Eventide by Kent Haruf

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.

 
    8
    W HEN ROSE TYLER CAME OUT FROM THE KITCHEN TO THE front door of her house on a weekday night in the fall, the sky above the trees was heavily clouded and there was the smell in the air of rain coming, and on the doorstep under the yellow porch light stood Betty Wallace with the two children and out in the yard in the dry grass in the shadow of a tree was Luther Wallace looking big and hulking and dark.
    Betty, Rose said. Is something the matter?
    I didn’t want to bother you this time of night, Betty said. But I got an emergency. Could you drive me and my kids over to my aunt’s house? She looked out at Luther in the front yard. He’s being mean to me.
    Do you want to come inside?
    Yes. But he don’t have to. I’m mad at him.
    Perhaps he better come too so we can all talk this over.
    Well, he better behave hisself.
    Rose called to Luther and he came up on the porch. He looked sad and disturbed. Even in the cool night air he was sweating, his great wide face as red as flannel. I never done nothing to her, he said.
    You ain’t at home now, Betty said. You better behave yourself at Rose’s house.
    Well, you better be quiet and shut your mouth and not tell no lies to people.
    I ain’t telling no lies. What I tell is the truth.
    There’s things I can tell too.
    You don’t have no reason to tell something on me.
    Yes sir, I do.
    Here now, Rose said. We’re going to be civil. Or you can both go on back home.
    You hear? Betty said. You better mind Rose.
    Well, she ain’t just talking to me.
    Hush, Rose said.
    They entered the house through the front hall and went into the living room, and Joy Rae and her brother Richie looked at everything with a kind of awe and surprise, as if they were seeing a set display of furniture and paintings arranged for view in a city museum. They sat down with their mother on the flowered couch and were very quiet and still—only their eyes moved, looking at everything. Luther had started to sit in a wood rocker but it was too small and Rose brought him a chair from the kitchen. He sat down carefully, testing with his hand for the seat of the chair.
    Betty, why don’t you start, Rose said. You said you wanted to go to your aunt’s house. What was that about?
    That was about he’s being mean to me, Betty said. He just slapped me for no reason. I never did nothing to him.
    I never either slapped her, Luther said.
    Oh, he’s the one lying now.
    I just pushed her a little. Because she did something to me. Well, she said I was eating too much.
    When was this? Rose said.
    Bout a hour ago, Betty said. Joy Rae wasn’t eating her dinner and he tells her you better—
    I said you better eat if you want to keep your strength up.
    No. He says you better eat or I’m going to eat it for you. Joy Rae, she said she didn’t want it. Said she was sick of this same old food all the time. So then he took her macaroni-cheese dinner off her plate and ate it looking right at her. I guess you’ll eat it