“You’re gonna stay awhile?” he asked in Kit’s direction. He looked hopeful.
“Awhile,” she said, still too stressed to garnish her words. Eleanor cranked on the engine and stuck her arm out the window as a farewell.
The dark, quiet drive back to Eleanor’s helped to settle Kit’s nerves. She wondered if she ought to be ashamed for acting the way she did, but it wasn’t her habit to repent. Manny had told her never to apologize, even to him. He had said that if she went around being sorry all the time people would sniff out her weakness and exploit it. But now she was with nice, straight people, people who lived together and stayed put. She tried to give Larry the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the old cowboy was just being friendly. Or maybe he was still a jackass but just an average jackass. Maybe she didn’t need to launch a nuclear response when someone bothered her. More than anything, she worried Eleanor would be disappointed in her.
Eleanor broke the silence. “Well, I can tell you one thing. That isn’t the last time ol’ Larry is gonna put his foot in his mouth,” she said. “But he’s gonna think twice before doing it with you.”
“I guess I didn’t have to stick him with a fork,” said Kit.
“He had it coming to him,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “He was way out of line.”
Kit laughed, grateful that her aunt didn’t fault her.
“Apart from Larry,” Eleanor said, turning on her high beams as they crossed over the creek, black and glassy in the dark, “what did you think of the supper?”
Kit wished her honest answer were also positive. She didn’t want to hurt Eleanor’s feelings, but she had nothing good to say. “I just don’t get it,” Kit said after a while. “Does everyone really enjoy being together all the time? Don’t you run out of things to talk about?”
Eleanor laughed. “To be honest, I find the conversation dull mostly—weather, cattle, so-and-so is late on their payments to such-and-such,” she said and leaned in, “but the gossip can be pretty juicy.”
Kit just shook her head. “Is that why people get together, to talk about each other?”
“Well, kind of,” Eleanor said, “but it’s more than that. The backbiting is just a fearful way of saying we care, we’re interested. Take Caleb’s mama, Vera. She drinks too much. Fact all she does is drink. And she blames it on the death of her husband—tragic, really, had a heart attack in the shower and fell and cracked his skull. Coroner said he woulda survived the heart attack, but it was the fall that killed him.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Anyhow, the drinking got worse after Bud died, but she had always liked getting drunk more than anything, even more than she liked her kids.”
“But what’s the use in telling me that?” Kit asked. “It’s none of my business.”
“Well, I’m getting to that. On account of being nosy, people took it upon themselves to look after Caleb and his brother. You know, offer them rides when his mama was too drunk to drive, or give them after-school jobs to keep them out of her hair. Take them to the movies—you know, fill in the gaps.”
Kit felt a slap of jealousy at the thought of so many helpers quietly raising those boys. She crossed her arms and held herself.
“Doesn’t it drive you nuts, though? People prying into your personal life?”
Eleanor thought for a bit and sighed. “I think we take the good with the bad because no one really wants to be alone. People need other people. That’s just how it is.”
Kit pressed her forehead against the window and gazed out. The moon, just waning, brushed the treetops in its light. They drove through the center of town, everything closed save the diner, with its steeply slanted roof and neon sign that read quality food. coffee. pie. A beacon in the night. The idea of Eleanor had been a beacon to her, guiding her to better times. And she had been right to follow its light. This baby would need someone like her aunt, someone who was excited about flipping a pancake or naming a chicken. Kit probably needed her, too. But the trade-off, all these people stuck to one spot and her stuck right there with them, was overwhelming.
She had felt more alone in that throng of friendly people than she had on the road so many years ago, kicking through tall grasses, trying to find home. With Manny it had been simple, a planet of two. She realized how much he had shielded her from having to deal with others. He always drew the attention his way, turned on his brilliant charm, while she did her job—picking pockets, lifting jewelry—in his shadow.
She imagined raising this child with him, passing down all the little lessons he had taught her, and felt at once a wistfulness for the order of it and ashamed for having nothing better to give her baby. No religion, no manners, no reliable sense of right and wrong. She had been so sure of herself when she drove away from Manny, choosing what had felt like a better path. She had been so focused on the reasons she had to get away from him, she hadn’t known how flimsy she would feel without him and the life they had built together. Right or wrong, she missed him now more than ever.
Chapter Eighteen
Kit had spent the morning picking dewberries all up and down the farm road that led to the ranch house. She picked and picked until she had filled a kitchen-size garbage bag with berries and brought it home to Eleanor for canning. Eleanor had a giant pot of water on the boil and on every flat surface were dozens of mason jars drying on towels.
“Sweet Lord, that’s a lot of fruit,” her aunt said and peered inside the bag Kit was holding open for her. “I’m gonna need some more jars.” She rummaged around the little makeshift desk she had set up on the counter nearest to the telephone and started sketching equations. “Let’s see, that’s a thirteen-gallon bag and the jars hold a pint each . . .”
“Is it too much?” Kit asked, suddenly worried she had messed up. “I could eat what you don’t can, or—”
“No!” Eleanor said. She flapped her hands as if to tamp down any misunderstanding. “It’s marvelous! An embarrassment of riches! I’m just tickled. It’s just I’ve never gotten more than a couple gallons. How far down did you go?”
“Oh, I don’t know, nearly up to the bridge.”
“Up to the bridge? That’s a half a mile of pickin’.” She shook her head. “You’re a little worker bee, aren’t you?” Kit was almost embarrassed by the praise and by how much she liked hearing she had done good.