Kent Haruf - Eventide

That’ll be good, he said. It’ll be good to see you.

They hung up then and Raymond sat in the parlor at the back of the house with the phone in his lap, musing and remembering. Thinking about Victoria and Katie and about Rose Tyler, and about his dead brother, gone on ahead, already this half year and more.

IN A BORROWED CAR MARY WELLS DROVE TO GREELEY, out across the high plains two hours west of Holt, and spent all that warm day going around to various places of business applying for work. She finally found a job late in the afternoon in an insurance office downtown in the old part of the city. Afterward she went to a phone booth and called home. She had begun to feel lighter, she believed things were going to be better now. When she called, the girls were home from school and she told them she would be back by nightfall and they’d all have supper together.

In Holt she returned the car to her friend and then walked along the streets to her own small house on the south side of town. The streets were all empty, with everyone inside eating supper. At home the two girls were waiting for her on the front steps when she walked up to the house. Were you worried about me? she said.

You took so long.

I came as fast as I could. But it’s all right now. I’m home.

They went inside and she cooked supper for them, and they sat in the kitchen and she told them about finding a job in Greeley that afternoon. It’ll be better there, she said. We can make a fresh start.

I don’t want to move, Dena said.

I know, honey. But I think we should. I’m sorry. But I can’t stay here and you know I have to work and support us. I can’t do that here. We’ll have to rent an apartment at first. That’s all I can afford for right now. I’ll have a truck rented for three or four days to move us out. And then we’ll stay in a motel and look for an apartment. She looked at both of the girls, their faces so young and dear. Maybe we can find one with a view of the mountains. How would that be?

We won’t have any friends there, Dena said.

Not yet. But you will have. We’ll all make new friends.

What about DJ?

What do you mean?

He’s going to be alone. After we leave.

You can write him. And it’s only two hours away, so he can come visit sometime. And maybe you can come back here to visit him.

It’s not the same.

Oh, honey, I can’t fix everything, she said. She looked at them and both girls were ready to cry.

But I brought you something, she said. She went out to the front room and returned with two packages and set them on the table. One was a yellow dress for Emma, who tried it on and twirled around for them to see. The other package was a little container of concealer. The slogan said: Covers completely. I’ll show you how to use it, their mother said.

What is it?

I’ll show you.

She stood over Dena and squeezed the little tube and caught some of the beige paste onto her finger and dabbed it on the girl’s scar beside her eye and smoothed it in. The scar was still red and shiny and the makeup dulled it a little. The girl went into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror and then came back out.

What do you think? Mary Wells said. Isn’t that better?

You can still see it, though.

But it’s better, honey. Don’t you think it is? I think it looks a lot better.

It’s okay, Mama.

ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON WHEN MARY WELLS AND THE girls were loading the rental truck, DJ came to the house after school and helped them carry out the last things. Mary Wells had decided she could wait no longer. The manager at the insurance office wanted her to start work by the middle of the next week and she knew if she put off the move she might not be able to move at all. She doubted she would still have the volition and energy. She had listed the house with a realtor, and at school she had spoken to the principal and the girls’ teachers, and the girls would be allowed to withdraw with passing grades since there were only two weeks of classes left and both girls had done satisfactory work throughout the year.

In those last few days, DJ and Dena went to the shed at the back alley every afternoon and sat at the table across from each other in the little dark room and lit the candles. They ate their snacks of crackers and cheese and drank cold coffee and talked.

Mama said I can write you, Dena told him. Will you write me back?

I guess so. I never wrote any letters before.

But you can write me. And Mama said you can visit sometime.

All right.

Don’t you want to?

I said all right.

What do you think of my face?

Your face?

My scar.

It looks okay. I don’t know.

Do you think this makeup helps it not show as much?

It looks okay to me. I didn’t mind it before.

Everybody keeps looking at me. I hate it.

The hell with them, he said. Never mind those other kids. They don’t know anything.

Dena stared at him and touched his hand, and he kept looking at her, then she drew her hand back and he turned away.

Do you want any more of these crackers here? he said.

Do you?

Yes.

Then I do too.

THEN IN THE AFTERNOON THE TRUCK WAS LOADED AND the big overhead door was pulled down at the back. They came out of the house and Mary Wells locked up for the last time. DJ was standing at the curb waiting and she came out to the street and suddenly took him in her arms. Oh, we’re going to miss you, DJ, she said. We’re going to miss you so much. You take care of yourself now. She released him and looked in his face. Will you do that?

Yes ma’am.

I mean it. You have to take care of yourself.

I will.

All right. We need to go. She went around and climbed into the cab. The two girls stood facing him and Emma was already crying. She hugged him quickly around the waist and ran and climbed up into the truck and buried her face in her mother’s lap.

I’ll write you, Dena said. Don’t forget.

I won’t.

She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, then stood back and looked at him, and he stood watching her, his hands in his pockets, looking forlorn and desolate already, and then she turned and got into the truck. The truck started up and she sat at the window, lifting her hand, waving slightly, whispering good-bye to him, and he stood on the curb until they had pulled away and had turned the corner and disappeared.

After they were gone he went up on the porch and looked through the front window. All empty inside, it looked strange to him now. He walked around behind into the alley past the widows’ houses and the vacant lot and his grandfather’s house.

THE LITTLE WOODEN SHED WAS DIM AND FILLED WITH shadows. He lit one of the candles and sat down at the table, looking around at the dark back wall and the shelf. The candlelight was flickering and dancing on the walls. There was little to see. The framed picture of the baby Jesus hanging on the wall. Some of their board games. Old plates and pieces of silverware in a box. It didn’t feel good in the shed without her. Nothing there was the same. He whistled through his teeth, softly, a tune he thought of. Then he stopped. He stood and blew out the candle and went outside and fastened the latch. He stood looking for a long time at the old abandoned house across the backyard grown up in weeds, the old black Desoto rusting among the bushes. Then he entered the alley once more. Night was falling. He’d have to go home and make supper. His grandfather would be waiting. It was already past the hour at which his grandfather wanted his supper.

ON A WARM WINDLESS AFTERNOON ROSE TYLER STOPPED at the trailer on Detroit Street and honked and waited, and after a while Luther and Betty Wallace stepped out onto the porch. Luther lifted his hand to shade his eyes, then he removed a washrag from the pocket of his sweatpants and dabbed at his eyes, and afterward put the rag away and took Betty by the arm and led her down the porch steps out along the dirt path to the car at the edge of the weeds. They got in and Rose drove them across town. Everything’s going to be all right, she said. Try not to worry.