Let me buy you another beer, she said. This’ll be my round.
Well, no, he said. Ma’am, I don’t believe I could do that. I better buy you one. Wouldn’t you let me do that?
But the next one’s on me. This is a new day, she said.
Ma’am?
I mean women are different now than they used to be. It’s all right for a woman to buy a man a drink in a barroom now.
I wouldn’t know a thing about that, Raymond said. I don’t believe I ever did know anything about women. There was just my mother and then this young girl that lived with us lately.
You mean the girl with the little child I saw visiting you in the hospital.
Yes ma’am. That would be her. That was Victoria Roubideaux. And her little daughter, Katie.
Where are they now? Don’t they still live with you?
No ma’am, not all the time. They’re off at school. In Fort Collins. She’s taking a course of study at college.
Good for her. But don’t you think you could call me something else? Ma’am makes me sound so old.
I might try, he said.
Good, she said. Now why don’t you tell me about them.
Victoria Roubideaux and Katie?
That’s right. They seem to mean a great deal to you.
Well yes, they do. They mean just about everything to me.
He began to talk to Linda May about the girl and her child, and he told her how it was that they had come to live with him and his brother in the country two and a half years ago, and after a while a table was vacated and they sat down across from each other and he allowed her to buy him a drink, though he insisted on buying the next round himself. He sat there in his hat and winter coat until the place closed, talking to this woman. He had never done such a thing before in his life.
It was late when he drove into the graveled drive and stopped at the gate in front of the old gray house. The temperature had fallen to zero and a pale half-sided moon was coming up in the eastern sky. He got out of the pickup and walked up the sidewalk onto the porch. Inside, the house felt empty and quiet. He hung his coat on its peg and went into the bathroom, then climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He turned the light on and everything there seemed quiet and desolate too. He looked around and finally sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off. He got undressed and put on his flannel striped pajamas and lay awake under the heavy blankets in the cold room, unable to sleep yet, thinking about the woman at the bar and about the old man and the boy, and he began to remember the time his brother was courting the woman in town and how that turned out. The moonlight was showing in the room, silver on the wall, and after a while he went to sleep, and in his sleep he dreamed of Victoria and Katie, knocking at the door of some house he didn’t recognize situated in some town he had never seen before in his life.
25
THERE WAS SNOW FALLING WHEN THEY CAME OUTSIDE Holt County Social Services at the rear of the courthouse in the evening. They had been in the long conference room for an hour, attending a class in the practice of parenthood, while Joy Rae and Richie played with the scarred tedious brightly colored toys in the waiting room and read the little broken-backed books, and during the hour they were all inside it had begun to snow. It was snowing hard now, piling up in the gutters along the street curbs and blowing up against the dark brick walls of the courthouse.
When they came outside, the children were wearing the cheap coats that were too big for them they had bought at the racks at the thrift store, and Betty had on an old calf-length red wool winter coat that was fastened in front with big safety pins. Luther wore only a thin black windbreaker, but he was warm even in that.
Hoo doggie, he said when they stepped out the door. Look at this snow.