I didn’t.
You told her I made those little kids fight.
I never told her anything.
Then how come I caught hell from her and Mr. Bradbury? Now I have to bring my mom to school tomorrow. Because of you.
DJ looked at him, then at the other boy. They were both watching him.
I’m going to kick your ass, the first boy said.
Yeah, how’d you like to get your ass kicked, the other one said. He gave a signal with his hand and a third boy came out from behind the tank, and they took turns shoving him until one of them grabbed him around the neck while the other two hit him in the head and sides, then they threw him down and held his face in the grass.
The first boy kicked him in the ribs. You lying sack of green shit. You better learn to keep your mouth shut.
Living with a old man.
Yeah. They probably fuck each other. The boy kicked him again. You been warned, he said, then they walked off toward downtown.
He lay in the grass looking at the spaced and orderly trees in the park and the clear sky through the trees. Blackbirds and starlings were pecking in the grass around him.
After a while he got up and went home. In the little dark house his grandfather was sitting in his rocking chair in the living room.
Is that you? he called.
Yes.
I thought I heard somebody out there.
It’s only me.
Come in here.
In a minute, he said.
What are you doing?
I’m not doing anything.
7
WHEN THE PHONE RANG IT WAS HALF-PAST SIX IN THE evening on a Saturday and Raymond got up from the kitchen table where he and Harold had been eating a supper of beef steak and pan-fried potatoes and took up the phone in the dining room where it hung on the wall on a long cord, and on the other end it was Victoria Roubideaux.
Well now, is that you? he said.
Yes. It’s me.
We just was finishing supper.
I hope I didn’t interrupt you. I could call later if you want.
You didn’t interrupt a thing. I’m just glad to hear from you.
How’s the weather there? she said.
Oh, you know. About like always this time of year. Starting to turn off cold at night but it’s still nice in the daytime. Most days it is.
He asked her how the weather was for her, there in Fort Collins next to the mountains, and she said it was dry and cold at night there too but that the days were still warm, and he said that was good, he was glad she was still getting some warm days. Then there was silence until she thought to say: What else is going on at home?
Well. Raymond looked out through the curtainless windows toward the barnlots and pens. We took those yearling steers into the sale barn last week.
The ones from over south?
That’s right.
Did you get your price?
Yes ma’am. Ninety-one seventy-five a hundredweight.
Isn’t that good. I’m glad.
It wasn’t too bad, he said. Well anyway, now how about you, honey? What’s going on up there?
She told him about her classes and professors and about an exam coming up. She told him one professor said albeit so often in his lectures that the students all counted the times.
Albeit? Raymond said. I don’t even know what that means.
Oh, it means something like although. Or even so. It doesn’t really mean anything. He’s just talking.
Huh, Raymond said. Well, I never heard of it. So have you been making any friends up there?
Not too many. I talk with this one girl some. And the apartment manager, she’s always around.
No young boys?
I’m too busy. I’m not interested anyway.
And how about my little girl. How’s Katie?
She’s fine. I put her in the university day care while I’m in class. I think she’s starting to get used to it. At least she doesn’t complain anymore.
Is she eating?
Not like at home.
Well. She needs to eat.
She misses you, Victoria said.
Well.
I miss you too, she said.
Do you, honey?
Every day. You and Harold both.
It isn’t the same around here, I can tell you. Far from it.
Are you all right? she said.
Oh yeah. We’re doing okay. But here, now I better put Harold on. I know he wants to say hello. And you take care of yourself now, honey. Will you do that?
You too, she said.
Harold came out from the kitchen and took up the phone while Raymond went back to start the dishes. Harold and Victoria talked about the weather and her classes again, and he asked why she wasn’t out having fun since it was Saturday night, she should be doing something to enjoy herself on a Saturday night, and she said she didn’t feel like going out, maybe she would some other weekend, and he said weren’t there any good-looking boys at that college, and she said maybe there were but she didn’t care, and he said well, she better keep her eyes open, she might see one she liked, and she said well, she doubted that, and then she said: But I hear you did all right at the sale barn last week.
Not too bad, Harold said.
I hear you got almost ninety-two. That’s really good, isn’t it.
I’m not going to complain. No ma’am.
I know how much it means to you.
Well, he said. Now what else about you? You need any money yet?
No. That’s not what I was calling for.
I know. But you be sure to say so. I got a feeling you wouldn’t tell nobody even if you did.
I’m all right for money, she said. It’s just good to hear your voice. I guess I was feeling a little homesick.
Oh, he said. Well. And since Raymond was making enough noise doing dishes that he couldn’t hear what Harold was saying on the phone, he told Victoria how much his brother missed her and how he talked about her every day, speculating on what she was doing there in Fort Collins and making suggestions as to how the little girl was faring, and as he went on in this vein it was clear to the girl that he was talking as much about himself as he was his brother and she felt so moved by this knowledge she was afraid she was going to cry.
After they hung up Harold went back to the kitchen where Raymond was just emptying the dishpan, pouring the water out into the sink. The clean dishes were drying in the rack on the counter. How’d she sound to you? Raymond said.
She sounded to me, Harold said, like she was kind of lonesome.
I thought so. She didn’t sound quite right to me.
No sir, she didn’t sound quite like herself, Harold said. I reckon we better send her some money.
Did she say something about that?
No. But she wouldn’t, would she.
That wouldn’t be like her, Raymond said. She never would say anything about what she wanted even when she was here.
Except for the baby sometimes. She might of said something about her once in a while.
Except for Katie. But it wasn’t just money, was it.
It wasn’t even about money, Harold said.
The way she sounded. The way her voice was.
No, it wasn’t money that made her voice sound that way. It was the rest of it too.
Well, I reckon she’s kind of lonesome, Raymond said. I’m going to say she kind of misses being here.
I guess maybe she does, said Harold.
Then for the next half hour they stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wooden counters drinking coffee and talking about how Victoria Roubideaux was doing a hundred and twenty-five miles away from home, where she was taking care of her daughter by herself and going to classes every day, while here they themselves were living as usual in the country in Holt County seventeen miles out south of town, with so much less to account for now that she was gone, and a wind rising up and starting to whine outside the house.