I’m starting to, he said. I’m going to say you must be Linda May from the hospital.
That’s right. You do remember. Come join us down here.
Where?
At the end of the bar. There’s someone else I think you know.
Raymond put his hat back on and followed her along the bar. The men turned on the barstools to look at him as he went by, watching him with the woman. She stopped beside DJ. How about this young man here? she said. Do you remember him?
I believe I do, Raymond said. This must be Walter Kephart’s grandson. I never got his name though.
DJ, the boy said.
How you doing, son?
Pretty good.
Is your grandfather here with you?
DJ pointed to the table against the far wall.
I see him now. How’s he doing? Is he doing pretty good too?
Yes sir. He got over his pneumonia.
Good, Raymond said. He looked at the boy again and noticed his papers on the bartop. Looks like we’re interrupting your schoolwork there. Maybe we better leave you to it.
I’m done. I’m just waiting on Grandpa, till he’s ready to go.
How soon you reckon that’s going to be?
I don’t know. He’s talking.
Old men like to talk, don’t they, Raymond said. He drank from his glass and glanced at the woman standing next to him.
I’m surprised to see you out here, she said. I didn’t think you ever came out at night.
I don’t, Raymond said. I can’t say what I’m doing out here this time.
You need to get out once in a while. Everybody does.
That must be it.
They do. Believe me. It’s good you came out.
Aren’t you working tonight?
No, she said. This is one of my nights off.
Well. That would explain how one of us came to be here anyways.
The boy’s grandfather stepped up to bar next to DJ. You staying out of trouble?
Yes.
It’s about time we get on home.
How you doing there? Raymond said.
Who’s that? Is that you, McPheron?
More or less. Yes sir.
Look who else is here, the old man said, looking at the woman. Aren’t you from the hospital?
That’s right, Linda May said.
Well. Okay then. It’s good to see you. He turned to DJ. Let’s go, boy. Here’s your coat.
DJ stood down from the barstool and put on his coat and stuck his papers in the pocket. I want to tell her good-bye first, he said.
Who?
That lady who was nice to me.
The old man looked into the back. She’s working, he said. She don’t need you bothering her.
I’m not going to bother her.
He walked back toward the pool tables at the rear of the long smoky room where she was talking to some men sitting at a table. They were all laughing and he waited behind her until one of the men said: I believe there’s somebody here wants to say something to you.
The barmaid turned around.
I’m going now, DJ said.
She reached toward him and pulled his coat collar up. You stay warm outside now.
Thank you for all the— He motioned behind himself. For the place to work on my papers.
That’s all right, sweetheart. She smiled at him. I was just glad to see you. Now you come again sometime. Okay? He nodded and went back to his grandfather.
You think you’re ready to go now? the old man said.
Yes.
Let’s go then.
Just a minute, Raymond said. Are you walking?
We walked over here.
You’d better let me drive you home.
You don’t need to do that. We got over here all right.
Sure, but it’s colder now.
Well. The old man glanced toward the door. I don’t like this boy being out like this, I’ll say that.
Linda May looked at Raymond. You haven’t finished your beer. Why don’t you go ahead and run them home and I’ll keep your glass here for you. Then you can come back.
I might, he said.
Do, she said.
They went outside and got into Raymond’s old battered pickup, and he backed away from the curb and turned north up Main Street and followed Walter Kephart’s directions across the railroad tracks and then west into the quiet neighborhood, pulling up in front of their house. The old man and the boy got out. We thank you kindly for the ride, the old man said.
Don’t you take no more sickness, Raymond said.
I don’t plan on it.
The old man shut the pickup door and it didn’t catch, so Raymond leaned across and pushed it open, then slammed it hard. When he looked up they were already halfway to the door of the house. He drove to the end of the block and made a U-turn at the intersection and drove back to Main Street and parked down the block from the tavern. For a while he sat in the cold cab looking at the darkened storefront in front of him. What in hell’s sake do I think I’m doing? he said. His breath smoked in the cold air. I don’t have the first idea. But I guess I’m doing it.
He got out and went back into the warmth and noise once more and walked to the end of the bar where Linda May stood. When he came up to her she smiled and held out his beer glass.
Well, here you are, she said. I didn’t know if you’d come back or not.
I said I might, Raymond said.
That doesn’t mean you would. Men say I might, and it doesn’t mean a thing.
I thought it did, he said.
Maybe it does for you.
He took the glass from her hand and drank the rest of the beer. He looked around and all the people nearby appeared to be having a good time.
Let me buy you another beer, she said. This’ll be my round.
Well, no, he said. Ma’am, I don’t believe I could do that. I better buy you one. Wouldn’t you let me do that?
But the next one’s on me. This is a new day, she said.
Ma’am?
I mean women are different now than they used to be. It’s all right for a woman to buy a man a drink in a barroom now.
I wouldn’t know a thing about that, Raymond said. I don’t believe I ever did know anything about women. There was just my mother and then this young girl that lived with us lately.
You mean the girl with the little child I saw visiting you in the hospital.
Yes ma’am. That would be her. That was Victoria Roubideaux. And her little daughter, Katie.
Where are they now? Don’t they still live with you?
No ma’am, not all the time. They’re off at school. In Fort Collins. She’s taking a course of study at college.
Good for her. But don’t you think you could call me something else? Ma’am makes me sound so old.
I might try, he said.
Good, she said. Now why don’t you tell me about them.
Victoria Roubideaux and Katie?
That’s right. They seem to mean a great deal to you.
Well yes, they do. They mean just about everything to me.
He began to talk to Linda May about the girl and her child, and he told her how it was that they had come to live with him and his brother in the country two and a half years ago, and after a while a table was vacated and they sat down across from each other and he allowed her to buy him a drink, though he insisted on buying the next round himself. He sat there in his hat and winter coat until the place closed, talking to this woman. He had never done such a thing before in his life.
It was late when he drove into the graveled drive and stopped at the gate in front of the old gray house. The temperature had fallen to zero and a pale half-sided moon was coming up in the eastern sky. He got out of the pickup and walked up the sidewalk onto the porch. Inside, the house felt empty and quiet. He hung his coat on its peg and went into the bathroom, then climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He turned the light on and everything there seemed quiet and desolate too. He looked around and finally sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off. He got undressed and put on his flannel striped pajamas and lay awake under the heavy blankets in the cold room, unable to sleep yet, thinking about the woman at the bar and about the old man and the boy, and he began to remember the time his brother was courting the woman in town and how that turned out. The moonlight was showing in the room, silver on the wall, and after a while he went to sleep, and in his sleep he dreamed of Victoria and Katie, knocking at the door of some house he didn’t recognize situated in some town he had never seen before in his life.