Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 13 of 57

The week after town, Scarlett kept waiting for the other shoe. It came on a Tuesday at the feed store. A woman at the counter, blonde and sharp-boned, turned when she heard Clayton's name and looked at Scarlett the way a buyer looks at a horse. Scarlett paid for her grain and left. In the truck she asked Clayton who that was. He kept both hands on the wheel. "She used to live here," he said. "Four years ago. She's back for her father's estate." "The one from the ranch." "That one." Scarlett looked out the window. She thought of everything Maya had told her about the woman who left him for the city. She thought of the drawer she used to keep him in and how she was not going back to it. She called Maya that night from the porch. Maya answered on the second ring. "I know," Maya said before Scarlett spoke. "She's been at the diner twice already." "Should I be worried." "He hung his hat on your hook, Scarlett. He's not moving it." "I've never met your parents." The line went quiet a second. "Then come Sunday. Supper at the house. Mama's been asking." Scarlett sat with the phone in her lap after they hung up. The bloodhound leaned against her knee. She had spent eleven years across a fence from this family. She had never sat at their table. Sunday she wore the green dress again. Clayton drove her over. Maya opened the door with her braid over one shoulder and a dish towel in her hand and pulled Scarlett inside before Clayton was up the steps. His mother was at the stove. His father was already standing. "Miss Rose," his father said. He got it right. "Boy's been talking about you since he was twenty-two." "Dad," Clayton said. "It's true." His mother wiped her hands and hugged Scarlett like she had been waiting to. Scarlett held on a second longer than she meant to. Over supper, his father asked about her herb garden. His mother asked about her grandmother. Maya kicked Clayton under the table when he went quiet and made him tell the story about the calf he delivered when he was fourteen, the one Scarlett had watched from her side of the ridge. His mother's eyes filled. "You were there," she said. "All that time." "I was there," Scarlett said. On the drive home Clayton was quiet a long time. Then he said, "You're in now. That's it." "I know." She put her hand on his knee. She thought about the cottage waiting for them, the hook by the door, the drawer she had cleared. She thought about the woman at the feed store and felt nothing move in her chest. Sunday had settled something the woman could not shake. "Move in proper," Scarlett said. "Not just the hat. Build onto the cottage if you need the room. I want you home." Clayton looked over. "Alright."