“And?”
“Maria … we’re just different.”
She slouched, defeated. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“Our heater’s out.” I tossed her an afghan.
Momma’s bedroom door opened, and she dragged through the living room on her way to the kitchen, looking at Maria with hollow eyes. “Hey.”
“Hi, Lynda.”
When Momma busied herself at the kitchen sink, I asked Maria, “How was school?”
“Weird. Teachers and students gossiped about Fawn’s baby and her parents kicking her out. JohnScott tried to squelch most of the rumors, but you can imagine the luck he had.” She glanced around the room hopefully. “Does your cousin ever come by here?”
“You just missed him, actually.”
She continued with the previous conversation as though she had never interrupted herself. “And since you didn’t show at school, people speculated about some sort of twisted connection. I assured them there wasn’t one. And of course, the rumor about Grady being the daddy made its way through the halls, but nobody bought it.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“No.” I lowered my voice, conscious of Momma in the next room. “I mean yes. I mean it’s ridiculous to even think that. Of course Grady’s not the dad.” I kicked her from under my quilt. “Give me a break. You know Tyler Cruz.”
Maria pointed toward the kitchen and mouthed the words, “Does she know?”
“Fawn’s camped out at Velma’s house. What do you think?”
She didn’t answer because Momma padded into the room, carrying a tuna sandwich. “We need eggs, Ruthie.” She slipped her boots on over her socks and went out the front door.
The fishy scent of tuna hung in the air as Maria asked, “Is she going for eggs?”
“No. Mailbox.”
Momma let in a whirl of frozen air when she came back in. She flipped through envelopes as she crossed in front of us, and then we heard her bedroom door click.
“She’s lively,” Maria said.
I didn’t answer.
Maria darkened my mood. It took every bit of energy I possessed to hold myself together, but I had determined not to repel the only friend I had left.
“So, about Dodd.” She began again. “Tell me one more time why you broke up with him.”
I pulled my quilt higher on my shoulders. “Do we have to beat it to death?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
I threw a pillow at her, and as it bounced to the floor, a thump sounded from the wall behind her.
“Did you hear that?” She leaned forward. “You don’t have rats, do you?”
“The way this week is going, it wouldn’t surprise me.” Two more thumps got me curious. “Sounds like it’s coming from the front yard.”
Maria stood and peeked out the curtains, then giggled. “I’m not sure Dodd’s taking a break.”
“What do you mean?” I rose, careful to keep the quilt around me, and looked over Maria’s shoulder. Dodd and Grady were right outside the living-room window, stacking firewood while pointedly diverting their eyes from us. My legs trembled, and I pressed my knees together to keep Maria from noticing. “Why is he doing that?” I demanded.
“Because you’re cold, you dufus.”
I bit my lip. This didn’t change the impossible mess. It didn’t change anything.
Dodd flashed his eyes toward the window, and I pretended not to notice, but a bit of the tension in my neck relaxed. It felt good for him to take care of me even if I didn’t want him to. He wore an unfortunate crocheted hat, and I tightened my lips to keep from smiling. “What on earth has he got on his head?”
“A Christmas gift from his grandmother.” Maria pulled the afghan farther up on her shoulders. “If he knew how cold it is in here, he’d loan it to you.” Maria contemplated Dodd and Grady for a few moments, then muttered, “You’d look good in Dodd’s hat, Ruthie.”
I returned to the couch, curling my feet beneath me, and wished Maria would get away from the window. What if Dodd read her lips? “Close the curtains, Maria.”
“Tell me what happened.”
I rubbed my eyes, wishing she would leave but praying she wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You matter to him.” She continued to watch from the window. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Out with it.”
My irritation mounted, and I ticked items off my fingers. “Let’s see. There’s Momma who despises Dodd. And then there’s the church that despises me. There’s the Blaylocks. And somehow Clyde Felton is mixed up in all of it. Then there’s Fawn. And we might as well count her baby, too, right? That certainly threw a kink in things.” I glared at her. “That’s what happened, all right? And the one thing that surprises me is that it didn’t hit the fan sooner.” I covered my face with my arm and leaned my head back. “Ruthie Turner dating the preacher? What a joke.”
I had forgotten about Momma, and when her bedroom door banged against the opposite wall, I jerked to a sitting position.
“What’s that blasted racket?” she called from the hallway.
Maria and I stared at each other.
Momma wandered into the living room and scrutinized Maria, who still had one hand on the curtain. “Maria, what’s going on out there?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She cast worried eyes toward me.
“I’ll handle it, Momma. You go back to bed.” Standing up, I tried to get between her and the window as more thumps sounded against the front wall.
“Who’s out there, Maria?”
“Nobody.”
I looked at Momma closely. Her eyes were bloodshot with emotion. “What’s wrong?” I panicked. “What’s happened?”
Momma’s depression turned to fury in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong is there’s someone in my front yard, and you won’t tell me who it is.”
She shoved past me and looked through the diamond-shaped window in the front door, surveying Dodd and Grady. Her hand clenched the doorknob in a fist. “We don’t need charity, Ruth Ann. Are you responsible for this?”
“No.”
She was drunk with rage, and I knew without a doubt something had changed. Something had driven her over the edge of the precipice of depression she had been balancing on, and now she was in a free fall of emotional turmoil. She flung the door open, stepped out onto the damp porch in her socks, and screeched at the Cunninghams to go away.
Maria stood paralyzed at the curtain as I pulled on Momma’s arm. “Stop yelling.”
“I’ll yell if I feel like it, Ruth Ann. I don’t want these people here. They don’t belong here.”
Dodd and Grady didn’t pause in their work or even show they heard her.
The tears I tried so hard to keep hidden now surfaced, and I hated myself for it. I’d look as hysterical as she did. “Momma, please,” I begged, “don’t do this.”
She cursed at Dodd and Grady between half screams. “Get out of my yard. Get out of my life!” Her voice grew hoarse. “And Ruth Ann doesn’t want you here either.”
Dodd and Grady threw the last logs onto the stack.
“You take your blasted firewood back where you got it, ’cause I don’t want your charity.” Her words began to slur. “We’re fine, you hear me?”
As they pulled away from the house, Dodd’s eyes caught mine. I swiped my hand under my nose and dried it on the leg of my sweats. “Get in the house,” I growled at Momma. “Now.”
I managed to shut the door, only to have her turn on me. “Why were they here, Ruth Ann?”
“I don’t know.” My tears were securely stuffed in my heart again, and I spoke clearly. “I haven’t talked to them. You can ask Maria.”
“I really should be going …”
“Ruth Ann, I’ve told you a million times, stay away from those people.” The way she
emphasized the last statement sparked a fire under my temper, which soon flared into a rage that matched her own.
“I am, Momma,” I yelled back at her. “I’m not with Dodd anymore. We broke up. You get your way. You and everybody else in this stupid town.” I raised my voice even louder. “So leave me alone for once and give me some peace.”
She gave a silent, tearless sob, then fled down the hallway and shut herself in her bedroom again.
I stared at her door, took three deep breaths, then put my hand against my forehead and turned to Maria. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no problem. Really.” She tossed the afghan on the couch. “I should be getting home, but call me later, okay? No matter what you need, call me.” She scurried out the door.
Bending over, I picked up my quilt where it had fallen to the floor. No warmth remained in its fluffy layers, but I wrapped it around me anyway and fumbled with the heating pad, my fingers so cold they wouldn’t obey. Lying down on the couch, I pushed my stocking feet under the couch cushion, inhaling deeply to settle my nerves.
What had set Momma off? Even though her anger wasn’t out of character, the intensity of the episode, and the visible emotion, certainly were. She hadn’t gotten a call. Both cordless phones were in sight. Other than her trip to the kitchen, Momma had been in her room all day—except when she made the outing to the mailbox.
I wiped my face on a corner of the quilt, tasting salt on my lips. Had she gotten a letter? That seemed unlikely. Everybody she knew lived within walking distance.
Dragging the quilt behind me, I stepped down the hall and eased her door open.
“Go away, Ruth Ann.”
I shut it again, accepting the fact I would never know because she would never tell me. Kneeling in front of the fireplace, I considered building a fire but couldn’t muster the energy. Instead, I plopped on my bottom, resting my elbows on my thighs.
I leaned over until my head lay on the hardwood floor and closed my eyes. Maria didn’t want to stick around, and I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to be home with Momma either. A minuscule breeze fluttered my bangs, causing me to open my eyes. Sure enough, the weather stripping on the door had come loose. Only half an inch at the bottom, but enough to mess things up. The draft fluttered a crumpled paper near the curtain.
I crawled over to investigate, leaning against the door so my quilt blocked the airflow, and reached for the paper.
It was a sheet of business stationery with the flamboyant letterhead of the Blaylock Cattle Ranch. Having been folded for mailing, the paper wanted to curl in on itself, but I pressed it flat against the floor with my palms. Black scrawl ran across the page in Neil’s handwriting.
Since you won’t talk to me, I’ve resorted to the postal service. Lynda, he would want you to let go of the past. You know he would. Let me help.
I had no idea what the letter meant, but I knew Momma and I didn’t need Neil Blaylock.
Taking a deep breath, I willed myself not to call JohnScott, not to long for Dodd, not to consider Maria. I didn’t need them, either.
I didn’t need anybody.
Chapter Forty-One
Since Momma lost her job, my days of hitching rides came to an end, but only temporarily. I drove the hatchback to and from work for only a few days before it broke down. On the evening of its death, the car coasted into our carport and sputtered to a stop. My emotions were already so battered that the development didn’t register as a letdown. So I’d have to get around on foot again. Oh well.
I struggled with the lock on the front door and bumbled into the house, surprised to see Momma on the couch. “You’re up.”
She grunted.
“Did you eat something?”
“Did you?”
Actually, I had hardly eaten all day. At school things were still unbearably awkward, so I didn’t go in the teachers’ lounge. I spent my lunch hour surfing the Internet in the library instead. And at the United, I had eaten only a package of crackers on my break.
“You talk to JohnScott today?” Momma flipped channels with the remote.
“Some.”
She didn’t continue the line of questioning, but I recognized it as her way of saying she wished things would get back to normal in our family. Well, so did I. JohnScott and I still spent thirty minutes together before the first bell, but our conversations had become testy.
The library had become my sanctuary.
But on the bright side, Momma lay curled on the couch, a drastic improvement from being shut in her room, and I couldn’t help wondering if she needed me, a little. Not that we discussed our problems like a functional family, but at least we occupied the same room.
Crouching at the hearth, I stirred the fire she had built earlier in the day, digging for red-hot coals, which gave off more heat. I added two logs, then leaned back to warm myself. No additional snow lay in the forecast, but temperatures would still dip down to freezing after dark.
A knock at the door sent a nervous jolt up my spine. Which of my friends was it, coming to tell me what I should do? I didn’t want to speak to any of them.
I reached for the fireplace poker and resumed stirring.
Momma huffed. “Fine, I’ll get it.” She peeked out the window before opening the door.
Clyde Felton strode past her as though we were expecting him. “Freezing out there.”
Momma replaced the bed pillow we now kept in front of the door to ward off the draft. “You can warm up by the fire. Ruth Ann, scootch over.”
I didn’t want to scootch over. I wanted to hide in the hall like I’d done before, but that felt disrespectful now, even for Clyde.
He knelt next to me and held his hands near the fire. “I’m glad your momma’s up and about.”
I frowned. “What do you know about Momma?”
“Watch yourself, Clyde,” Momma muttered under her breath as she sat on the couch and tucked her feet between two cushions.
“It’s been a long time, but we used to hang out in school.” The ex-convict shook his head, assuming my next question. “I don’t mean like that. She ran with Blaylock back then.”
“Neil?” A red light flashed in my mind.
“It’s nothing, Ruth Ann,” Momma snapped.
Clyde lowered his eyes as if he’d been sent to the principal’s office, but I restated my question. “What do you mean, she ran with Neil?”
“Lynda, I didn’t mean to stir up trouble,” Clyde said quietly. “I figured the girl knew.”
I shifted, wondering what he meant.
“Oh, Lord,” Momma growled.
A corner of his mouth lifted as he peered at me. “She’s got Hoby’s eyes.”
Momma pulled an afghan over her legs, not looking at him.
“You knew my daddy.”
His gaze swept to Momma, but when she didn’t acknowledge him, Clyde answered, “Sure. Back in school, we played football together. Then after we graduated, we’d get together for dominoes.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I’d usually win.”
Momma hummed a reprimand. “You know you and Hoby split the wins. You both cheated, though.”
“Aw, Lynda. Don’t go telling the girl I’m a cheat. You’re looking at a reformed citizen.”
“Ruth Ann, don’t get all judgmental,” Momma said. “Clyde may have spent twenty years in prison, but he didn’t do one blasted thing to deserve it.”
I remembered him building the fire for us after Thanksgiving, remembered him breaking up Fawn and Tyler at the fund-raiser, remembered him finding Fawn on the side of the road and bringing her to the Cunninghams.
For once I agreed with Momma. Clyde Felton didn’t seem dangerous after all.
“How did it happen then?” I asked hesitantly.
“He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Clyde cleared his throat.
“She probably ought to know.”
Momma snorted. “Everybody ought to know. Not likely to happen, though.” She focused on me and exhaled. “Back in the day, Clyde had him a girlfriend, sixteen years old. Pretty little thing, smart, and I don’t often say this, but she was a sweet girl—back then anyway. You can see why she hit it off with Clyde.”
He lowered his head.
“Anyway, her daddy wasn’t too keen on him. Told her to break up—you know the type, father knows best—but she wouldn’t do it.” Momma cackled. “I’d have loved to see the look on that man’s face.”
“Why didn’t he like Clyde?”
Momma lifted her chin, seemingly proud I would defend him. “He was from the wrong side of town. And if that weren’t enough, Clyde had reached the ripe old age of twenty-one.” Her smile faded into an empty stare. “And when the girl ended up in the family way, her daddy charged Clyde with statutory rape.”
“No matter, Lynda,” mumbled Clyde. “It’s in the past. Let’s leave it there.”
“As long as you’re in Trapp, it won’t be in the past.” She softened her voice in wonder. “You ought to go away and start over some place.”
“Aw, Lynda, this is home.” He bent down and stirred the crackling fire, sending a shower of sparks onto the hearth. “Besides, I don’t want everybody around here thinking poorly of me for the rest of my life. I want to set things straight.”
“You can’t set things straight, though, and you sure can’t change anybody’s mind.”
“I don’t expect to. I just want to live so they’ll know I’m a good person.”
“Maybe in fifty or sixty years. The people here are awful, Clyde, plum awful. If it weren’t for Velma, I’d have left by now.”
“Naw.” He shook his head. “People are no different here than anywhere else. No different than me. No different than you.”
Momma sat up straight. “I am not like those people.”
“You don’t act like them, but deep down inside, we’re all the same, you know? We all have problems. We just mess up our lives in different ways.”
“I disagree.”
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