Read Online Bent Road by Lori Roy - Free Book Online Page B

sneaking off like she did. A God damned whore wearing a pink band in her hair who had no business feeding the folks who thought he stole their girl. He had seen those Wichita men down at Izzy’s café. Thought he’d have himself a decent God damned breakfast for once but then he sees those men with Floyd. Those God damned Wichita men tipped their hats at him, told him what a pleasant wife he had and what good coffee Ruth brewed up for them. Whole damn town is talking about it now. Everyone talking about how much that girl looked like Eve, talking about it like it means something. Ruth couldn’t lie when Ray asked if they’d been to talk to her but promised him that she only told those men the truth—that Ray’d been home all night, eating meat loaf and strawberry pie. The truth is all. Ray had stood for a long time, his good eye staring at Ruth before he kicked the silver frame across the floor into the kitchen. As Ruth crawled after it, glass crackling under her knees, he lifted the same boot and kicked her in the back and again in the left side of the head. When Ruth woke, he was gone.
    A door slams and Arthur’s truck fires up. Gravel crunches beneath his tires as he slowly backs up and starts down the driveway. The truck stops when it passes the front of the house, idles there for a moment, and the sound of the engine fades as he drives away.

Chapter 7
    Celia stands at Reesa’s stove, a place she finds herself now every Sunday after church services, with a teaspoon in hand and a checkered apron tied at her waist. Using her forearm to brush the hair from her eyes, she inhales the steam rising off a pot of simmering chicken broth, turns her head and coughs. The others sit behind her at the kitchen table. They are watching her, waiting for her, crossing and uncrossing their legs. The vinyl seat covers squeak as they shift positions. Someone drums his fingers on the table. Someone else sighs. Someone’s stomach growls.
    “Once it boils, you can start dropping dumplings,” Reesa says. “Be sure that dough is plenty thick this time. Add more flour if it calls you to.”
    “And use small spoonfuls,” Elaine says. “Jonathon and Dad like the small noodles. Right, Dad?”
    Arthur doesn’t answer. He knows better, Celia thinks, tapping her teaspoon on the side of the pot. The drumming fingers stop.
    “Next time,” Reesa says, “set the burner on high and we won’t be holding up lunch until that broth boils. Lord a mercy. Father Flannery will be preaching next Sunday’s mass before those noodles are done.”
    Celia digs a spoon into the thick batter and flashes a toothy grin at her mother-in-law whose large body spills over the chair. Scooping up a wad of dough the size of a chicken egg, she holds it over the pot, not really intending to drop it in, but wanting to enjoy the feeling of ruining Sunday lunch before dropping in a proper sized dumpling—one the size of a nickel. But as she holds the dough over the simmering broth, she hears a loud pop that startles her and the dumpling wad falls. Hot broth slashes her arms and face. She jumps back.
    “Ray’ll have to get that fixed one of these days,” Arthur says at the sound of Ray’s truck backfiring a second time. He stands, glances out the kitchen widow and walks toward the back door.
    Jonathon scoots back from the table and pulls out Elaine’s chair for her. “Let’s give it a look,” he says.
    As the three of them walk from the kitchen, leaving Celia and Reesa alone, Celia turns her back on the stove, the chicken broth bubbling up behind her, and leans over the sink so she can see out the window. Ray hasn’t moved from behind the steering wheel and the engine is choking and sputtering. In the passenger seat, Ruth sits with her head lowered. Celia crosses her arms and smiles, thinking she’ll have to tease Arthur for all his worrying. All through church, he had fidgeted, shifting in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he watched the doors