Lana opened the back door and hurried outside. A thin cloud of dust settled around the truck as it came to a stop. Both doors of the truck opened, but only Grandma stepped out, slowed by her age but still surprisingly quick. Magdalena ran as if she remembered her, calling her Grandma, just as Lana had taught her.
“Aren’t you a sight,” Lana called. She laughed. Grandma grinned and let Magdalena tow her by the hand in Lana’s direction.
“Sight for sore eyes,” a man’s voice answered.
Lana stopped watching Grandma, and looked back to the truck. Legs dropped beneath the opened driver’s door, long fingers wrapped around its edge and drew it closed. Jim stood there grinning, taller, darker, and so much more the man that boy was always meant to be.
“I thought…I thought…” Lana stuttered.
“He’s a neighbor, ain’t he?” Grandma sounded defensive.
“Yes, he is. Of course. Welcome, Jim.” Lana’s cheeks burned, and her heart beat too loud as Jim stepped their way. He looked so content; he looked so kind. She squirmed in his gaze, ashamed she was a sight herself, but certainly not one for sore eyes. Jim’s smile danced over her, as if he saw only the gangly girl of years ago instead of the worn-out woman she was beginning to be.
“Got some new ones, I see.” He patted Harold’s head and looked at Alex in her arms. “Boys now.”
“Too many of them,” Grandma blustered. “Enough’s enough, I say.”
“It’s all right, Grandma,” Lana replied, her cheeks growing even warmer. She shouldn’t have shared what the doctor had said about Alex’s birth in her letters. But in those two days of pain and delirium Grandma had been there with her, even if she really wasn’t. That’s who Lana had communed with in that darkness, that’s who she’d called to when the agony sucked her away.
Grandma gave a gruff grunt and looked around the barnyard. She’d taught Lana to be a good wife. Keep her place in relation to her husband, perform her duties without complaint. But Lana was certain now that Grandma wasn’t here to make sure those rules were being kept. She was here because of love, a force that superseded the laws of subservience. Grandma had been Lana’s true father, the one who had always been there for her when there was no other. She hurried to Grandma in a rush of gratitude and bound her in a one-arm hug, little Alex squashed between them. He yelped, and kicked and squirmed his way to the ground. Lana wrapped both arms around Grandma and held on. She’d had no idea while growing up that Grandma had this in her, this much love, this much willingness to defy what she believed, in order to protect her granddaughter. Grandma was the perfect parent, the perfect father.
“Well, invite us in,” Grandma growled from Lana’s arms. Lana let go and smiled. Jim winked at her from behind Grandma’s back. He took Harold’s hand and they walked to the house, keeping Alex in front of them, Alex’s determined but awkward toddle slowing them down. One by one they streamed through the back door Cletus had taken her through years ago, past the dim washroom where she’d waited while he washed his hands, and into the room they ate in after she’d survived cooking their first meal. This room was much brighter now, much more homey, Grandma’s gift of Lana’s wedding dress still making fine curtains for the windows, the yellow makeshift belt tying them back to let the sunlight in.
Lana watched Grandma take a slow toll of the house, item by item, a glimmer of pride on her face. Lana relaxed. She glanced at Jim. He was looking at her, not at the house.
“You’re all grown up,” he said. He sounded surprised, like it had just dawned on him they no longer milked together or pulled weeds.
“I’d say you are, too,” she canted back. He had changed for the better, whereas she hadn’t. Anyone could see that. He was handsome, and she wondered if Jeanie had snagged him yet. She couldn’t tell by his smile. It was warm and comfortable, free and generous. Would he smile that way if he was in love with someone? Engaged? She smiled back, just the way she had when she was a girl. She looked at Grandma, at her children, then back to Jim. “Well, I should probably get us some lunch.”
“I’ll help,” he said. And he followed her, boy and girl, friend to friend, just as he’d always done.
****
Cletus kept his eyes on Jim throughout the evening meal. It didn’t matter who was speaking, it didn’t matter that Magdalena was showing off, it didn’t matter that Grandma’s comments to him were brash and stinging with hints she was here to protect her granddaughter. All he saw was Jim, and Lana wished Jim would cage his childhood warmth toward her, temper his smile.
“Who is he?” Cletus asked when they were alone in their room. Grandma was in Magdalena’s bed, Lana’s oldest daughter squeezed in beside Betsy. Jim was in the living room, a little too long for their sofa but not complaining when she handed him a blanket and pillow and asked if he minded sleeping there. Everyone was quiet, and Lana cringed, hoping Cletus’ voice didn’t carry through the walls or up the stairs.
“Grandma’s neighbor,” she answered.
Cletus watched as she cleared his trail of dropped clothing. She was exhausted, every muscle tired, her insides still weak from childbirth and feeling like they were about to fall out and drag the floor. She folded his pants and draped them over a trunk he’d brought home when she’d asked for more storage space in the bedroom. She neatened his dirty clothing. She’d sort it tomorrow. She just couldn’t do it tonight.
“He’s more than a neighbor,” Cletus said. He was in bed, sitting up, tired but not sleepy, she could tell by the glint flickering in his eye.
Lana’s heart beat a little harder, she felt the flush rise to her cheeks. Jim was kind, he spoke the language of goodness in all that he said or did, something Grandma had pointed out more than once that evening, hoping Lana’s husband would understand. But that language was foreign to Cletus. It made him wary, and he would never allow his ignorance to leave him feeling insulted. “He’s just a neighbor. He has helped Grandma for years. She pays him however she can.”
“How many years?”
Lana stopped what she was doing and looked at him. He was waiting, his face as rigid as the metal he forced to bend, his eyes like the heat of the fire it took to transform it.
“Always,” she said. “Ever since he could. He’s always been this way.” She said it soft, wishing Cletus wouldn’t hear, and praying Jim couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to face Jim in the morning, she’d never be able to face him again, if he heard this conversation. She straightened, drew in a deep breath, and steeled herself to look at her husband.
The wolfish hunger Cletus had been trying to hold back since Gail had been born emerged. Something else came along with it, something that made him look desperate, afraid, a little bit threatened. She’d never seen him this way. He was afraid of nothing. Lana dropped his clothing she’d picked up, and began to undress. He breathed a little shallower, his worry waning as her clothes fell to the floor.
Cletus watched her walk to their bed. He was listening to what she’d said only through his eyes, a language he understood. He wanted her; she saw it. He looked up.
“I don’t like him. He watches you too much. And your grandma, she doesn’t like me.”
She saw it even more clearly then—all the things he wasn’t afraid of. They worried him, teetering his throne, and he was looking for someone to blame. It would eventually be her. She paused and stared at him. “I’ve missed you.”
“Come to bed.” He lifted the blanket.
Lana hurried, hurried to crawl into bed, relieved, afraid, and praying Cletus would be quiet. She knew what was coming would probably hurt, since it would be the first time since Gail’s birth. But she would bite back any sound.
She wanted her husband to be satisfied, wanted him to know everything was safe, but she didn’t want Jim to hear, hear Cletus grunt and breathe hard, expel that one last gush of air when he was done. And Grandma. Lana prayed she wouldn’t know, either. She didn’t want either of them to see the look of a wife on her face in the morning, judge the very private thing Grandma had come to monitor and gauge.
Cletus rolled against her the moment she slid in beside him, and dropped the blanket over both of them. He smelled of burnt metal, hot fire, and soap where he’d tried to scrub some of it off. His arm stretched across her chest as one leg edged over her thighs. She lifted a hand and touched him, waited for him to top her so she could wrap both arms around his back.
She could hear his thoughts. She felt them stop as he paused.
“Cletus?”
He retracted his arm. His leg dragged back over her and away. He turned and rolled to the far side of the bed.
“Cletus,” she whispered. She scooted his way, laid a hand on the back of his shoulder. “It’s okay, really. What’s wrong?”
“Maybe another time.”
She stayed there beside him, near his back, listening to what he was thinking as he pretended to sleep.
She silently tried to erase his thoughts, undo what everyone else was doing to him, against him, to them.
Chapter 16
James 1953
James stood behind his chair along with the rest of them, all of them at the table for once, no one out with a girlfriend or beau. Steam rose from the dishes and platters on the table, an enticing aroma circling upward that almost drowned out the brash sounds of splashing water and Pop grunting into a towel as he dried his face and hands in the back washroom. James drew in a deep lungful of the warm roast and potatoes while he waited. Waiting was as much a part of their meal as eating was. Everyone stood, stiff and still, everyone except Magdalena. She fidgeted with the back of her chair, tapping out impatient clicks with her fingernails. She rarely joined them for a meal, and tonight she looked tired, distracted, and impatient, too preoccupied to care whether she waited the respectful way Pop wanted or not. Pop strode from the wash room, easy heavy strides that brought him to the back of his chair. The smell of burnt metal overtook the pleasant odors of their supper, more powerful than ever now that it came from three of them—Pop, Harold, and Alex. Alex followed Pop with his gaze. He worked hard at the welding shop all day and came home famished, famished enough to barely tolerate Pop’s rules until they could sit down to eat.
James’ stomach growled, and he glanced at Alex. All of the outside chores were his ever since his brothers began working in Pop’s shop. He also had school, he had baseball, he had everything else anyone added to his list, and he did it all. He worked hard, and like Alex, he came to the table starving.
Pop stayed behind his chair, eyeing the food. Everyone waited for him to sit and begin to help himself to whatever Mama and the girls had prepared, but he remained standing, his head down. The solemnity of his stance made it seem like he was praying, but Pop never prayed. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out over James’ palms, and his hands turned clammy. He knew why Pop just stood there, so James prayed, even if his father never did, and his hunger disappeared.
“How did our cow get into Colson’s field?”
James closed his eyes, and kept his head down. He clamped his fingers on the back of his chair.
“No harm was done,” Mama said. “His wife shooed it out when she saw it, and Ben drove it back home this afternoon. Gail’s boyfriend, Jackson, was here, and the two of them helped him.”
James prayed Pop would listen to reason, that no harm was done.
“I didn’t ask about harm. I asked how the cow got into his field.”
“The gate broke, Pop.” It was Harold. It was a lie. James opened one eye and glanced at his brother.
“You were at work. You rode home with me. How would you know?”
“I told him.” Alex cut in. Alex’s voice was like Pop’s. It was decisive and sharp. James knew Alex liked talking that way, especially to their father. James opened both eyes and looked at his brother. Alex’s knuckles were white, his fingers biting down on the back of his chair just like James’ were on his. “I checked the gate when Mama told me tonight the cow’d gotten loose.”
“How could it break?” Pop changed his tone, contrasting his voice with Alex’s, sounding smooth and steady instead of abrasive. Pop was mocking Alex. Pop knew Alex and Harold were both lying. He wanted to catch them at it so he could blame James.
“The wood was too old,” Alex answered. “Ben just wired it shut to hold it till we got home. I’ll prove it.” Alex thrust away from his chair. It rocked forward, its back smacking against the table’s edge and its legs thumping against the wood floor as he disappeared from the room. The back door opened and closed with a bang.
James’ skin turned cool, the clamminess of his hands spread up his arms and around his neck. The gate wasn’t broken; he’d left it unlatched. Or loosely latched, when he’d finished feeding this morning. He was running late for school. His sisters had gone on without him.
Let’s sit down while we wait.” Mama’s interjection surprised him. Her voice was soft, but her suggestion was bold. She’d never countered Pop’s rules this way. James glanced his mother’s direction. Every eye at her end of the table was on Pop, instead of her, waiting to see what he would do. James was afraid to see his father’s face, see who he was looking at, but he turned his head and peered Pop’s direction. Pop was staring the length of the table, his eyes on Mama, a silent fiery command directed her way that they would remain standing until he sat. James clenched his teeth as he breathed a little deeper and a little harder. Pop shouldn’t look at her that way. James would take a thrashing before he’d let Pop treat Mama bad or yell at her for something that was his own fault.
“Pop. I…” James straightened as he spoke, forcing his voice to hold steady.
A chair scooted back, wooden legs skidding across the dry floor. Someone sat, and the chair creaked, then dragged forward. “Good idea, Mama. I’m ready to eat,” Magdalena said.
James closed his mouth. Pop disappeared from his eyes. He only saw the gate in his mind, even when he turned toward the far end of the table to look at his sister who’d just defied their father.
I’ll never leave it loose again. I’ll always make sure it’s fastened like it’s supposed to be. I’ll always double check it…