“I thought you came, Mama,” Daniel says. “I wouldn’t leave her. I wouldn’t.”
Staring again at Daniel’s boots, Celia thinks how much he’s grown in the short time they’ve been in Kansas. And other things have changed, as well. His brow is starting to push out, the bridge of his nose is taking the same curve as Arthur’s, his neck has thickened ever so slightly where it drapes into his shoulders. Celia cocks her head to the left and says, “Today at work, Arthur. Was Ray with you today at work?”
“Hasn’t been in all week. Not since we saw him at the café. Not since Tuesday.”
Chapter 22
The truck smells like a coyote wagon. That’s what Mama would have said. Whenever Mama rode in Daddy’s truck, she said it was becoming nothing more than a coyote wagon. After that, Daddy would take a leftover grocery bag and clean out the wadded-up newspapers, the half-eaten apples, which were half-eaten because Daddy only likes the bites that have red skin with them, and the cigarette butts that make Mama especially mad because she hates that he sometimes smokes in Kansas. Uncle Ray is a smoker, too, but he doesn’t have anyone to tell him to clean out his butts so they spill over the small tray and some of them lie on the floor. Uncle Ray is an apple eater, too, but he eats his down to the core.
Wrinkling her nose and clearing her throat, Evie steps off the sidewalk and reaches for the inside door handle. It’s cold in her bare hand. An old red and blue flannel sheet is draped over the spot where Evie is supposed to sit, probably because Aunt Ruth used to sit there and without the thin cover, the seats would be cold and hard. The sheet is tucked in tight where the back and the bottom of the seat meet. Aunt Ruth did that. She is always tucking and straightening. This makes Evie feel better, makes her feel that it is okay to get into Uncle Ray’s truck. Bracing one hand against the doorframe and pulling on the inside handle with the other, Evie steps up into the truck, careful not to look at Uncle Ray’s face because she can’t help but stare straight into the bad eye and Mama says that’s not polite. So instead, she keeps her head lowered, drops down on the flannel cover and swings her legs into the truck. Propping both feet on the toolbox that sits on the floorboard, she pulls the truck door closed.
“You call the school?” Arthur says, walking out of the bedroom and grabbing his keys from the table on his way outside. He has washed up and is wearing clean clothes. “She there?”
Ruth shakes her head and starts to speak, but Celia cuts her off. “No, she’s not there. No one’s there. No one to even answer the phone.”
Standing face to face with Arthur, her hands on her hips, Celia suddenly hates him. She hates the way his hair curls when it is damp. She hates that he doesn’t shave every day like he did in Detroit and that he can’t be bothered with a tie on Sundays. She hates that he stretches and groans when he eats Reesa’s fried chicken and doesn’t use a napkin until he’s eaten his fill. And most of all, she hates him for yelling at Daniel because he’s not enough of a man yet. Arthur is the one who isn’t man enough, and now, because of that, because he did nothing, because he isn’t the man he is supposed to be, Evie is gone. Gone like Mother and Father. Gone like Julianne Robison. Gone.
“What about Jonathon and Elaine?” Arthur hops on one foot, pulling on a boot that has Olivia’s blood caked in the tread. “They back yet?”
“No,” Celia says, taking her own boots from the closet and reaching past Arthur for her coat. “Why would they be back?” She pushes him in the chest so he’ll look her in the face. “It’s a full thirty minutes there and home again. Thirty minutes at best. That’s how far it is.”
Cupping Celia’s arms with both of his hands, Arthur says, “Take it easy. I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll find her. You stay here. You and Ruth. In case she comes home, you should…”
Celia shoves his hand away and yanks on her jacket. “This is your fault,” she says, quietly at first, but then it feels so good, like beating on something with both fists, that she says it louder and louder until she is shouting. “I’ve been telling you, begging you to do something. I knew it. I knew it. He’s angry. Angry that we kept the baby from him. First Julianne and now.” But she can’t say it. She can’t say he has taken her Evie. “You brought us here. To this godforsaken place. This is your fault. All your fault.”
It must be Ruth, laying a warm hand on Celia’s back, and that must be Arthur, wrapping both arms around her, holding her to his chest. Someone is saying, don’t panic. No need to panic. Won’t do us any good. All these months that Julianne has been gone, Celia has thought of her every day, made herself think of the little girl she never met. If ever she found her day slipping away without a thought of Julianne, she stopped her scrubbing or ironing or weeding and looked up. If inside, she looked out a window. If outside, she looked to the horizon, always remembering, always searching, always hoping. Out of respect for the fear of losing her own children, she did these things every day, without fail. But no one ever found Julianne, and now Evie is gone and Celia is facing the same life Mary Robison must live.
The road under Uncle Ray’s tires changes from asphalt to gravel. Evie feels the change in her stomach, the same tickle she gets when she rides with Daddy in his truck. Getting to Evie’s house from church is easy. Now that the road has turned rocky, they will keep driving on Bent Road for a good long while, and when it breaks off to go to Grandma Reesa’s house, they’ll keep driving straight and the road will turn into Back Route 1. This is where Evie lives. Once Bent Road becomes Back Route 1, they’re almost home. Except Uncle Ray turns before the twist in Bent Road that leads to Grandma Reesa’s house. He turns on a road Evie’s been on before but she can’t remember when.
Daniel stands in the middle of the gravel drive, looking first toward the barn and next the garage, but he knows Evie isn’t either place. He could check inside Mr. Murray’s rusted old car, but she isn’t in there either. Besides, he’d have to walk past Olivia to get to that old car, and he can’t do that. Steam isn’t rising from Olivia anymore. This must mean she’s turning cold. Jonathon patted Daniel on the back before rushing off with Elaine to go to the school. He said he’d take care of the old gal when he got back. He said she’d keep just fine in the cold. Daniel doesn’t want to think about what this means. There’s a smell, too. Maybe it’s Olivia’s insides starting to rot out, or maybe it’s mud and her wet, bloody hide.
Something is different now. It’s the color of things. The sun is hanging on the horizon and its light is gray instead of clear. Everything is gray. It’s almost night. It happens so quickly this time of year. Night didn’t seem to settle in so fast in Detroit where there were streetlights and neighbors’ lights and headlights. The gray air makes Daniel’s stomach tighten and his chest begins to pound as each breath comes faster than the last. He backs away from Olivia. Evie isn’t in the barn or the basement or Mr. Murray’s old car. She’s not anywhere. He takes another backward step and then another. Eventually, he’ll run all the way to school. He’ll find Evie there and bring her home. A few more steps, but he can’t turn away from Olivia yet. She lies on her side, one rounded ear sticking up, one bright eye staring at him. He realizes he is waiting for that eye to blink, but it doesn’t. It never will.
It’s not quite dark yet. As soon as Uncle Ray turns off Bent Road, Evie sees a small group of men standing in the ditch. Uncle Ray must have seen them, too. They must be the reason Uncle Ray turned because he stops the truck in the middle of the road and shines his headlights on them. A few of the men hold a hand up to shield their eyes and they look at Uncle Ray’s truck. Evie scoots to the edge of her seat.