“Cattle?” Kit asked. She imagined a great sweeping ranch like the ones she had driven past, with their grand limestone entrances and pastures that seemed to stretch out forever.
“Oh, yes, he bred the last of the longhorns. They were a wild breed, you know, left behind after the Spanish came and ravaged the land and everyone in it. The cattle that remained had to adapt or die. You couldn’t kill a longhorn if you tried—heat, pests, disease, predators. They survived it all. That was a long time ago now. They’ve gone out of fashion because they don’t fatten up like the new hybrids do, and because of the spread of their horns, you can’t pack them into cattle cars. People need their beef, I suppose.”
Kit could scarcely believe these were her people. She strained to imagine herself growing up in a home like that, among beautiful animals, a place with history and purpose, but the girl in her mind had someone else’s face.
“Lloyd was a marvelous breeder but he couldn’t adapt. Or wouldn’t.” Eleanor was quiet for a moment. Her eyes switched back and forth as if she were replaying a scene in her mind.
“He was a drinker before the bust, but after? He pretty much pickled himself. Stuck there in that easy chair with a glass in one hand and a ciggie in the other, one leg crossed over the other like it was glued there. I’d go visit and bring food and try to be a good influence on Marie, but boy she wasn’t having any of it. She was a cold mystery, your mother. Wither you with a look. Reckless, always sneaking out, running with boys, more a danger to others than to herself, though. Selfish as the devil. I suppose she had to be, after what Ruthie did.”
“What do you mean?” Kit asked, feeling like she might not want to hear any more.
“Ruth took her own life,” Eleanor said, with a sigh. “Young. I’ve never met anyone so disappointed in the world. I think she had Marie hoping a child would make her want to live for something. Marie must have been seven or eight when her mother died. Lloyd went broke trying to sell cattle nobody wanted, and then his wife killed herself, and Marie was stuck with him, a failed businessman and a widower. He didn’t know how to braid a girl’s hair or talk to her about love, and I can’t imagine he was any good at helping her understand what had happened to her mother. She got the hell out of there as soon as it was legal.”
Kit stayed silent. A great, heavy sadness rolled through her. Was misery her only link to these people? What good could this unborn child know with these genes? Was she condemned to a pained existence like all those who came before her? Kit was terrified of passing down this family gloom.
She closed her eyes and imagined the life inside her. A glowing, orange being, a beating heart. She exhaled. There was a subtle shift within, like the baby was changing position, then a settling. Had she imagined it? But it had been as real as a smile, there one moment, gone the next, leaving only a happy feeling behind. The child, she realized, had chosen to move and seek comfort. True, the little one was a part of her, and made of her, but it was also separate from her, capable, even now, of choice. Her fears receded, and what remained was love. Maybe the world was shit, maybe she couldn’t count on anyone, even family. She couldn’t change her blood, or her upbringing, or any of the things she had done, but she knew in her heart she would do whatever she could to bring this baby happiness.
Chapter Seventeen
When Kit woke up in a wooden twin bed with western chintz sheets, she wondered for a minute what motel room she was in and how she’d gotten there. Out of habit, she rolled over and extended her leg to hook over Manny’s and nearly slipped out of bed. She could hear chickens grazing outside the window. When she opened her eyes, she saw curtains that matched the sheets she was tangled in. A belly flop feeling hit her as she remembered peeling away without him, the murder in his eyes. Ditching the Mustang once she’d covered enough ground, walking, then running, in a daze before arriving, finally, in Pecan Hollow. She had betrayed him, left him alone to pay for their crimes. He would be outraged, even vengeful. Maybe she deserved to be locked up as much as he did, but it wasn’t just about her now.
After the belly flop, relief. Days ago, the idea of leaving Manny had seemed impossible. He had been the clever one, always holding the cards. Even after she decided to leave, she hadn’t known how to put a plan into action. There was life with Manny, and beyond that, nothingness. But a plan had unfolded for her. Manny’s terrible idea to hold up the BBQ joint had created an opening for her to see him more clearly, as violent and selfish and a threat. And although he had for so long carried her heart in his hands, she had answered the call to something more powerful than her fear of leaving him. Something holy glimmered in her heart. She rested her hand below her belly button and closed her eyes. She repeated her vow to protect her child and whispered a reassurance to them both. We are safe, little one.
She lay there long enough to notice the light change around her. The hurt she had felt yesterday on learning that Eleanor could have saved her and didn’t was not so heavy as it had been. She was here, at last, with Eleanor, and yet she didn’t feel like family, and sure didn’t look it either.
Smells of breakfast—hot coffee, sweet baked things, and hickory—lured Kit from the comfort of the bed. She pulled on her jeans and went downstairs, bashful at the intimacy of having slept in this stranger’s home. Eleanor stood at the stove, poking a panful of bacon with a fork. Behind her, the table was set for two and already covered in breakfast enough for six—a pitcher of orange juice, a basket of biscuits, butter and jam, sausages and eggs, sunny-side up.
“Sorry, you expecting company?” Kit said and glanced out the window.
“Oh! You’re up,” Eleanor said. “I hope I didn’t wake you. You need your rest, much more than you think. Here.” She pulled out a chair for Kit. “Get started without me—I’m putting the last crisp on the bacon, but you might as well dig in while the rest of it’s hot!”
“I don’t feel right letting you wait on me, ma’am,” Kit said, with manners she had rarely been called upon to use.
“Bullshit! For God’s sakes, child, you’re pregnant, you’ve been on the road, just set there like I said and let me take care of you.”
“At least let me—”
Eleanor shushed her and held the plate of foaming, popping bacon in front of her.
“Subject closed,” she said. “Here, take all you can eat. I’m not supposed to touch the stuff.” She looked sad, briefly, then held up a finger, remembering something, set the bacon on the table. Kit took a clawful and dropped it on her plate. Eleanor was bent over the sink, drinking out of the faucet.
“Forgot to take my little pill,” she said, then turned off the faucet and sat down at the table. Some water had run down her neck and chest, and she wiped it away.
Kit ate as her aunt monitored her every bite, head rising ever so slightly in sync with Kit’s fork.