks like we’re interrupting your schoolwork there. Maybe we better leave you to it.

I’m done. I’m just waiting on Grandpa, till he’s ready to go.

How soon you reckon that’s going to be?

I don’t know. He’s talking.

Old men like to talk, don’t they, Raymond said. He drank from his glass and glanced at the woman standing next to him.

I’m surprised to see you out here, she said. I didn’t think you ever came out at night.

I don’t, Raymond said. I can’t say what I’m doing out here this time.

You need to get out once in a while. Everybody does.

That must be it.

They do. Believe me. It’s good you came out.

Aren’t you working tonight?

No, she said. This is one of my nights off.

Well. That would explain how one of us came to be here anyways.

The boy’s grandfather stepped up to bar next to DJ. You staying out of trouble?

Yes.

It’s about time we get on home.

How you doing there? Raymond said.

Who’s that? Is that you, McPheron?

More or less. Yes sir.

Look who else is here, the old man said, looking at the woman. Aren’t you from the hospital?

That’s right, Linda May said.

Well. Okay then. It’s good to see you. He turned to DJ. Let’s go, boy. Here’s your coat.

DJ stood down from the barstool and put on his coat and stuck his papers in the pocket. I want to tell her good-bye first, he said.

Who?

That lady who was nice to me.

The old man looked into the back. She’s working, he said. She don’t need you bothering her.

I’m not going to bother her.

He walked back toward the pool tables at the rear of the long smoky room where she was talking to some men sitting at a table. They were all laughing and he waited behind her until one of the men said: I believe there’s somebody here wants to say something to you.

The barmaid turned around.

I’m going now, DJ said.

She reached toward him and pulled his coat collar up. You stay warm outside now.

Thank you for all the— He motioned behind himself. For the place to work on my papers.

That’s all right, sweetheart. She smiled at him. I was just glad to see you. Now you come again sometime. Okay? He nodded and went back to his grandfather.

You think you’re ready to go now? the old man said.

Yes.

Let’s go then.

Just a minute, Raymond said. Are you walking?

We walked over here.

You’d better let me drive you home.

You don’t need to do that. We got over here all right.

Sure, but it’s colder now.

Well. The old man glanced toward the door. I don’t like this boy being out like this, I’ll say that.

Linda May looked at Raymond. You haven’t finished your beer. Why don’t you go ahead and run them home and I’ll keep your glass here for you. Then you can come back.

I might, he said.

Do, she said.

They went outside and got into Raymond’s old battered pickup, and he backed away from the curb and turned north up Main Street and followed Walter Kephart’s directions across the railroad tracks and then west into the quiet neighborhood, pulling up in front of their house. The old man and the boy got out. We thank you kindly for the ride, the old man said.

Don’t you take no more sickness, Raymond said.

I don’t plan on it.

The old man shut the pickup door and it didn’t catch, so Raymond leaned across and pushed it open, then slammed it hard. When he looked up they were already halfway to the door of the house. He drove to the end of the block and made a U-turn at the intersection and drove back to Main Street and parked down the block from the tavern. For a while he sat in the cold cab looking at the darkened storefront in front of him. What in hell’s sake do I think I’m doing? he said. His breath smoked in the cold air. I don’t have the first idea. But I guess I’m doing it.

He got out and went back into the warmth and noise once more and walked to the end of the bar where Linda May stood. When he came up to her she smiled and held out his beer glass.