Kent Haruf - Eventide

Nothing that I know of. I said before that I’d come by now and then. It’s part of the court order. Don’t you remember?

I ain’t feeling very good.

Is it still your stomach?

My back too. It’s been gripping me bad this past week.

I’m sorry to hear that.

I can’t sleep no more. I have to rest during the day.

Yes, but you know I’m going to visit you at any time, don’t you. You remember we talked about that.

I know, Betty said. You want to sit down?

Thank you.

Rose seated herself on a chair near the door and glanced at the television. Luther, would you turn that off, please?

He clicked the television off and sat down on the couch close to Betty.

So. How are things? Rose said. You said they were going fine, Luther.

Everything’s pretty good, he said. We’re doing okay, I guess.

How are Joy Rae and Richie?

Well. Richie he still has him some trouble at school. Like before.

What kind of trouble?

It’s hard to say. He don’t talk about it.

It’s those other kids picking on him all the time, Betty said. They won’t never let him alone.

Why do you think that is?

He don’t do nothing to them. Richie’s a good boy. I don’t know what they got against him.

Have you tried talking to his teacher?

That wouldn’t do no good.

But you might at least try. Maybe she knows what’s going on.

I don’t know.

What about Joy Rae?

Oh, now she’s doing real good, Luther said. She can already read better than me.

Can she?

Better than Betty too. Can’t she, Betty.

Betty nodded.

Better than both of us put together, Luther said.

I’m glad she’s doing so well, Rose said. She’s a smart girl. Rose looked around the room. Snow was melting outside on the roof, dripping down in front of the window. Now I have to ask you about Hoyt, she said. Has he been over here?

No ma’am, Luther said. We don’t want him here. He ain’t welcome with us no more.

You need to insist that he stay away. You understand that, don’t you. He cannot be here.

We don’t want to have nothing to do with him. We ain’t even seen him. Have we, Betty?

We seen him that one time in the grocery.

We seen him that one time in the grocery, but we didn’t talk to him. We never even said how you doing. Just went around the other way, didn’t we?

And we ain’t never going to talk to him again, Betty said. I don’t care what he calls us.

Yes, Rose said. That’s right. She studied them both but couldn’t be sure they were telling the truth. Luther’s great red face was damp with sweat, and Betty looked merely dull and sick, her lifeless hair hanging about her face. Rose looked out into the kitchen. That’s fine, she said, I’m glad Hoyt hasn’t been here, but it has to stay that way. Now I want to talk to you about something else. It’s important for you and for your children that you live in a clean and safe environment. You know that. So you need to do a little better in the house here. Things are not as clean and orderly as they might be. You can do better, don’t you think you can?

I told you I been sick, Rose, Betty said.

I understand that. But Luther can help too, can’t you, Luther.

I already been helping, he said.

You need to do a little more. You can start by keeping the dishes washed. And by emptying the trash. You need to take that bag of pop cans out. They’ll attract bugs.

In winter? Luther said.

It’s possible.

Well somebody might steal my cans if I put them outside.

You can keep them on the porch.

I can’t see how they’re going to collect no bugs in winter.

In any case, they shouldn’t be in your kitchen. They shouldn’t be near where you eat.

Luther looked at her, and then he and Betty stared out the front window, their faces stony and obstinate.

Rose watched them. How’re you doing with your money? she said. Are you still separating it into envelopes and paying your bills on time?

Oh, yes ma’am.

That’s fine, then. Do you have any questions for me?

Luther looked at Betty. I don’t have no questions. Do you, dear?

I don’t, Betty said.

And I’ve been told you’ve been going to the parenting classes.

Luther nodded. There’s only two more left, the teacher said.

Yes. Well, it appears that you’re doing okay. I’m glad to see that. So I think I’ll go now. But I’ll come back again before long.

Rose slipped her notebook into her purse, and Luther opened the door for her, and outside in the car when she glanced back in the rearview mirror he was still standing barefoot on the porch, watching her drive away, and Betty was out of sight, somewhere in the house.

IN THE NEW YEAR VICTORIA ROUBIDEAUX RETURNED TO Fort Collins with Katie to begin the second semester of classes, and a week after she left Raymond called Linda May on the telephone in the mid-afternoon. When she answered he said: Are you likely to be home for a hour or so?

Yes. Why do you ask?

I wanted to stop by for a minute.

I’ll be here.

The address in the phone book says eight thirty-two Cedar.

Yes. That’s right.

He hung up and drove in to Holt to the Co-op Implement Store on the highway and went past the racks of tools and the box drawers of nuts and bolts and the spools of electrical wire and on to the back, where the snow shovels were hung from hooks like medieval weapons collected in some castle or armory. He looked among the metal shelves of car batteries, reading the brief tags attached to the sides, and finally selected one and carried it to the cash register. The clerk said: Raymond, this ain’t hardly big enough for your pickup.

It ain’t for my pickup.

The man looked at him. Okay then. I didn’t know you had you a car. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong battery and have to come back. You want to charge it or pay cash?

Put it on the ranch account, Raymond said.

The man punched in the numbers on the register and stood waiting, looking at nothing, and drew out the receipt when it appeared and spread it forward on the counter. Raymond signed it and folded away his copy, then hefted the battery onto his hip and went outside and pushed the battery across the front seat and got in. At the stoplight where the highway crossed Main Street he looked left toward the Gas and Go at the solitary car parked in front and looked to the right up Main Street, where just a few cars were moving at this time of day. When the light changed he drove ahead three blocks and turned north on Cedar. Her small white frame house was in the middle of the block, and the Ford convertible at the curb was crowded by snow from when the snowplow had gone through. There was more snow piled up along the walkway in mounds that had melted and hardened overnight, with winter grass showing dry and brown along the edges. He went up to her door and knocked. She came out at once, in a bright blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and her short dark hair was combed neatly. I’ve been standing at the window watching for you, she said. You sounded so mysterious on the phone.

I just brought you something. Could I ask to borrow your car keys?

What are you going to do?

I got something for your car.

Well, come in, she said. The keys are in the house. But I still can’t tell what you’re up to.

He stood in the front hall as she went back to the bedroom to get her purse. He looked in through the doorway. Above the couch in the living room was a framed print of a hazy lavender garden containing a rock bridge and a mist-shrouded pond of water lilies. It looked green and lush, unlike any place in Holt County. She came out and handed him the keys. It won’t start, she said, if that’s what you’re thinking. I tried it just yesterday.