We better hurry, Betty said. These kids is going to get cold.
They walked out away from the old high redbrick courthouse. Above them the tiled roof was obscured by the falling snow. They crossed Boston, and, as yet, there were no tracks in the street from any passing cars. The snow came down thickly under the corner streetlight and they went on. The children scuffed their feet, making long dragging marks, and began to fall behind.
Betty turned to look at them. You kids, come on now, she said. Hurry up. Catch up with us.
You ain’t allowed to talk that way, Luther said. You suppose to be nice to them.
I am. I don’t want them to catch cold. We never should of took them out here in this.
How was we going to know it would come on snowing while we was in there in that room?
Well, they ain’t suppose to be out in something like this. Come on.
The children kicked and scuffed along the sidewalks. The atmosphere in the silent town seemed all blue around them. The snow muffled any sound and no one else was out walking. A single car went by, without noise or commotion, a block away, moving at the intersection, stately and quiet as a ship sailing on some silent ghostly sea. They crossed Chicago, then turned up Detroit toward home.
At the trailer they climbed the snow-filled steps and entered the house and removed their shoes at the door and walked out into the room in their stockings. Richie’s had gathered in damp wads around his toes, and his thin heels were scarlet.
You kids get on to bed now and get warm, Luther said. Tomorrow’s school.
Here, Betty said. What was you just telling me about how to talk to these kids right? That teacher said you got to ask them what they want, not just say it.
Oh, yeah, Luther said. Joy Rae, honey, you want anything? You want you a bedtime snack before you go off to sleep?
I want some hot chocolate, Joy Rae said.
What about you, Richie?
I want some pop.
Is he suppose to have pop at night?
I don’t know what he can have, Betty said. She never said nothing about no pop. You just suppose to ask him.
I asked him. He said he wants pop.
What kind of pop?
What kind of pop you want, Richie? You want strawberry? We got black cherry.
Strawberry, Richie said.
Betty brought the drinks and they sat down at the kitchen table. Luther took a package of lasagna from the freezer and put it in the microwave, and it came out steaming and he set it on the table, and Betty got down paper plates left over from a birthday party and they began to eat.
When they were finished, Luther and Betty walked the children back to their bedrooms and left the door open at Richie’s room so he could see the light in the hall. Then Luther went into his and Betty’s room, and he undressed and got into bed in his underwear and stretched out. The bed sagged and complained under his weight. Dear, he called, ain’t you coming to bed?
In a minute, Betty said. But she had stayed in the front room and was sitting on the couch now, watching the snow falling in the front yard and out in Detroit Street. After a while she took up the phone, set it in her lap, and made a call to a house in Phillips. A woman answered.
I’d like to speak to Donna, please, Betty said. I want to talk to Donna Jean.
Who’s calling? the woman said.
This is her mother.
Who?
Her mother. This is Betty Wallace.
You, the woman said. You’re not supposed to call here. Don’t you know that?
I want to talk to her. I ain’t going to do nothing.
It’s against the regulations.
I won’t hurt her. I wouldn’t hurt her for nothing in the world.
Listen to me. You want me to put her on the phone and have her tell you herself you’re not her mother anymore? Is that what you want me to do?