If Wishes Were Horses (24 page)

“How ‘bout a Fudgesicle?” Johnny asked with a tempting grin.

“Well . . . okay,” Etta said, grinning shyly at the quantity of food she seemed to be able to consume these days.

Together they went into the small store. While Johnny paid, Etta stepped back outside. Inside the store smelled heavily of tobacco and pickle vinegar, making her feel a little sick.

As she stood beneath the portico and unwrapped her Fudgesicle, an old, battered Dodge pickup pulled up to the gas pumps. The man and woman in the cab looked used and worn out. The woman stared out the windshield, looking neither right nor left. She didn’t even blink when the man got out of the truck and slammed the door. She looked like one of those living dead in the horror shows, Etta thought.

Etta caught a whiff of the man, about a week’s worth of sweat, as he passed her going into the store. The woman continued to stare out the windshield. She gave no sign of hearing the children fighting in the back of the truck.

The woman so disturbed Etta that she started to move away. Then her gaze connected with a girl in the back of the truck. About seven, stringy hair not combed in a month of Sundays, snotty nose and dirt-streaked face and shirt torn at the shoulder. A child neglected and forgotten. She stood holding on to the side of the bed and stared at Etta with big eyes, while two younger boys wrestled behind her.

For an instant Etta was a child again. She recalled riding in the back of her father’s pickup, how hot the steel got in the summer, how the wind batted her ears until she couldn’t see, and the dust choked her throat. She would cry, but her father and mother never paid any attention.

She blinked and saw the little girl again.

Slowly Etta extended her Fudgesicle. The child gave the frozen chocolate a startled look. Her eyes, hazel, darted back at Etta, and Etta smiled. Just as the little girl reached out her grubby hand to take the Fudgesicle, Johnny came out the door. Clutching the treat, the little girl looked at him.

Etta turned and walked quickly away. Johnny followed.

“That mother doesn’t care for those children,” Etta said. She was shaking. “She never once looked back at them. Why does God allow things like that?” She peered up at Johnny and then looked over at the children.

The three were now solemnly sharing Etta’s Fudgesicle.

“There’s a lot of mysteries in this world, and that’s one of ‘em, I guess,” Johnny said. He didn’t quite know what was required of him. The sight of the poor couple and the children had definitely unsettled Etta.

The old pickup pulled away, and the little girl waved. Etta waved back. Then she looked up at Johnny. “I was like that little girl, but I had Latrice. I wonder if that child has anyone.”

“Well, she has your Fudgsicle,” Johnny said and was relieved when she smiled.

He held the remaining half of his melting chocolate ice toward her. “I’ll share mine with you, Miz Etta.”

Her grinned widened, and then her eyes sparkled. Leaning forward, she licked the frozen chocolate. Then he watched her suck it into her mouth and slowly release it, her blue eyes sparkling up at him the entire time. Keeping his eyes on hers, he took his turn at sucking on the frozen chocolate, and gave Etta another lick. He watched her tongue move on the sweet ice, then watched it move over her lips.

Feeling things he didn’t think he needed to be feeling, he tossed the now empty Fudgesicle stick away. “Guess I’d better get you home, or Miss Latrice will come after me."

He rested his hand on her back as they walked to his truck. She seemed to like his nearness. He put her in the truck from the driver’s side, and she didn’t scoot over to the passenger side, but sat next to him.

“Johnny,” she said, after he got in beside her. She looked at him with a shy expression. “Thanks for all you did for me today . . . for drivin’ me up here and waitin’ for me. It helped to know you were just outside those shops, waitin’ if I needed you.” Her cheeks got very red.

He wanted to kiss her.

“It was no trouble . . . glad to do it,” he said and started the truck to give him something to do, while inside he was jumping around, excited to have finally pleased her.

Once out on the road, he slipped his arm behind her on the seat. Then he slipped it onto her shoulder. She glanced at him and looked a little hesitant, but she didn’t move away.

The next thing he knew she was drooping against him. She had fallen asleep.

When Etta awoke, she found she was lying against Johnny’s shoulder. The scent of him, of warm male and starched cotton, was all around her.

Coming fully to herself, she jerked up straight, smoothing her hair and clothes. “I hope I didn’t bother you.”

“Nah. I didn’t have to shift.”

Etta’s gaze fell to his shoulder, and she wished she could put her head back there . . . and rest there for days and days. Jerking her eyes away, she looked out the window, watched the farmhouses and little roadside stores flash past.

When she saw the curve of the cemetery arch approaching, she said, “Oh, could you turn in here?” and pointed.

Johnny cast her a surprised look, braked, and turned quickly with a squeal of the tires.

As they drove beneath the white stone archway and the cemetery was spread out before them, Etta suddenly wished she hadn’t asked him to stop. Her spirit did not feel up to looking at Roy’s grave. But Johnny had gone to the trouble of making the turn, and she couldn’t tell him to just drive out again.

The grave site looked so different without the canvas awning and stacks of flowers. Etta felt a little guilty for not coming earlier and putting fresh flowers on the grave. Then she noticed that there was a small bouquet. Corinne, no doubt.

She sat there, gazing at the grave from the truck. She might not have gotten out, but Johnny came around and opened the door for her, took her arm to help her to the ground.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes anxious. She nodded. "I’ll just be a few minutes.” She pressed a hand on his forearm, feeling the strength and warmth of him.

Slowly she walked across the deep green grass; it had still been brown when they had buried Roy. Bermuda sod had been carefully placed over his grave, and it was taking hold, as if sealing Roy there with his family. She gazed at the little bouquet of wilted daisies and reached down to toss them aside. She stopped and drew back. Throwing them aside seemed disrespectful and callous.

Kneeling, she put her hand to the ground, trying to feel something . . . wanting so much to feel something warm, not the cold of guilt and resentment.

She gazed at his headstone, for long minutes at the words: Roy J. Rivers, Beloved Son, Beloved Husband. Pain came across her heart. She squeezed her eyes closed, and when she opened them her gaze fell upon the headstone several yards away. “And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

The line was part of the Lord’s Prayer, which was carved in entirety upon the headstone for one Orton Wood. His family must have had money.

Etta looked again at the words, and then scanned the headstones surrounding her, some large, some small. Many names, people who had once lived and loved the best they knew how.

A warmth swept her, seeming for an instant to fill her heart. It quickly passed, but Etta knew she had felt it. Then quite suddenly the baby inside her kicked. Etta put a hand on her round belly. The baby kicked more.

“Thank you, Roy. You really tried to give me a child . . . and honey, you did.”

Seeing Etta remain crouched for a number of minutes, Johnny got worried and started up the hill toward her. When he reached her, she looked up at him, and he saw tears in her eyes.

“I guess I got stuck,” she said, extending her hand. “Can you help me up?”

“Sure.” He took her hand. When she was on her feet, he kept hold of her, as she seemed a little wobbly.

He saw she was crying and pretending not to, and he became nervous. He hoped she didn’t start crying really hard. She was a lot more pregnant than she had been the last time she had cried in his truck, and anything could happen.

Casting a glance at Roy Rivers’s headstone, Johnny thought with irritation that he did not appreciate the man interjecting his dead self into their day.

He kept hold of Etta’s arm as they walked back to the truck, and he helped her up into the seat. “You sure you’re okay?”

She smiled at him. “I’m sure.”

Feeling relieved, he hurried around, started the truck, and pressed the accelerator, sending the truck flying down the highway, hoping to get Etta home as soon as possible. He was afraid any moment she would turn and work herself into a state.

After several minutes, however, she blew her nose and sighed calmly. “Roy and I had two really good years before it all fell apart. And you know, I tried real hard and Roy tried real hard, too.”

She seemed to be speaking to the world at large, but Johnny felt it was up to him to answer. “I know that you must be disappointed about things,” he said, “but you know, just because somethin’ doesn’t quite turn out the way you expect, doesn’t make it not worth the attempt.”

She looked at him for a long minute. “That’s so true. And thank you for sayin’ it.”

The way she spoke and looked at him made Johnny feel ten feet tall.

“I guess, even when it may not seem like it, we are all doin’ the best we can,” she said. “And I wouldn’t wish I hadn’t married Roy, because then I’m wishin’ away the good right along with the bad.”

He didn’t quite follow exactly what she said, but he glanced over to see Etta’s blue eyes gazing at him, clear and strong. As if she was seeing him, and not thinking of Roy Rivers at all.

“How about some music?” he said, reaching over and turning the knob.

On passing Overman’s Bright and White Grocery Store, Etta had Johnny stop. She made the request when they were still a fourth of a mile away, so as to give him plenty of warning.

"I'll only be a minute,’’ she said.

She went into the store and paid Noreen Overman the entire overdue account, all the while having the satisfaction that she behaved with more grace than Noreen would ever know in a lifetime. When she came out, Johnny stood holding the truck door open for her. He gave her a little grin, and she grinned in return. Then they headed home, Elvis singing out from the radio and the sun casting long shadows.

Johnny pulled the truck around at the back door and shut off the engine. Etta glanced at him and then looked out the windshield at the horses in the corrals. She heard Little Gus whinny from the barn. Johnny got out, and she watched him through the dusty glass. She recalled how he had kissed her that morning, a thought that had played at the edges of her mind all day.

Their gazes met when he reached her door. He opened it and helped her to the ground.

Etta dropped her gaze to his blue shirt, having the strange urge to put her hand there, on the starched cotton just above his heart.

“Are you comin’ in for supper? Latrice will want to know—if she hasn’t already started somethin’.”

“I guess the hot dog is about gone,” he said, with a bit of a grin. “Maybe I could force down a biscuit or two and a glass of ice tea. I’ll see to feeding the stock first, then I’ll be up.”

She watched him walk away, limping slightly. An emotion that she couldn’t name but which made her feel weak and warm washed over her.

Pivoting quickly, she strode into the house. She straightaway placed the money on the table in front of Latrice, who was snapping green beans. Latrice dried her hands and began to count it.

“I stopped and paid the Overmans.”

Latrice’s eyebrows rose. “You might should have postponed that. We’re gonna need the cash.”

“I know . . . but I couldn’t. We’ll just have to go on trusting to be provided for.” Etta lifted the hair from the back of her damp neck. “I’m gonna go wash up. I’ll be back down to help with supper. Johnny said he’d come, too. He’s feedin’ the horses first.”

Her hand on the swinging door, she stopped, looked around. Then she rushed over to Latrice and hugged her. “I love you, Latrice. I’m so glad I’ve always had you.”

Latrice jumped and stared at her. “Well, I’m grateful to be here,” Latrice said, looking a little confounded.

Etta went on through the swinging door. Passing through the living room, she paused to touch the stained glass lamp with the cat-statue base that sat on the table with the telephone. She had seen a similarly ugly lamp at the fine used furniture shop. Opening her purse, she brought out the card the man there had given her. Thoughtfully she slipped the card beneath the edge of the telephone and then proceeded on upstairs.

In the bathroom she stripped off her clothes, took a sponge bath, and got into her robe. She considered what to put on to go downstairs. She thought she would wear the blue dress. Johnny seemed to like blue.

Passing hers and Roy’s bedroom, she stopped. The door was ajar. She pushed it open and looked inside. Golden beams from the setting sun slanted through one window and made a pattern on the flowered wallpaper. Faintly, Roy’s scent came to her.

She walked over to the bed and ran her hand along one of the dark, smoothly turned posts. She wondered how much money she could get in selling it.

She had bought the bed on a trip to Dallas, during the first weeks of their marriage. She had seen it on a shopping expedition and had returned to the hotel all excited and wanting Roy to see it—wanting his approval, his interest at the very least, but he had only kissed her and said, “You buy anything you like, honey. I don’t need to see it.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she grew very still. The child inside her fluttered, and she caressed her belly.

“Roy . . . I sold a bunch of your things, and your family’s things today. You surely don’t need them, and I need the money. I have to try to save this place for me and the baby and Latrice.”

It came to her that if anyone could appreciate her financial position, Roy certainly would. He had willingly given her all he could while he was alive; she didn’t think his being dead would change his sentiment.

“I did pretty good,” she told him. “You know your gold cuff links—the ones I gave you on our second anniversary? I got ten dollars more than I paid for them.”