Ralph sat on the stool Dale had vacated. Asa reached over and shook his hand. “Ralph, good to see you. How ya doin’? I heard you were back in town. How’s the missus?”
“She’s fine. Thanks for asking. How’s Jessie?”
“Off to the city to visit her sister.”
Asa was not much of a conversationalist. He tended to run out of gas after a few questions. “Some weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
Ralph nodded his head in agreement. “Sure is.”
Asa stirred another teaspoon of sugar into his tea. “Yes, sure is some weather we’re having.”
Ralph leaned closer. “Say, Asa. You’re pretty good friends with Ellis, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if he said anything to you about me.”
“Nope,” Asa said.
“I can’t figure him out. About three weeks ago he and Amanda stopped by the tourist cabins where we’re stayin’ and invited us to dinner, so we went, and he stayed out in the barn the whole time. Came in for ten minutes to eat, then went right back out. Then I saw him the other day at the Five and Dime and he barely spoke to me. I just want a chance to make things right with him.”
The last thing Asa Peacock wanted was to wade into the Hodge family fracas. “Maybe he was feeling puny. Lot of sickness going around, what with all this rain we’ve been having. It sure is some weather we’re having, isn’t it?” He drank the last bit of his iced tea, made one final pass at his bowl of ham and beans, wiped his mouth, then rose to leave. “Sure has been good seein’ you, Ralph. Be sure to tell the little lady I said hey.”
Ralph sat alone at the counter another hour, watching Vinny at the grill. It was his day off from the glove factory and Sandy was working at the Wal-Mart. The last thing he wanted was to sit in the tourist cabin, alone, smelling the mold and mildew, watching a soap opera.
After a while, the din faded as the lunch hour ended and people returned to their jobs. Vinny and Penny were in the back room washing dishes, while Heather wiped down the counters with bleach water and refilled the salt and pepper shakers. Ralph sipped his coffee and watched the rain slide down the front window like tears.
Maybe he should never have come back, he thought. Maybe he and Sandy should have stayed out in California and written Amanda a letter instead. But he’d wanted to prove to Ellis that he’d reformed, that he was good for something after all. And he’d wanted to apologize. So the prodigal son came home. But with his father dead, there was no one to welcome him back. No ring for his finger. No fatted calf. No party. Just an older brother keeping score.
He wanted to be mad at Ellis, but couldn’t muster the bitterness. No one to blame but himself. Step number four: Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself. No one had held the bottle to his lips.
He looked out at the rain again, then glanced at the clock over the grill. One thirty. Another three hours before Sandy got home. This was when he missed the liquor the most. The long stretch of afternoon with nothing to do and Sandy gone. The god-awful thirst, the temptation to crawl back in the bottle.
He’d been going to AA at the Quaker meetinghouse on Wednesday nights. He and Uly Grant and a handful of people he’d never met. Seven o’clock every Wednesday, sitting in folding chairs and talking about how much they missed it. The taste, the liquid warmth spreading through his body, calming, soothing. The rain pounded down harder, slanting against the window.
Two years and four months without a drink and not one bit easier.
He wondered if Uly was at the hardware store. Maybe he’d go visit him for a bit. He pulled a five-dollar bill from his wallet and laid it on the counter, then turned and walked from the Coffee Cup and into the rain. Past the Kroger and the Buckhorn, where he paused to stare in the window at the smear of colors from the neon beer signs along the back wall.
Most people remembered their first kiss. Ralph Hodge remembered his first beer. He was sixteen. The summer his father and Ellis had driven to Colorado, leaving him home to finish cutting the hay. The third day it had hit ninety-eight degrees. He’d quit the fields early and driven the farm truck into town, where he’d ended up going into the Buckhorn on a dare from some friends. One beer, then two, then three, then he’d lost count.
If he closed his eyes, he could still taste it.
He raked a trembly hand through his hair, pushing it up and back, then turned the corner and walked down the pot-holed, brick alleyway and stood underneath a metal awning at the back door of the Buckhorn, out of the rain. There was a wooden crate next to the door, which he pulled under the awning and then sat on.
Sometimes he wondered how his life would have turned out if he’d gone on the trip to Denver with Ellis and their dad. He hadn’t been invited, but maybe if he had asked, they’d have taken him along and things would have turned out different. Just maybe.
He watched the rain puddle in opalescent swirls on the oil-stained bricks. Days like this he wondered how people who didn’t drink made it through. The back door was wedged open. He could hear the clink of bottles and Willie Nelson’s “Stardust.”
Jesus hadn’t finished the story. Ralph had looked it up himself. He’d hoped the older brother eventually came around, but if he did, Jesus never said so.
He’d driven by Ellis’s farm that morning, thinking, what with all the rain, Ellis might have time to talk. But he’d been busy trying to loosen his combine from the mud.
“Can’t talk now,” Ellis had told him. “Got work to do.”
Ralph had offered his help, which Ellis declined.
Ralph had lingered to watch. Ellis revved the engine, rocking the combine back and forth in a failed effort to dislodge it. Stuck. Then he’d piled boards underneath the rear wheels to give them purchase, but they slid sideways off the boards back into the mud.
Just like me, Ralph thought, as he sat on the wooden crate in the alley behind the bar. Just like me. Stuck in the mud with the flames drawing closer, like Stanley Farlow years before. Why bother trying? And he rose to his feet and walked in the bar.
Twelve
From Bad to Worse
Ellis Hodge couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so mad. He waded through the mud to the rear of his combine, drew back his foot and let loose with a well-placed kick at a tire, only to slip and land on his backside in the mucky mess. A gush of vile curse words erupted from his mouth. Ordinarily reverent, he’d sworn more in one day than he had his entire life, with an artistry and intensity that would impress a sailor.
His anger had been building since May, when he’d first seen Ralph at the diner in the city. Ever since, he’d had the most pleasant dreams in which he’d killed his brother and buried his body on a remote corner of the farm. It got so he hated hearing the alarm clock ring.
“Dadnabbit! This fricka-fracka, ricka-racka piece of goll-darned spit is gonna be the death of me!” he yelled, heaving himself out of the mud and whacking the rear of the combine with a board.
What made it worse was that Miriam had warned him not to combine, that the ground was too muddy and he’d get stuck. Thankfully she was working today, substitute teaching at the high school. As long as he got the combine unstuck by four o’clock, she’d never know. She isn’t the type to say “I told you so” and rub it in, though she did have a self-satisfied smile that set him on edge.
Then his brother had stopped by. Of all the genetic possibilities his parents could have formed with their union, they’d produced a no-good, alcoholic child-deserter. With Miriam gone and not a soul in sight, Ellis had been sorely tempted to kill him then. Knock him on the head with a board and pitch him in the hole the combine had dug. The perfect crime.
He would have done it too. Except at the last moment, just before he’d grabbed the board, he’d noticed Ralph’s car and couldn’t think of how to hide it. He thought of driving it into the river, but the nearest one was thirty miles away and he’d have to walk home. There was neve
r a river around when you needed one.
He worked all morning trying to dislodge the combine, to no avail. A little before two, he phoned Asa Peacock to see if he’d come with his new John Deere tractor, the one that had treads like a tank and could slog through anything. The phone rang six times before their answering machine picked up. It was Jessie’s voice: “Sorry we missed your call. We’re probably out in the fields. Leave your name, and we’ll call you back just as soon as we can.”
Ellis swore under his breath and banged the phone down. He stomped through the kitchen, flung the door open, and walked through the wet grass to his truck. Asa was probably in his barn. He’d have to drive over to the Peacocks’ and search him out. A ten-minute drive, a half hour for Asa to come with his tractor, and another half hour to pull the combine free. They could just make it before Miriam got home. That’s if his luck held, which would be a first.
It hadn’t been a stellar day for any of the Hodge men. Back in town, Ralph Hodge was seated in the Buckhorn bar, a beer in front of him. He was sniffing it, savoring the aroma, enjoying the sensation of the cold mug cupped in his hands. Two years and four months without a drink. He lifted the glass to his lips and tilted it. The beer hit the back of his throat. It felt like an ember, as if he’d ingested a live coal. He spit it back into the mug.
A scene from his past flooded his mind. Amanda was eight years old and cooking supper for them. His wife was passed out on the couch, and he sat in his recliner, mean-drunk, bellowing for Amanda to bring him another beer. She hadn’t moved quickly enough to suit him, and he’d cuffed her in the head.
When he’d begun attending church, he’d prayed for God to take that memory away, but God hadn’t seemed inclined to heed his prayer. Hardly a day passed that Ralph didn’t think of it. It dug at him, like a thorn in his flesh.
He pushed back from the bar.
“Aren’t ya gonna finish your beer?” Myron Farlow, the bartender, asked.
“No thanks. Don’t know what I was doing coming in here in the first place.”
He walked through the front door and into the sunlight. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had broken up. The sun shone down in bright shafts, blinding him momentarily. His foot caught on the door jamb, and he stumbled onto the sidewalk.
He looked up just as Ellis drove past, slowly, staring at him, a look of sheer disgust on his face.
Of all the people in the world.
He began jogging down the sidewalk alongside Ellis, waving for him to stop. Ellis turned his head away and drove straight ahead, picking up speed. Ralph slowed to a walk in front of Grant’s Hardware just as Uly walked out carrying an armload of rakes to arrange across the front of the store for his leaf-raking display.
“Hey, Ralph.”
Ralph didn’t answer. He sat down on the curb in front of the store, his head down, utterly dejected.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Just made the worst mistake of my life. The first time I go into a bar in over two years and my brother Ellis had to see me.” He sagged with misery.
“You went in the Buckhorn?” Uly asked. “You could have come to me. You know I’m here for you.”
“I only took a sip, and it tasted terrible. I spit it right out. Then I was so ashamed of myself, I left, and that’s when Ellis saw me. Would you talk to him for me, maybe explain what happened?”
Uly thought for a moment. “No, I won’t. You have to accept responsibility for yourself. Your drinking has caused the damage, and it’s up to you to repair it.”
“I know. I know.” He rose to his feet.
“Where are you going now?” Uly asked.
“Anywhere but the Buckhorn.”
“Attaboy, Ralph. I’ll see you Wednesday night. You call me if you need to talk.”
“Will do.” He shook Uly’s hand good-bye.
As for Ellis, he wasn’t a bit surprised. Miriam had been after him to ease up on his brother, consider that maybe he had changed. But Ellis had known better. Once a drunk always a drunk. He couldn’t wait to tell her.
He turned left at the school and made his way through the country to Asa’s farm. Asa was out in the barn, just as he’d figured. Ellis swore him to secrecy before telling him about getting his combine stuck in the mud.
“And that’s not the worst of it. I’m driving by the Buckhorn and who should stagger out but my supposedly sober brother. Probably in there drinking his lunch.”
“That can’t be,” Asa said. “I ate lunch with him myself. Ham and beans at the Coffee Cup.” His stomach gurgled in affirmation. Asa turned his head and let out a discreet belch. “Pardon me. Boy, those ham and beans tear me up. Like I was saying, Ralph was at the Coffee Cup not more than an hour ago, and he was sober.”
“That can’t be. I saw him stumbling out of the Buckhorn, drunker than a monkey.”
Asa looked at Ellis, then spoke quietly. “I’m not saying you’re lying, Ellis, but are you sure there isn’t a reasonable explanation?”
“I know what I saw.”
“Ellis, we’ve been friends a long time. And in all the time I’ve known you, you haven’t liked your brother. Now I know he’s had his problems, and Lord knows he’s made some terrible mistakes. But the Ralph Hodge I saw at the Coffee Cup seemed to be a different man.”
“People don’t change just like that. Now if you’re gonna help me, we have to get goin’.”
Asa shook his head in frustration, then climbed in his tractor and followed Ellis back to his farm. Ellis skirted around the edge of town, his blinkers on, avoiding the school so Miriam wouldn’t see them.
A half hour later, they had the combine pulled free of the mud and parked in the equipment shed. Ellis’s mood had vastly improved.
“Thank you, Asa. I owe you one.”
“Happy to help, Ellis. Hope you get things worked out with your brother.”
“Not sure that’s possible, as long as he keeps drinkin’.”
Asa bowed his head, drew a circle in the mud with the toe of his boot, then looked at Ellis. “Remember what Pastor Sam said last Sunday, that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re starting to sound like Dale Hinshaw and you were never like that before. You need to give your brother a chance. And that’s all I’m gonna say. You take care now, Ellis.”
Asa climbed back on his tractor, fired it up, and headed east toward town. Ellis watched from his driveway, mystified how a smart man like Asa Peacock could be so easily taken in by a drunkard.
He turned and walked toward the house, then heard the crunch of gravel behind him as Miriam pulled in their driveway. Perfect timing, he thought. He stepped to the side as she drove past and parked near the barn next to the clothesline.
“Hey, honey. How was your day at school?”
“Fine. What’d you do today?”
“Oh, this and that. First one thing and then another.”
He put his arm around her and guided her into the house before she noticed the trench in the field and inquired about it.
“I saw Ralph,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, he was walking home from town, so I gave him a ride. He wanted me to tell you something. Said you’d know what he was talking about.”
“What’s that?”
“He wanted me to tell you that things aren’t always what they seem.”
Ellis snorted.
“What did he mean by that?” Miriam asked.
“I saw him stagger out of the Buckhorn not an hour ago.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting. He certainly wasn’t drunk when I spoke to him. Must have been your imagination. By the way, Amanda asked me this morning if they could come over for dinner this Friday, so I invited them. And I do not want you hiding out in the barn the whole time they’re here.”
The world had gone crazy.
He spent the rest of the day in the barn, seething. Then after supper he dr
ove over to the tourist cabins, pulled up to number five, got out, and knocked on the door. Ralph answered on the second knock. He and Sandy were eating at a folding TV tray beside the bed. Ravioli from a can, cooked on a hot plate that sat atop a chest of drawers.
Ellis pulled his checkbook from his back pocket. “How much this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Last time it cost me thirty thousand to make you leave. What’ll it cost this time?”
Sandy walked over and stood beside Ralph. “We don’t want your money. We came here to be near our family.”
“Well, your family doesn’t want you here, so why don’t you just go back to California and we’ll all be better off.”
“I don’t blame you for being mad at us,” Ralph said. “I would be too, if I were you. But our daughter’s here and we’re staying.”
Ellis scoffed. “Your daughter! Why didn’t you think about your daughter when you were gettin’ drunk every day and knockin’ her around?”
Ralph straightened up. “I don’t need you or anyone else to remind me how badly I’ve failed as a father. I think of that every day. Now I intend to do something about it, if Amanda will let me.”
Ellis poked his finger in Ralph’s chest. “Not here you won’t, and not now. You stay away from her or, so help me God, I’ll make your life miserable.”
Ralph swept his hand around the room. “We cook on a hot plate and sleep on a broken-down mattress in a bug infested room, so we can pay you back the money you gave us. You keep our daughter from us and won’t give us a second chance no matter how hard we try. Brother, how could you possibly make our life any more miserable than it already is?”
For a brief moment, Ellis was ashamed of himself. But the feeling passed quickly. “Don’t bother comin’ to dinner this Friday. You’re not welcome in our home.” Then he turned and left, spinning his truck wheels in the gravel in his haste to get away.
He didn’t go straight home. He turned at Kivett’s Five and Dime and drove past the meetinghouse, just as Sam was unlocking the door for a committee meeting. He thought of stopping and talking, then decided against it. Sam would urge him to forgive his brother. That was a pastor for you, always talking about love and forgiveness just when you wanted to punch someone in the nose.
A Change of Heart Page 9
