Grandpa studied the vagrant. “Where are you from, son?”
“Arkansas, sir.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-two, sir.”
“How long you been on the road?”
“Long enough to get where I was a-goin’, if’n I knew where that was.”
“What makes a man just up and leave? Can you tell me that?” Grandpa asked.
They all looked at the hobo, who seemed to wrestle with the question. “Well, sir. I reckon you leave when you just can’t stand your life where it is.”
“And what about the family you left behind?” Grandma asked sharply. “Doesn’t a man care what happens to his wife and kids?”
“If he did, he’d stay, I reckon,” the hobo said.
“That ain’t true,” Loreda said.
“Let’s get you that cereal, shall we?” Grandma said. “No use talking the day away.”
* * *
“LOREDA.” ANT TUGGED ON Loreda’s sleeve. “Sumpin’s wrong with Mommy.”
Loreda pushed the tangled hair out of her eyes and leaned on the broom. She’d been sweeping long enough and hard enough to work up a sweat. “What do you mean?”
“She won’t wake up.”
“That’s silly. Grandma said to let her sleep.”
Ant’s shoulders slumped. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Fine.”
Loreda followed Ant into their parents’ bedroom. The small room was usually as neat as a pin, but now there was dirt everywhere, even on the bed. It was a sharp reminder that Dad had abandoned them; Mom hadn’t even bothered to sweep before going to bed. And Mom was crazy about clean. “Mom?”
Mom lay in the double bed, her body positioned as far to the right as she could go, so that there was a big blank space to her left. She wore a dirty kerchief and a nightdress so old the cotton showed her skin in places. A blue chambray work shirt—Daddy’s—lay coiled around her neck. Her face was almost as pale as the sheet, with her sharp cheekbones standing out above sunken cheeks.
Mom was always pale. Even out in the summer sun, she burned and peeled. She never tanned. But this …
She pushed Mom’s shoulder gently. “Wake up, Mom.”
Nothing.
“Go get Grandma. She’s milking Bella,” Loreda said to Ant.
Loreda poked her mom’s arm, this time not gently. “Wake up, Mom. This isn’t funny.”
Loreda stared down at the woman who had always seemed indomitable, unyielding, humorless. Now she saw how delicate her mother was, how thin and pale. Lying in bed, wearing Daddy’s shirt as a scarf, she looked fragile.
It was scary.
“Wake up, Mom. Come on.”
Grandma walked into the room, carrying an empty metal bucket. “What’s wrong?” Ant was right behind her, staying close.