Eventide (Plainsong #2)(57)

Rose watched them. How’re you doing with your money? she said. Are you still separating it into envelopes and paying your bills on time?

Oh, yes ma’am.

That’s fine, then. Do you have any questions for me?

Luther looked at Betty. I don’t have no questions. Do you, dear?

I don’t, Betty said.

And I’ve been told you’ve been going to the parenting classes.

Luther nodded. There’s only two more left, the teacher said.

Yes. Well, it appears that you’re doing okay. I’m glad to see that. So I think I’ll go now. But I’ll come back again before long.

Rose slipped her notebook into her purse, and Luther opened the door for her, and outside in the car when she glanced back in the rearview mirror he was still standing barefoot on the porch, watching her drive away, and Betty was out of sight, somewhere in the house.





30


IN THE NEW YEAR VICTORIA ROUBIDEAUX RETURNED TO Fort Collins with Katie to begin the second semester of classes, and a week after she left Raymond called Linda May on the telephone in the mid-afternoon. When she answered he said: Are you likely to be home for a hour or so?

Yes. Why do you ask?

I wanted to stop by for a minute.

I’ll be here.

The address in the phone book says eight thirty-two Cedar.

Yes. That’s right.

He hung up and drove in to Holt to the Co-op Implement Store on the highway and went past the racks of tools and the box drawers of nuts and bolts and the spools of electrical wire and on to the back, where the snow shovels were hung from hooks like medieval weapons collected in some castle or armory. He looked among the metal shelves of car batteries, reading the brief tags attached to the sides, and finally selected one and carried it to the cash register. The clerk said: Raymond, this ain’t hardly big enough for your pickup.

It ain’t for my pickup.

The man looked at him. Okay then. I didn’t know you had you a car. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong battery and have to come back. You want to charge it or pay cash?

Put it on the ranch account, Raymond said.

The man punched in the numbers on the register and stood waiting, looking at nothing, and drew out the receipt when it appeared and spread it forward on the counter. Raymond signed it and folded away his copy, then hefted the battery onto his hip and went outside and pushed the battery across the front seat and got in. At the stoplight where the highway crossed Main Street he looked left toward the Gas and Go at the solitary car parked in front and looked to the right up Main Street, where just a few cars were moving at this time of day. When the light changed he drove ahead three blocks and turned north on Cedar. Her small white frame house was in the middle of the block, and the Ford convertible at the curb was crowded by snow from when the snowplow had gone through. There was more snow piled up along the walkway in mounds that had melted and hardened overnight, with winter grass showing dry and brown along the edges. He went up to her door and knocked. She came out at once, in a bright blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and her short dark hair was combed neatly. I’ve been standing at the window watching for you, she said. You sounded so mysterious on the phone.

I just brought you something. Could I ask to borrow your car keys?

What are you going to do?

I got something for your car.

Well, come in, she said. The keys are in the house. But I still can’t tell what you’re up to.

He stood in the front hall as she went back to the bedroom to get her purse. He looked in through the doorway. Above the couch in the living room was a framed print of a hazy lavender garden containing a rock bridge and a mist-shrouded pond of water lilies. It looked green and lush, unlike any place in Holt County. She came out and handed him the keys. It won’t start, she said, if that’s what you’re thinking. I tried it just yesterday.

He put the keys in his pocket and went outside to her car and reached inside to pop the hood latch. Then he got a screwdriver and a pair of wrenches from the toolbox in his pickup and carried the new battery back to the Ford, balancing it on the fender as he raised the hood. He lifted out the old battery and put in the new one. After cleaning the battery clamps with his pocketknife, he attached the cables to the posts and tightened them down.

Linda May came out and stood beside him in the street in her coat and scarf. He hadn’t seen her coming and looked up from under the hood.

Why, what in the world? she said.

Get in, he said. Give it a try. He held out her keys.

She took them. You replaced the battery?

Let’s see if this one works.

She climbed into the car and Raymond stood beside her, at the open door. The engine ground and turned over and tried to start. She looked up and he nodded. When she tried again it ground and sputtered and popped and finally started, a burst of black smoke blowing out from behind the car.

Give it a little gas, he said. It needs to idle a while.

Thank you, she said. Thank you so much. What a nice thing for somebody to do. What do I owe you?

You don’t owe me a thing.

Of course I do.

No, he said. Well, how about just making me a cup of coffee? We’ll call it one of these after-Christmas bargain deals. I just thought you might want to run around town someday. I’ll take this old battery back to the co-op and they’ll get rid of it for you.

He shut the hood and put the dead battery in the bed of his pickup while she stood in the street watching him.