The Evening Hour (10 page)

Inside, he found his grandmother alone in the family room. He'd been surprised by how talkative she'd been, telling stories, laughing. Describing his grandfather in ways Cole didn't know—as gentle and kind, playful even. Now she looked sad and tired and old.

“I just want to set here for a while.”

He told her he was sorry for all the drinking that was going on.

“In the morning, the Lord'll be talking to them.”

“That's true,” he said. He wasn't sure if she knew he'd been drinking or not.

“You go out and visit some more. I'd like to be alone for a little bit.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. At the doorway, he turned back, saw her staring at her hands, the way his grandfather used to do.

On the front porch, the women were laughing, wiping their eyes. Aunt Esther lifted a jelly jar to her lips. At first he thought nothing of it, then he realized. “You all drunk?”

Connie laughed. “Oh, we're just taking a little sup.”

“Aunt Esther,” he said. “I can't believe it.”

“I just had a swallow, don't look so shocked.” She glanced at Naomi and Rebecca. “My sisters don't approve, it's just me. Tonight, I'm the backslider.”

“We're just talking about old times, Cole,” Connie said. “Jawing the night away, laughing and a-crying.”

“Telling stories on each other,” added Pearl.

This set them off again into a fit of laughter. Cole didn't know what to say. He'd never seen a woman as old as Pearl drunk before. He started back in, but Connie told him to stay. He sat on the top step and listened to them tell stories about their husbands and kids; he took a nip when the booze was passed to him. A pair of headlights cut through the night. For a moment everyone was quiet and still like a herd of deer.

“Who could that be?” Rebecca asked.

“Somebody running late,” Pearl offered.

A little car, chugging and spitting smoke, pulled in next to Pearl and Walter's RV. The driver cut the engine and the headlights went dim. Naomi stood, clasping her hands together like she was praying. Then a figure stepped out of the car, a woman, and she was waving and walking toward them. Someone hit the porch light; suddenly everything was too bright.

“Who in the world?” wondered Pearl, her smoke curling in the air like a tiny snake.

Slowly, Cole stood, backing up until he was against the door, knowing but not knowing.

“Oh my Lord,” whispered Rebecca. “Oh my Lord.”

As she stepped into the light, she looked the same and yet different. She wore a skirt and a black shirt that was cut low and Cole blushed, he hadn't remembered her looking like that, breasts spilling out, but then he saw her face and it was not changed: wide brow, strong cheekbones, and furious, lovely eyes.

“God heard my prayers.”

Cole turned. His grandmother stood at the screen door, the hall light shining behind her. He'd never seen so much love and pain twisted into a person's face at once. She came outside and stood next to him and held his hand. Cole's tongue thick and hurting with words never spoken.

“You made it, sis,” Naomi said. Cole looked sharply at his aunt—the only one who was not surprised. She'd known all along.

Suddenly, the spell broke: Connie nearly jumped on top of Ruby, laughing, and then all of the sisters hugged her and looked her over as if they wanted to make sure she was real. Only Cole and his grandmother stayed back.

“I thought I would get here in time,” Ruby said.

When she spoke, Cole's grandmother squeezed his hand, and he understood: hearing her voice made him feel like he couldn't breathe.

Pearl took her by the shoulders, looked her over, and stared dramatically at her chest. “All I can say is, He-lloooo, Dolly.”

After an awkward pause, Ruby burst out laughing. “I got them done last year.” The sisters looked at each other, speechless, but Connie and Pearl laughed.

Now she was walking up the steps. “Mama,” she said.

His grandmother let go of his hand and began to cry. She clutched her youngest daughter, who said, “I'm sorry about Daddy, I'm so sorry.”

Cole wanted more than anything to be invisible, but she'd seen him and he could feel her eyes on him and he looked at her and his jaw tensed. His grandfather was right, she was a whore and she'd given birth to a whore's son.

“Would you look at that pretty hair,” she said.

His mother was not weeping and neither was he. They never would. They stood staring at each other and all around them the talking and laughing and crying continued, and the uncles and cousins had come around from the backyard like dogs sensing the excitement, but still it felt as if it was just the two of them, and when she reached out to touch him, he moved out of the way and hurried down the steps. He scrambled into his pickup and didn't look back. He had his keys, his cigarettes. He would go as far he could until he stopped hearing her voice and the voice of his grandfather, calling for her.

Part Two

Chapter 8

He heard Virginia Mcgee before he even stepped into her room, her labored breathing like a dying motor. Virginia weighed nearly four hundred pounds and was diabetic and could not get out of bed. It took two or three aides to turn her, so that she didn't get bedsores. She used to make jokes about running off to join the circus, but now she rarely spoke. Her pained breath sputtered into a wheeze. Cole rested his hand on hers, waiting, and when the wheezing subsided, he picked up a pink plastic brush from the nightstand and she murmured her appreciation as he stroked her long hair. Virginia's hair was shiny and silver and thick. People said that she'd broke many hearts in her day. Everyone in the nursing home agreed that she had the nicest hair.

Here, nothing had changed. Cole delivered clean towels and spooned pureed dinners into ancient mouths. The old people depended on him. He bathed them, shook them awake from their nightmares, listened to their stories. Some of the residents knew about his granddaddy and told Cole they were sorry. They held his hands, their cockled skin stretched tightly over brittle bone. He thanked them. He imagined them as skeletons. They said Now he is with God. They said Now he is bathed in golden light. They said Now he is watching over Cole from above.

He would rather be near the residents who said little, like Virginia, and avoid those like Mabel Johnson, the old black woman who never forgot anything. Yesterday when he picked up the rest of his grandfather's belongings, he ran into her in the hall, and she said in an ominous voice, “Your granddaddy was right, the end of the world is at hand. I'm ready to be taken up there with the angels, just like him.”

Virginia's eyes were only partway open. Cole set the brush aside and didn't bother closing the door, almost as if he wanted to be caught, to bring an end to this. He knew that each week Virginia's daughter brought gifts and left stashes of emergency cash; he opened a dresser drawer, shuffling through granny underwear and thin socks, and found a half-empty bottle of Xanax, which he slipped in his pocket. Another drawer held family pictures, hardtack candy, old Christmas cards. Someone said his name. He looked up, his heart racing.

It was Ellen. She stood in the doorway, looked more startled than he felt.

“Cole,” she said softly. “What are you doing?”

He thought about how he looked, squatting, rummaging. But then he saw that she didn't really want to know.

“Virginia wanted to look at pictures.” He grabbed a handful and held them close to Virginia's face. “Here's those pictures you wanted,” he said loudly.

Virginia smiled, her eyes still half closed. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Ellen looked relieved. She asked Cole if he wanted to take a coffee break. He shook his head. “I'm all right.”

“Cole, I'm asking you, take a break with me.”

The bottle of Xanax jostled against his thigh and he wondered how much she'd seen. “I guess if you're that insistent.”

They went out to the back patio and sat on green plastic chairs.

“I'm sorry I couldn't go to the funeral.” Ellen sipped coffee from a foam cup; her eyes peered over the rim.

“It's all right. You had to work.”

“Was it a nice service?”

“It was all right.”

He smoked quickly, thinking of the drugs, the stolen money, the postcards under his bed. He felt unguarded. “My mom's here,” he said. “I haven't seen her since I was a kid.”

Ellen raised her eyebrows. “Where's she been?”

“All over. Before this, she was living in Pennsylvania. That's what my aunt said.”

“And she just came out of the blue?”

“My aunt Naomi's been in touch with her, but she didn't tell me, can you believe that shit?”

“Wow. What's it like not seeing anyone for that long?”

“I don't know. Weird.” He shrugged. “She's at my grandma's, but I ain't gone to see her yet.”

The door opened and the newest aide, just a year out of high school, asked if someone could help her. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. Cole started to put out his cigarette, but Ellen motioned for him to stay. “I'll take care of it.”

He hadn't meant to tell Ellen. He hadn't talked to anyone about it. He had a million questions for Ruby, but every time he thought of seeing her, he felt sick and angry and scared. His mind buzzed, his stomach fluttered. He wasn't ready. The night of the funeral, he'd driven around the county until he couldn't see straight, the lines in the road blurring, the trees curving around his truck, until he finally ended up at his aunt's. It was one in the morning, but Naomi and Kay were up, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting.

“I was afraid you got in a wreck,” Kay had said.

Naomi's eyes were swollen from crying. “Cole, I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

He looked at his cousin. “You knew too?”

“I didn't know she'd really come back,” Kay said quietly. “I didn't know that.”

He felt furious and betrayed as his aunt tried to explain. About a year ago she'd gotten a call from Ruby, but they had talked only a few times. “I didn't want to disappoint you if she didn't show up,” Naomi said. “She made me swear not to say anything. She was scared you wouldn't want to see her.”

“Well, I don't,” he said.

That night, after he had left his aunt's, he didn't go home, worried that Ruby might be waiting for him. Instead he slept in the back of his truck with a couple of ratty blankets thrown over the top of him, shivering but refusing to move into the cab. He'd not slept outside since he was a teenager, when he and Terry Rose used to go up to Rockcamp Point with sleeping bags and a couple of joints, when the moon would shine over them and they were not afraid.

He didn't think about where he was going until he was there. He saw the brothers' pickups, so he parked around the bend and walked up the back way, startling a flock of mourning doves. He crept feline-like up to the open window and stacked two cinder blocks on top of each other to give him a boost. The room was a mess, just the way he remembered it. He saw her tangled in the sheets, bleached hair the same color as his pressed against the pillow like a bunch of dandelions. He felt a catch in his throat. She was alone. He said her name. She rustled, pulled the blankets to her chin.

“Charlotte,” he hissed again, the cinder blocks wobbling. He called her several times before she finally opened her eyes. When she saw him, she screamed.

“Charlotte, it's Cole. Shh, it's just me.”

She clutched the pillow to her chest.

“God, Cole, what the hell are you doing?” She climbed out of bed wearing nothing but a T-shirt and little black panties, and helped him crawl through the window.

“It's not even six o'clock.”

“Well, you know me,” he said.

He removed his muddy boots and sat beside her and hoped the brothers didn't come busting through the door. Then he remembered that they slept like rocks. Charlotte eyed him warily and he thought how he must look, unshaven and rumpled and bleary-eyed. She didn't look much better.

“You gonna tell me why you were breaking into my house?”

“I wanted to see you.” He hesitated. “You want me to leave?”

“No,” she said, her face softening. “I heard about your granddaddy. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.”

“You okay?”

“I'm all right.”

She fluffed up the pillows behind them and they sat side by side, not touching.

“How's your grandma?”

“Well, she's got my mother to look after her now.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “She's back?”

He nodded.

“That's crazy. You ever seen her before?”

“Once. When I was ten.” He lit a cigarette. “She taught me how to shoot pool.”

Ruby had taken him to a trucker bar and told him if he was really her son, then he better learn how to play pool. Leaning over him, she had held his hand on the cue stick, her hair falling onto his shoulder. He'd never been around anyone so pretty before and could hardly look at her. When he knocked in a stripe, she whistled, You're a natural, and he blushed with delight. But when they took a break, she seemed distracted, nursing a drink. Then she told him that she was leaving in the morning. His tongue had felt heavy and flat, and after a few false starts, stuttering wildly, he asked her to take him with her. She had looked at him, then laughed:
Lord, it would have to be over Daddy's dead body.
That night they slept on Esther's pullout couch, and his mother promised she'd be back for him one day.
I know he's a crazy son of a bitch, but he treats you all right, don't he?
Cole nestled deeper into her arms, afraid to speak. When he woke the next morning, she was gone.

A door slammed and he jumped, but Charlotte said, “Shh, they're just getting up for work,” and she put her hand on his chest and let it stay there like the folded wing of a bird. They listened to the heavy footsteps, the hacking and grumbling, until all three mules were out the door.

“What's your mama like?”

“I don't want to talk about her.” He looked at her hard. “How come you ain't left? I thought you'd be gone by now.”

“You know how it goes. But things are going to be different. I'm cleaning up.” She moved her hand underneath his T-shirt, her fingers light on his skin, and he felt a spark of heat in his belly.

“I got fired,” she said.

“Oh shit.”

“Terry tried to talk them out of it, but there wasn't much he could do. I'm looking for something else. Put my application in a couple of places. Once I get some money saved, I'm planning on getting out of this shit-hole.”

She dropped her cigarette in a half-empty beer bottle, and then he did the same. She leaned over and kissed him, tasting like morning, and he reached for her thighs, her flesh warm and familiar in his hands. The ink on her skin rose like blood, and he felt the tattoos wrap over him like vines, like muscles. But when he stopped to tear open a condom, Charlotte grew distracted. “Maybe we shouldn't,” she said.

“Why not?”

Sighing, she pulled him toward her. “Come here, just come here.” She opened her legs and dug her nails into his shoulders, but her eyes were closed and the motions she made were half-assed, like she was bored.

“You want me to stop?”

“No, don't stop.” She wrapped her legs tighter around him. “Don't stop.”

Afterward, they lay next to each other, not touching, staring at the ceiling. The plastic stars dull and cheap-looking in the morning light.

“You're lucky you caught me alone,” Charlotte finally said.

“Well, I was wondering.” He sat up. “You seeing somebody new?”

“Yeah.”

He expected as much, but still, the words cut through him. “Not that old boy you were dancing with at the Eagle?”

“No, God no.” She also sat up, drawing her knees to her chest.

“That was fucked up,” he said.

“I know, sorry.”

“Well, who is it?”

“I ain't telling you.”

He grabbed her foot. “Is it a guy?”

Laughing, she kicked his hand away. “Yes, it's a guy.”

“You ever been with a girl?”

“Mister Curious. When did you get so talkative?” She smiled playfully. “I've been with a few, nobody you would know.” She poked his chest. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ever been with a guy?”

“Real fucking funny.”

“Maybe you should try it, you might like it.”

He pounced and pinned her to the mattress, and she was laughing and squealing. He felt her underneath him, the wetness and heat of her. But she twisted and turned, and he let go.

“You got some sick ideas,” he said.

She told him not to be so closed-minded. Then she tapped his face, right under his eyes. “You look sad.”

“I'm just tired. I haven't gotten much sleep.”

She told him to try. He closed his eyes. He smelled her familiar scent and felt her skin next to his. Memories rose up and broke apart and disappeared.

“I thought you couldn't sleep,” she said.

Charlotte was looking down at him like he was a fish rising to the surface. He jumped, then glanced at the clock. It was just past ten.

“You need to get laid more often,” she said. “But not by me.”

He remembered his dream: thousands of black crows soaring in the sky, raindrops the size of pinwheels. “Something bad is on its way.”

“You're no prophet, Cole. You never figure anything out until it's over and done with.”

“My grandma always said crows were messengers,” he started, but Charlotte interrupted.

“You got something to tide me over?”

“I thought you were cleaning up.”

“It's a slow process. You got something or not?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

“I'm getting more tomorrow. But I ain't selling to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever.” She pulled on a pair of panties. “I heard that meth can get you off Oxy.”

“You need help that bad?”

“I don't need anything.” Then she said, “I don't think we should see each other anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It's not what I need. Not what you need either.”

“What do I need?”

“What you need to do is to go home.”

“I'm going, all right?”

“No, honey, I'm serious. What you need to do is go home and see your mama.”

Another week went by before Cole followed Charlotte's advice. Naomi had been calling, begging him not to be so stubborn. “She wants to see you,” she said. “She came back here for you.” He didn't believe her. Though he was no longer angry with his aunt, he still felt afraid to see his mother. His grandmother called only once. “I'm praying for you,” was all she said. For the past week he'd been driving by the house, gazing at his mother's car. Today, for the first time, the Camry was not in the driveway. His stomach dropped. He killed the engine. His grandmother came to the door.