“You look exhausted. Let me drive you home.”
“You must think I’m stupid.”
“I’m not dangerous.”
“Says the bloodied-up man at the police station at one in the morning.”
He smiled. “A good beating makes them feel better.”
“What did you do?”
“Do? You think you need to commit a crime to get beaten up by the coppers? I’m just unpopular these days. Radical ideas,” he said, still smiling. “Let me drive you home. You will be safe with me.” He put a hand to his chest. “Jailbird’s honor.”
“No, thanks.”
Elsa didn’t like the way he was staring at her. He reminded her of the hungry men who lurked in shadows to steal what they wanted. Deep-set black eyes peered out from his craggy face; he had a jutting nose and pushed-out chin. And he needed a shave. “What are you looking at?”
“You remind me of someone, that’s all. A warrior.”
“Yeah. I’m a warrior, all right.”
Elsa walked away. Out on the main road, she turned left, toward the camp. It was the only thing she could think of to do. Go home. Ant was there.
Wait and hope.
TWENTY-SIX
After a long, sleepless night in the barn, Loreda climbed down from the loft as dawn turned the sky lavender and then pink and then golden.
She walked down the road, carrying her suitcase.
At Sutter Road, she looked out at the spray of tents and broken-down automobiles and cobbled-together shacks clustered in the winter-dead field.
Please still be here.
Loreda stayed away from the muddy ruts and kept to
the grassy high ground as she headed for their tent. She passed a hovel built of metal scraps; inside, a man and woman huddled around a nub of a candle. The woman held a very still baby in her arms.
Up ahead, Loreda saw their truck parked by the tent. Her knees almost buckled in relief. Thank God. They were still here.
Loreda rounded the truck and saw the Deweys’ tent. Mrs. Dewey sat in a chair out front, hunched over, hands curled around a cup of coffee. Mom sat on an overturned apple crate beside her, writing in her journal.
Loreda slowed her step, moved quietly forward. In the silence that should have held a baby breathing, Loreda saw how broken both women looked.
Jean looked up first, smiled at Loreda, and touched Elsa’s arm. “It’s your girl. I told you she’d come back.”
Mom looked up.
Loreda felt a breathtaking rush of love for her mother. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
Mom closed her journal and stood up. She tried to smile, and in the failure, Loreda glimpsed the pain she’d caused by running away. Mom stood still, didn’t move toward Loreda.
Loreda knew this distance between them was hers to cross. “I’ve been as dumb as a box of marbles, Mom,” Loreda said, moving toward her.
A little laugh erupted from her mother; it sounded like joy.
“Really. I’ve been a real crumb to you, Mom. And…”