“Ruth, get in my truck.” Nate’s eyes burned. “I’m taking you home.”
Joe stiffened. “Ruth, get in the car. Now.”
Why wouldn’t her mind work? She had come with Joe, hadn’t she? There were questions…she bent to slide into the car, only to be grabbed and pulled back out.
“I’m taking her home,” Nate said, “so I know she’ll be safe.” Ruth felt him pull her, but her feet were stuck. “The shape she’s in, it’s hard to tell what you might do to her.”
Joe swore and lunged.
Nate released her, and she fell to the ground.
The two men tumbled in the dirt, arms flailing around a hurricane of dust.
She watched until her eyes became too heavy to hold open.
21
Saturday, June 29
Ruth wished the pounding would stop. She eased open her eyes to discover she was in her own living room. Gripping the sides of her head, she slid off the couch, hit the coffee table, and landed on the floor, a stream of unwelcomed light cascading across her body.
She remembered going to dinner with Joe, but she came home with…Nate? Joe’s snarling face filled the backdrop of her swirling memory. Sometime during the night, she had awakened on her bed with a blanket spread over her. Undulating shadows drove her to the kitchen for a knife. Holding the weapon in front of her, she crept to the living room to wait for Joe.
Joe! She sucked in a lungful of air and struggled off the floor. Digging within the folds of the blanket, she finally spotted what she was searching for: the knife. Grabbing the handle, she sat heavily on the couch and clutched the knife close to her chest.
The pounding continued. “Ruth, if you don’t answer the door, I’ll call the police. I’m worried about you.”
Ruth pushed the knife beneath a couch cushion before answering the door.
“Are you all right?” Betsy burst into the room. “Chet wouldn’t let me come until after lunch, and when you didn’t answer the door…” She held Ruth at arms’ length. “Well, all kinds of horrible things flew through my mind.”
“Why are you here?” Nausea squeezed Ruth’s stomach.
“Nate stopped by last night. I’ve never seen him so angry. He said you were drunk, and he drove you home.”
Shame flushed Ruth’s face. “I’ve never been drunk before, Betsy. I promise.” She fell among the floral throw pillows on the couch. “I told Nate about the baby yesterday morning. Actually, Joe told him, and then things got really out of control.”
“I know. He told us.”
Ruth squeezed out a dry laugh. “I can imagine.”
“He was worried about you. That’s why he followed you last night. He figured Joe would try something.”
Ruth shrugged her shoulders. “Why should Nate care?”
“He’s trying to figure that out himself. Men are slow-witted sometimes.”
Ruth pulled herself upright and her stomach heaved. She took a few shallow breaths.
Betsy walked toward the kitchen. “You need something to eat.”
“I’m fine if you want to go home.”
Cupboard doors opened and closed. Water splashed in the sink. Betsy returned, a red plastic tray in hand.
“I didn’t see any greasy food or coffee, which is what you really need.” Betsy placed the tray on the coffee table. “This is all I could find. A peanut butter sandwich, apple slices, and a glass of water.”
Ruth nibbled the sandwich and was surprised her stomach accepted the food. But then, her body was probably ninety percent peanut butter. She swallowed a mouthful of water and the weight pushed the glob of food into her stomach. Tears, so quick to come lately, filled her eyes. “I can’t eat the apple.”
“That’s all right. Half a sandwich is good enough for now.”
A Gala. Mr. Charlie’s favorite. She had saved the apple for yesterday, Friday, but Friday never happened for the two of them. What did Mr. Charlie think when she didn’t show up? She imagined his eager expression turning to disappointment as he listened for her footsteps. How long did he wait? The sandwich churned and she eased her head down on the pillows as the number of bad mistakes accumulated in her mind.
The cushions on the couch shifted as Betsy sat. “No matter what happens between you and Nate, you are still my friend, and I care about you.” Betsy rubbed Ruth’s back, a slow soothing movement like a mother comforting a child.
Ruth relaxed and wanted to sleep, to forget. Only problem was she would wake up again with her same life waiting for her. “I don’t even know if I have a job anymore,” she murmured. “I didn’t go to work yesterday.”
“Neither did Nate.”
“Why do I make such bad choices, Betsy? How did you end up perfect?”
“I’m not perfect, Ruth.”
“You’ve never made a mistake in your life.”
Betsy’s hands stilled on Ruth’s back. “How do you think I know that fatty food and coffee cures a hangover?”
“You read it in a book somewhere. No, wait. Don’t tell me…it’s in the Bible?”
“It’s not in the Bible. I used to be quite a little party girl in high school. I told my mom I was spending the night with a girlfriend. Instead I sneaked to parties I knew she wouldn’t let me go to and then crashed somewhere until morning.”
Ruth looked at Betsy. “And your parents never found out?”
“Nope.”
“So how did you get from party girl to wife and mother?”
“You mean, how did I become a Christian?”
“I guess.”
“A friend invited me to a youth meeting at her church.”
“The friend you were supposed to be spending the night with?”
“Remember Sarah from Nate’s picnic?”
“How could I forget her? She was the one with the strapless dress that clung to her perfect body like skin.”
Betsy laughed. “That’s the one. She’s had a crush on Nate since high school.”
A car door slammed.
Ruth stiffened. Laughing voices filtered through the thin walls and disappeared behind the neighbor’s door. “Do you think Joe will come?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is the door locked?”
Betsy locked the door and returned to the couch. “Where was I?”
“You went to church.”
“Oh, yeah. Sarah invited me to her youth meeting. I had fun so I kept going. Eventually, I started to listen. I gave my life to Christ and haven’t taken another drink since. The desire is still there, though, and I rely on God every day to lead me through it.”
“God doesn’t lead me anywhere.” Ruth pulled the pillow tight against her face like a stubborn child wanting her own way.
Betsy’s voice reached her covered ears. “I’ll pick you up in the morning for church.”
“I’m not going to church.” The words puffed through fiberfill.
“Why not?” Betsy pulled away the pillow. “Please, Ruth, you need to be in church. God will show Himself to you in His time, just as He did for me. I’ll pick you up at nine and, just a warning.” She gave a low chuckle. “I’ll have Chip with me, so behave. Now get up and lock the door behind me.”
Ruth pulled herself upright as Betsy closed the front door behind her. A car engine started. The vehicle pulled away. Ruth flopped back down.
~*~
A leaf brushed against her sleeping face, awakening her. No, a feather. Crows! Ruth gave a choked cry and scrambled up the back of the couch, away from the face that loomed over her.
“How did you get in here?” The words scraped against her constricted throat.
“Quite a place you have here.”
“You never answered my question.” Ruth’s heart pounded painfully against her ribs. “How did you get in?”
“Your door was unlocked. Not smart in this neighborhood.” Joe settled beside her on the edge of the couch and chucked her under the chin with a finger.
She clenched her teeth. “Get out of h
ere.” The scent of his cologne made her stomach churn. She could feel the heat of his body, or was it her heat?
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Trapped against the back of the couch, she pushed against his chest. After breathing into her hair, he leaned back and sought her eyes. “Ruthie, it’s been too long.”
She twisted away, and he grabbed for her.
The chain around her neck slid out.
He stared. “That looks like a cheap wedding ring.”
As Ruth struggled to her feet, she dropped the circle of gold back under her shirt and allowed the metal to settle between her breasts where it had served as a constant reminder for over two years.
“Do you have something to tell me?” His eyes turned dark.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it must be something. You wouldn’t keep nothing tucked away in such a soft and lovely place.”
Renewed energy fed her spent muscles. The surge of strength released courage. “Get out of here!”
He moved toward her. She dropped to her knees and slid her hand between the cushions of the couch. She grabbed the knife and jumped to her feet, snarling. “Keep away from me! Get out of here, and don’t you ever come into my house uninvited again.”
“So the ring is important?” He lowered himself onto the chair by the fireplace. “You go and get married? Who’s the lucky groom?” Joe looked around the room. “And where is he hiding?” He leaned back into the chair.
The knife felt heavy, but she held it upright, keeping the tip pointed at Joe. “It’s a promise ring.”
“Kind of like an engagement ring?”
The smirk again; she hated that look. “I made a promise to remain abstinent until marriage. The ring is a reminder for me.”
Joe raised an eyebrow and draped an arm across the back of the chair. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s called secondary virginity. You wouldn’t understand.” No, Joe would never understand the concept of waiting for anything. “I made a promise to God after I delivered our baby.”
“A promise to God?” He chuckled as the words tumbled out. “Well, we can’t disappoint God now, can we? No sex until marriage? Easy enough. We’ll get married.”
The knife slipped. The promise had been made with all the other women, but since then, the vow had grown in meaning. Still unsure if the God she’d promised really cared, but the promise was to herself as much as to Him. “We won’t get married, Joe.” Ruth’s mind tumbled. What could he possibly want from her? She wasn’t pretty. She had no money. Most likely, she would hurt his career rather than help it. She hefted the knife back up. “Get out, Joe.”
“Oh, I’m going soon enough. But first, look at this place, Ruth. Really look at it.” He scanned the room. “You live in a dump in the worst part of town.”
“I may not live in a palace, but I earned it myself. I don’t have a mommy and daddy handing me everything I want.”
“How about I make your life better?” Hs expression softened. “Move in with me. We can be married by Wednesday.” He leaned forward in the chair. “I’ll bring your mom for the wedding. You’d like to see your mom, wouldn’t you? How long has it been?”
It had been over three years since she had left home, three years of only telephone conversations. Her mom had never been demonstrative, but still, the thought of even a quick hug filled her aching heart with joy.
“And I’ll make the deal sweeter. How about I toss our baby’s papers?”
She stared at him with suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll throw them out. Shred them, never contact the child. Whatever makes you happy.” His smile held little warmth. “Marry me and give me another child. I want an heir.”
Her mouth fell slack. Was he serious? She had to be crazy to even consider this. And yet, marriage would keep him from destroying her baby’s secure life.
“Tell you what.” He stood. “I’ll give you some time. How about I pick you up for lunch tomorrow, and we can celebrate.”
She knew she should say something or do something, but her brain seemed stuck on empty. “I promised to go to church tomorrow.”
“Good. Fine. Church is over by noon.” He walked to the door. “I’ll pick you up at two.”
“Joe, no—” The door closed against her unfinished sentence.
~*~
Coming downstairs from putting Chip to bed, Chet looked forward to some time alone with his wife. It had been a long couple of days, with Nate not showing at work on Friday, his sudden appearance at their home late Friday night, and then trying to calm Betsy’s concerns for Ruth today.
He heard the sound of popping corn, and soon Betsy entered carrying the red bowl, their largest, filled with white kernels. Smiling, he molded his body next to his wife’s on the couch, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and prepared himself to watch an oldie movie, but one of their favorites.
The cosmic ring of his cellphone mingled with the movie’s soundtrack. Chet grimaced. “It better not be Nate. I can’t deal with any more drama.”
“He’s your best friend. Invite him over.” She slid across the couch.
“Hello.” Chet walked to the center of the room. “Who are you?” His face grew pale. He disconnected the phone. “We just got a death threat.”
“Seriously?”
“It was a man’s voice. He said anyone who shows up at the Kritchner house tomorrow will be dead.”
“Call the police.”
Chet dialed 9-1-1. “I just got a death threat…yes…” The muscles along his jaw tightened. “I will. Thank you.” He scanned the room. The windows were closed. A soft click was followed by a cool breeze. He’d never noticed the sound of the air conditioner before. Even Betsy’s breaths pushed against his eardrums.
“Chet, what is it?”
“Mine is the fifth call the police have received so far.” Chet moved the popcorn and pulled Betsy to his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled the strawberry scent. He loved his sweet Betsy so much. It had to be a prank. God, let it be a prank.
Betsy looked up at him. “We can have church somewhere else.”
“Mommy?”
Chip stood at the top of the stairs, his small face visible between the slats of the railing. Cartoon pajamas hung askew on his slight frame. A denuded monkey, most of its fur having been picked off one fluff at a time, dangled under his arm. “I had a bad dream.”
Betsy walked to the stairs and held out her arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Gripping the banister over his head, he came down the stairs.
Betsy carried him to the couch where they melted together, mother and son, one loving mass.
Chet’s throat tightened. If anything happened to his family… “We need to pray.” He wrapped them tightly in his arms, vowing to keep them safe.
~*~
Paul Kritchner lay in bed wondering what had caused him to go from sleep to awareness. He glanced at the illuminated dial of his clock and sighed. Three AM. Rolling over, hoping to go back to sleep, he heard a sound: a rattle and clunk. The noise came from outside.
His wife snored softly beside him. The family teased that even a hurricane would not awaken her when she was asleep. Curious, he shuffled across the rug to the window. Velma used blinds instead of curtains in the second-floor bedrooms, thinking the wooden slats blended better with the country look she was after. He didn’t care. Let his wife decorate their old 40’s house however she wanted.
In the dark, he groped for the string. As he separated the slats, he strangled a curse and ran for the stairs. Where was his phone? Forget the phone, get the shotgun. Thoughts flew so fast through his brain that they smashed into each other. Without phone or gun, he unlocked the front door and ran into the yard. “What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
A gray dump truck lumbered over the sidewalk and sped away, a plume of diesel smoke trailing behind.
Paul stared at the large mound in the mid
dle of his yard. Manure. No doubt about it. He tightened his lips and tried not to breathe as he turned back to the house. Large spatters of paint on the front siding and bits of balloon clung to the hedges.
The neighbor’s porch light flipped on. Cyrus Phillips, struggling to tie his plaid flannel housecoat around his thick middle, walked across the damp grass. “The noise woke me up.”
“I’m gonna call the police.”
“You might want to put on some clothes first.”
Paul glanced down and grinned. He slipped back into the house for his shirt and pants.
~*~
Paul nodded to Cyrus. “Come on in.” The police were gone and Velma was still upstairs sleeping.
“Coffee?” Paul flipped the button on the coffeemaker and pulled two mugs from the shelf.
“You got a bunch of people coming over in the morning, don’t you?” Cyrus asked.
“Yeah, ten o’clock. Church.” He scratched the top of his head. Why was this happening? He and his wife were trying to do what God wanted them to do. In all of his sixty odd years, no one had ever bothered him. Now, all of a sudden, being a Christian came with a curse. He thought of the phone call Velma had taken earlier in the evening. Really—a death threat? He had told her the call was a prank. He glanced toward the front yard. What if it wasn’t?
“So what you gonna do about all that—um—poo in your front yard?”
“Give everyone a shovel, I guess. Free fertilizer.”
“The flies’ll have a field-day come daylight.”
“I suppose.”
Cyrus rose from his chair. “Come on. You’ll need help. I have a few plastic tarps we can use to cover the most of it. That should get you through church.”
Paul stared at Cyrus. The man’s robe had come untied, exposing powder blue pajamas. The top button was caught up in the second button hole. The whole row of buttons was off. Velma would have made him fix it before he went to bed.
Strange man, that Cyrus. They lived beside each other for six years and hardly said good morning. Now here the man was, like the Good Samaritan, offering his help at four in the morning. And without finishing their coffee.
Light of Logan Page 18