Rudy started his rant the minute he walked through the door. It was the mail this time that set him off, the little pile of bills: gas and electric, telephone, the second statement from Penney’s. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he said, coming into the kitchen with the torn envelopes, the statements trembling in his dainty hands.
He’d gained weight, Inez noticed: a pouch of flesh quivered under his chin, giving him a grandmotherly look.
“You can’t keep spending money like this. The phone bill is sky high. The gas and lights are—” He gestured toward the ceiling, as if to say that there were no words to express the enormity of the bill. “I work and work and work, and all you do is spend. There’s got to be a limit to how much money goes out of this house. They keep raising the rates, too, in case you didn’t notice, and with you spending and them milking me for every last dime there’s no way we can keep our heads above water if this goes on. I know Vanessa’s in there gabbing on that phone every spare minute, and with all the clothes and shoes and whatever else it is you buy at the department store, we’re going to be out of house and home before you know it. There’s only so much I can do. With bills like this coming in every day—”
He paused for breath and gave the papers in his hand a disgusted backhanded slap.
“Dinner’s ready,” Inez said. “Tonight’s Bible study at the church.”
He kept it up all through the meal, his voice rising and falling, on and on. The bills and his job and the meat, which wasn’t cooked enough. “I don’t like it to bite me back,” he said, though the hamburger was grayish, cooked through and through. “Look at this, there’s a puddle of blood on my plate.” The people at work who couldn’t tell their asses from their elbows, how he was always covering for them, how—if it weren’t for him—the whole place would go down the tubes. He couldn’t stop. Names she’d never heard of. Everybody a moron. And Vanessa. The way kids dress and talk and never do a damn thing worthwhile. They’ll be sorry later, you watch. I had a job at your age, pointing his fork at her. My eye on the future. What do you do in there in your room all the time, anyway? Vanessa, her face closed, her fork moving back and forth.
“The potatoes,” he said, turning up his nose. “Soggy.”
When did he start talking so much? Inez wondered. When they’d first met, he was so quiet she’d squirm uncomfortably when they were out together, waiting for him to say something. They could eat an entire meal exchanging only a few remarks on the food. She even felt like other people in the restaurant were looking at them, wondering why they didn’t speak. She’d thought he’d loosen up once they were married, but he’d kept up his polite, distant manner, mildly commenting on something now and then, but hardly ever telling her what he liked or didn’t like, what he wanted or feared. He seemed perfectly happy that way and she’d gotten used to it, had come to expect it from him. Now, after all those years of silence the dam had burst and he couldn’t stop talking. Inez watched the finicky way he cut his food, his pinkie fingers raised delicately. There were dimples on his elbows. His clothes looked rumpled, as if he’d been sleeping in them. When she met him he’d been fastidious: his shirts perfectly ironed and his hair frequently cut. Now it hung in wisps on his collar, with a matted spot on the back of his head.
“Did you want any more potatoes?” Inez asked Vanessa.
Rudy slammed his silverware down. “Excuse me, but I was talking,” he huffed, his eyes bulging. His face pinkened. “Did you not hear me? Does anyone care whether I’m talking or not?”
“I heard you,” Inez said. “I’m listening.”
In the car it was more of the same. Rain pelted the windshield, the wipers slapped. “You got Waller and that Arab or whatever he is and between the two of them and that lazy crew they don’t do a damn thing all day,” Rudy went on. He drove erratically, accelerating when his argument got more heated, slamming on the brakes when he got to the end of a sentence. Inez clutched her Bible in her lap. The car smelled funny. The heater was up high and the air was stifling. Inez’s mind wandered. She made a mental calculation of the Avon money that would come in during the next week. With the fruitcake girl who lived with the other girl who had to buy for every Tom, Dick, and Harry in her family, it would be a big haul. As she did more and more often, she began to dream of the house in Oregon, of the life she and Vanessa would lead once she slipped away and left Rudy behind. The rooms she imagined were almost familiar to her now, with their bare wood floors and white walls. She pictured herself behind the wheel of a small, reliable car that got good mileage. Vanessa in the passenger seat, the two of them chatting as they drove through the tree-lined streets of the small town she’d seen on the television special. Happy and carefree, their lives moving forward.
She was so carried away that it surprised her when the car stopped in front of the old movie theater that now served as their church.
“I’ll be back here at eight sharp to pick you up,” Rudy said.
Neither Inez nor Vanessa had said a single word during the trip. The thought of escaping from Rudy’s constant babble was such a relief that Inez threw open the door and already had one leg out when Rudy called her back. Vanessa was already standing on the sidewalk, about to slam the door closed.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Rudy said, motioning them back inside.
Vanessa, who had spent the whole ride in a black hole of silence, now stamped her foot with impatience. “We have to go!” she said, “We’re going to be late!”
Inez stayed as she was, with one leg still in the car, the other extended toward the curb. She looked at the peeling paint of the church. The marquee was still there, but instead of announcing movies, the big black letters now spelled out HE IS RISEN. EVERYONE WELCOME.
“Get back in the car,” Rudy said through clenched teeth. “Now.”
Vanessa hurled herself into the back seat. Inez pulled her leg in.
“Close the door. Close. The. Door.” It was the pauses between the words that scared Inez. Tight, raging silences.
She pulled the door closed.
Vanessa slammed her door with such fury the whole car shook. What had gotten into her? Inez kept her eyes forward. Ahead of them a car pulled to the curb and two teenage boys got out, one with a guitar case. They were in Vanessa’s class, gangly kids with pimples. They ran through the rain to the overhang under the marquee and slipped through the door into the theater.
Rudy grunted, shifting in the seat to face Vanessa.
“I don’t like that,” he said in a flat voice. “I won’t tolerate it.”
Inez sneaked a look over her shoulder. Vanessa sat with her arms crossed over her chest, staring defiantly back at Rudy. At times like this, Inez felt she didn’t know her daughter at all. She was struck by the sudden fear that Vanessa might leave, that she might have her own plans that had nothing to do with the house in Oregon.
“Could we go now?” Vanessa said tightly. “They don’t like us to show up late.”
Rudy sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Go on. But remember, eight o’clock sharp.” He tapped his watch. “Don’t keep me waiting out here.”
They used the big theater downstairs for services: the old upholstered seats for pews, the pastor and choir up on the stage where the heavy, faded curtains still hung. Inez remembered the day years ago when she’d accepted the Lord Jesus Christ into her heart as her personal savior, how she’d stood up from her seat at the end of the service and, while the choir sang “Just As I Am,” walked down the long aisle toward the stage. The old ladies nodding their approval, everyone’s eyes on her. She’d walked up the stairs at the corner of the stage as if she were going to give a performance. The pastor had welcomed her, his arms outstretched as the organ began to play. He’d clasped her hands in his, congratulating her on her decision to devote her life to Christ, and then turned her to face the congregation. Fourteen years old, Vanessa’s age. They’d all looked up to where she stood on the edge of the stage: kids her
own age, babies in their mothers’ laps, her foster family in the middle of the auditorium and, in the front row where the deacons sat, the man who would become Vanessa’s father.
“I’ll meet you out here,” Inez said to Vanessa, once they were in the lobby. The church used the former snack bar for the library: pamphlets and flyers littered the glass counter where concessionaires had once sold candy bars and popcorn. The carpet, huge pink hibiscus blossoms on a black background, was worn in front of the counter and in paths to the double doors that opened into the auditorium. The whole place smelled of dust and mildewed socks. On the walls were felt decorations of flowers and doves along with posters that said WALK WITH THE LORD and TRUST IN JESUS.
While Vanessa headed off to the room behind the stage where the youth group met to play guitar and sing folksongs, Inez climbed the carpeted stairs to what used to be the projection booth. The adult Bible study group was already assembled. Tonight there were only four others, with Bibles in their laps. Inez said hello and took her place in the ring of banged-up wooden chairs. Sister Murdock was leading the group that night. She nodded eagerly toward Inez, smiling so the wide spaces between her teeth showed, as if every other tooth were missing. It made her look like a jack-o’-lantern. She always wore the same thing: a huge black skirt ironed with the creases on the sides so she looked like she’d been pressed in a book and a men’s denim work shirt with a pocket over the breast. With coarse salt-and-pepper hair, a flat nose, and breath so bad it gave you a shock, Sister Murdock was one of the most devout members of the church. She witnessed in the neighborhoods, vacuumed the lobby carpet, and attended to people in the congregation who were sick or dying. But she wasn’t popular. After Sunday services, when most members of the congregation shook hands and chatted in the lobby, Sister Murdock often stood by herself, looking shyly on. She lived in one of the residence hotels downtown. A member of the congregation who visited her said the only food in her cupboard was cat chow, even though Sister Murdock had no pets.
“The lesson for tonight is Ruth,” Sister Murdock announced.
Inez opened her Bible. Hers was white, given to her by her foster family when she was baptized. Back then it was a brilliant, blinding white, soft and supple as kid leather, but now the cover had yellowed and hardened, cracking around the edges like an old cardboard box. The gold embossed letters that spelled out HOLY BIBLE on the front used to stand out like jewels. Now they faded into the nicotine-colored background. She used to be proud of the white Bible, but now she wished hers was black or navy, like the others around the circle.
“Say, I heard what happened at the airport,” Luella Springs leaned over and whispered to Inez. Her clothes smelled like fried food. The way her hair started far back on her forehead reminded Inez of a picture she’d seen of Queen Elizabeth I, back in the olden days.
“What?” Inez whispered back. She knew the books of the Old Testament by heart and had already found Ruth.
Sister Springs drew back with surprise. “Well, your husband works there, don’t he? They shut the whole thing down. Didn’t he say anything about it? It was all over the news.”
Inez shook her head. She wished they’d get started. She’d seen a few red Bibles, and one that was forest green. But black was best, more official. Like the words inside were more apt to be true.
“Well, Sister Cullen, I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it. They shut the whole thing down. Anthrax scare. Turned out to be baking powder, but still. Somebody playing tricks, probably a kid. Sure caused a mess, though.”
“All right now. Everybody got it?” Sister Murdock said, glancing around the circle. Luella stopped talking and started riffling through the pages. Duane, a young white man with large jaw muscles that gave him a chipmunklike appearance, was way off. He was thumbing around in the back, in the New Testament. You could tell it bothered Brother Lacy, who was one of the deacons. A thin black man with a perfectly trimmed mustache and a booming voice, Brother Lacy reached across the circle and flipped Duane’s pages toward the front.
“Joshua, Judges, Ruth,” he said, his bass so deep Inez could feel it vibrate in her chest. “It’s one of the books of history, son. In the front. Right after the laws of Moses.”
“All right,” Sister Murdock said. You could tell she didn’t want Brother Lacy taking over. “Let’s start. Roof.”
Roof? That’s what she said. Inez heard it.
Ruth was short so they took turns reading the whole thing out loud. Duane stumbled over the words and had to be helped by Brother Lacy, who read his section in a loud, dramatic voice, like he was preaching a sermon. Inez was shy at first, but warmed up to her part, the words and the story drawing her on. The Bible was strange when you actually read it. People did funny things. Like Ruth sleeping next to Boaz when she wasn’t married to him, and uncovering his feet, whatever that meant, and him giving her grain. Or Ruth refusing to leave Naomi and telling her your people will be my people and your God my God—the same wedding vows Inez had exchanged with Rudy right there in that very church, not the kind of thing you’d imagine a young woman saying to her mother-in-law. All the men died in the story, Naomi’s husband and two sons, and while Brother Lacy read on in his pompous voice, Inez imagined Rudy dying—in the airport from anthrax or at home in bed from a heart attack or in a car crash on the way to work. A sinful thing to think about, especially in a church, and as soon as she realized she was thinking it she told herself to stop, but not before she wondered how much she’d get from his life insurance if he died. It would certainly solve all her problems, especially if she could buy the house in Oregon and be free of Rudy without doing a thing. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and sinful even to imagine. The devil was always there, just waiting to put thoughts in her head.
She asked forgiveness.
At ten minutes until eight they closed their Bibles and said a prayer. Inez lowered her head and pressed her eyelids together, her hands clasped on the white Bible as Sister Murdock rambled on about having faith in the Lord and knowing that things will turn out right in the end, just like Ruth, who went into a strange foreign country and trusted other people to help her. Sister Murdock’s bad breath filled the stuffy little room, and Inez’s bottom ached from sitting on the hard wooden chair. Brother Lacy cleared his throat. Inez said a short, private prayer for God to look down on her and guide her thoughts, for Him to clear the confusion from her mind. And help me, she added just before Sister Murdock said amen. Please, please help me.
Rudy wasn’t there when they went outside. Vanessa came out with a group of kids from her class, talking and laughing. Inez seldom saw her like that: noisy, full of life. She shoved one of the boys playfully and the rest of the group squealed like monkeys. As they stood a ways off saying good-bye to each other, it occurred to Inez that her daughter had a life of her own that Inez knew very little about, that Vanessa had a personality she kept hidden away. A strange envy welled up in Inez as she stood on the curb pretending to look for Rudy’s headlights while she sneaked glances at Vanessa and her friends. By the time the other kids went to their cars and Vanessa joined her at the curb, Inez was stiff and tight-lipped.
“Edward brought crackers and grape juice and we had kind of like communion,” Vanessa said with a laugh, still talkative and excited. “We went around the circle and everybody had some, then there was a lot left over, so Edward said, ‘Who wants seconds on Jesus?’” Vanessa threw back her head and laughed, not noticing that Inez stood silent, a scowl on her face. “So of course we all did. We all had more and then we even had thirds. We porked out on Jesus!” She laughed again, the rain sparkling on her face.
“That’s not very nice, Vanessa,” Inez said stiffly. “I don’t think it’s right of you to say that.”
“It was just fun. We were just being silly.”
“Jesus isn’t silly. Communion isn’t a game.”
“Edward’s the assistant pastor. He wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t right.”
“I don’t care who he is, that’s
not a respectful way to talk about Jesus.”
The rain sliding down Inez’s neck made her feel desolate and tired. Vanessa sighed dramatically and crossed her arms over her chest. They watched for Rudy’s car without talking while a streetlight buzzed overhead. Something was wrong with it. It dimmed and brightened, flickered, then glowed back on.
“I wonder where your father is,” Inez said to fill the silence.
“I do too,” Vanessa said in a too-casual voice. “I’ve wondered that my whole life.”
Inez’s hands turned ice cold. Flustered, she looked at Vanessa, but could only meet her eyes for a second. What had made her bring this up after all these years?
“We read about Ruth tonight,” Inez said. “You really have to wonder what it was about Naomi that made Ruth love her so much. You just know that Naomi must have been something really special.”
Garish light from the streetlamp reflected in the water on the asphalt, making the whole world look white and black. Inez counted the times Vanessa blinked. “But Naomi was a Jew,” she said, hoping to break Vanessa’s stare. “They all were in the Old Testament.”
“He’s up to something, you know,” Vanessa said.
“Who?” It was more an exhalation of breath than a word.
“Your husband. Haven’t you noticed? Didn’t you see his car?”
Your husband. Had Vanessa really said that? Where was Rudy? Inez leaned far out into the street to look for him. “What about his car?” she asked casually.
“It’s a mess! There’s stuff all over the floor! It looks like a trashcan, like he’s been living in it. It even smells!”
“His car’s a little dirty,” Inez shrugged. “He just needs to clean it up, that’s all. Take it to a car wash on the way home from work.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened. It was no way to look at your mother. “He’s not going to work, Mom. He just drives around all day. I know, I’ve seen him go past my school in the middle of the day. I’ve seen him parked down by the mall when I come home.”
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