I know you do, Rose said. She turned toward Betty and took her hand. I believe that, Rose said. But you’ve got to do better. If you don’t, they’ll have to be taken away.
Oh no, Betty cried. Oh God. Oh God. The blanket fell away from her shoulders and she jerked her hand free and began to snatch at her hair. They already taken my Donna away, she cried, and then she started to wail. They can’t take no more.
Betty, Rose said. She pulled at her arms. Betty, stop that and listen to me. Calm down now. We are not taking your kids away. It shouldn’t ever come to anything like that. I’m just trying to get you to see how serious this is. You have to do things differently. You have to change what you’ve been doing.
Betty wiped at her face. Her eyes were wet and miserable. Whatever you say, Rose, I’ll do it. Just don’t take my kids away from me. Please, don’t do that.
What about you, Luther? Are you willing to make some changes too?
Oh yes, ma’am, he said. I’m going to change right now.
Yes. Well, we’ll see about that. In any case you can start taking some parenting classes at night at Social Services. I’ll arrange for it. And I’ll come by here at least once a month to see how you’re doing. I won’t tell you when I’m coming, I’ll just show up. This will be in addition to your coming to my office to collect your food stamps. But the first thing, the most important thing, is that you have to agree not to let him stay here anymore. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?
Yes ma’am.
Do you promise?
Yes, Betty said. I promise.
I just hope he don’t break my back, Luther said. Quick’s he hears what we been talking about here today.
WHEN THE SHERIFF’S DEPUTY WALKED INTO THE LONG dim stale room at the Holt Tavern on the corner of Main Street and Third, Hoyt Raines was at the back shooting pool for quarters with an old man, and he had already begun drinking for the day. A glass of draft beer stood on the little table near the pool table, with an empty shot glass beside it and a cigarette smoking in a tin ashtray. Hoyt was bent over the table when the deputy walked in.
Raines?
Yeah.
I need to talk to you.
Go ahead and talk. I can’t stop you.
Let’s go outside.
What for? What’s this about?
Come out with me, the deputy said. I’ll tell you at the station.
Hoyt looked at him. He bent over the cue stick, lined up his shot, and knocked the seven in and said to nobody: Hoo boy. Hot dog. He stood and rounded the table and took a sip of his beer and drew on his cigarette.
Let’s go, Raines, said the deputy.
You ain’t told me what for yet.
I said I’d tell you when we get there.
Tell me now.
You don’t want other people to know about what I got to tell you.
What the fuck’s that suppose to mean?
You’ll know when we get there. Now let’s go.
The old man leaned back against the wall, looking from the deputy to Hoyt, and the bartender stood watching from behind the bar.
Well, if this ain’t the goddamn shits, Hoyt said. I’m shooting pool here. He drank from his glass. He looked at the old man. You owe me for this game, and the one before.
It ain’t over yet, the old man said.
Yeah it is. It’s close enough.
I was coming back on you.
You was coming back, my ass.
And this one would of put us even.
Listen, you old son of a bitch. There’s no way you was going to win this game and you still owe me for the last one.
Let’s go, the deputy said. Now.
I’m coming. But he still owes me. You all seen it. He owes me. I’ll see you boys this afternoon.
He downed the rest of the beer and set the glass on the table and sucked on the cigarette once more before stubbing it out. Then he walked out ahead of the deputy. On the sidewalk he said: You got your vehicle?