Lee Martin - Late One Night

“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s only getting what he’s had coming.”

“I was just giving you the facts.” Pat’s voice shrank and got that little bit of hurt in it that always startled Missy whenever she heard it. “I didn’t mean to stand up for him.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on you. I’m just so mad at Ronnie for doing Della the way he is.”

On up the road, Della threw on an old John Deere jacket that Ronnie left when he moved out, the first thing she grabbed from the coat pegs by the front door, not even noticing what it was until she was out in the cold. The buses would be coming soon — first Angel and Hannah’s, and then Sarah and the twins’—and she wanted to be there waiting for them, the way she managed to be every day no matter that she felt like her life had blown to pieces. She wanted her girls to know that nothing was going to change. They were going to get along as a family for a good long time.

Shooter had a rope around the neck of the billy goat, Methuselah, who was always butting his way through the rotten fence. Captain was walking alongside. When he saw Della, he gave her a big wave. His face lit up, the way it always did whenever he saw her. He swept the shaggy blond bangs away from his eyes.

“Della, we got your goat,” he said, and even though she was embarrassed about the stray goat, she felt a warm glow inside because to Captain it meant nothing that this was the umpteenth time that he and his father had to round up one of her goats. It was something he was glad to do, and he didn’t have it in him to pass judgment on her or anyone else for that matter. She was the same Della to him that she’d always been and this business with Ronnie — even though she knew Captain missed having him around — didn’t matter at all.

Shooter, though, was a different story. She knew that Shooter thought she should keep a better grip on things. “Damn it, Della,” he said to her once. “You’ve got to get things under control.”

She’d done her best to keep those goats inside their pen, but Methuselah was always breaking through the boards.

“Well, Della, looks like I’ve caught another one,” Shooter said, and though he said it with a smile, she knew that deep down he was tired of chasing goats. “I’ll put him back in the pen and see what I can do to patch it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he gave a little wave of his hand as if to say he didn’t want to hear her apology.

At least he didn’t say anything about the way Ronnie had driven out of there like a crazy man. At least Shooter left that alone.

“You’re going have to come up with a better arrangement for your animals,” he said. “Come spring, I’m not going to have them eating up my garden. I mean it, Della. You’re going to have to find some way of making sure they stay where they’re supposed to be.” Then, as he led Methuselah around back of the trailer, he said something she wasn’t sure he meant for her to hear, but maybe he did. Maybe this was his way of saying he was tired of the whole damn deal. “Some people,” he said. “Captain, best thing would be to put a match to that fence and start over.”

Something about the way Shooter said some people struck Della wrong, and though she was generally a good-natured person, she snapped. She knew it was the bad feeling inside her after her run-in with Ronnie that made her so angry with Shooter. In fact, she was more embarrassed than anything, ashamed to be the woman who caused so much trouble. She followed Shooter and Captain behind the trailer.

“You don’t have to do anything to that fence,” she said. “In fact, you don’t need to do anything for me ever again.”

Shooter turned to look at her, and the wind bit at his face. The sharp tone of her voice caught him by surprise and made him get his back up even more.

“Damn it, Della. I’m trying to do the best I can for you, and you talk to me that way?”

“I know what you told Missy.” She took a step toward him. “I know you wish I wasn’t your neighbor.”

For a few moments, he didn’t know what she was talking about. What had he said to Missy? Then it came to him. Just a wisecrack. That was all. Just something he said and didn’t think for a minute that it’d ever get back to Della, and even if it did, wouldn’t she know he’d only been joking? You know, I’d like those people a lot better if they lived somewhere else . That’s what he’d said to Missy one day when he’d rounded up those stray goats and patched that fence again.

“Hell, Della. That was just a joke. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“You know what they say,” she told him. “In every ounce of jest there’s a pound of truth. If I’m so much trouble to you, just leave me alone.”

She whipped around and stomped off toward the road.

“That woman needs to learn to be more grateful,” Shooter finally said to Captain. “Come on. Let’s patch that fence while we’ve still got good light.”

It was a little after ten thirty that night when Brandi heard the firehouse siren. The television news had gone off, and she’d come to bed. She was sitting up with the lamp on, reading a book called Getting Ready for Baby . She had a whole stack of books like that on her night table: The Calm Baby Cookbook, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Pregnancy Without Pounds .

“Fire,” she said, not looking up from her book, and Ronnie, who was on his side, the blankets pulled over his shoulder, didn’t say a word.

He’d gone out for a drive earlier — no, he didn’t want company, he’d told her — and he’d come back, got into the shower, and then slipped into bed. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go driving when he got antsy — just getting the kinks out, he always said — and Brandi didn’t make a fuss about it. She knew it wasn’t easy for him, all this mess with Della, particularly now that she’d filed for divorce. But Brandi, with no family nearby, had long ago grown tired of being alone. She’d come to count on Ronnie.

Just that morning, she’d run out of gas when she was so close to work that her boss, Mr. Samms, was able to push her Mustang into the parking lot at the Wabash Savings and Loan. She’d called the house, and Ronnie had gotten out of bed and carried five gallons to Phillipsport and poured it into her tank. If he wanted to get out for a bit in the evening and be alone with his thoughts, as he had tonight, who was she to say anything about it?

She was wearing a low-cut black chemise that came down over her hips and a pair of black bikini panties. A little pooch had already come to her stomach. It wouldn’t be long, she’d told Ronnie, before she wouldn’t be able to wear anything sexy to bed, or at least not that he’d want to see her in, so he’d better get an eyeful while he still could. She’d brushed out her hair, and it fell in waves over her bare shoulders, the tips snaking across the tops of her breasts.

For just an instant, she looked over the tops of the round rimless glasses she wore for reading. She looked toward the window and then quickly went back to her book.

Ronnie knew everyone thought he’d left Della because he was chasing tail and it ended up being his own that got caught in the door, but that wasn’t true. More than anything, he’d ended up with Brandi because she’d given him what he needed most: a peace in the heart he’d been hard-pressed to find on his own. She just had this calm way about her. She never got flustered, never flew off into a panic, never felt sorry for herself. He convinced himself that life with her was going to be easy. He believed it right up to the point when he drove out the blacktop with that five-gallon can of gas. Now he heard the firehouse siren and a chill went through him. He’d come back from the trailer, and Brandi had asked him where he’d gone.