Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 31 of 57

Scarlett woke on the fourth morning with the same thought she'd gone to sleep with. Maya's report had settled her nerves, but it hadn't given Clayton anything to hold. He had her letters at night. He had stew in the fridge. He had nothing from her hands this week, nothing from this town, nothing he could put in his pocket and carry into the barn before dawn. She sat up. Three days left. She wanted to mail him something today so it arrived before she did. She went through her suitcase first. A folded blouse. A hairbrush. The lace nightgown she was saving for the porch. None of it was for him. She opened the drawer Aunt Lorraine had cleared for her and found only her own things staring back. Aunt Lorraine was in the kitchen frying an egg. Her pink slippers scuffed the linoleum. She wore the pink cardigan she wore every morning and the pearl earrings she never took off. "I need to send my husband something," Scarlett said. "Today. And I have nothing." Aunt Lorraine slid the egg onto a plate. "What kind of nothing." "The kind where a card feels thin." Aunt Lorraine set the pan in the sink. She looked at Scarlett over her round glasses. "There's a leather shop two streets over. Man named Hollis works the counter. He does buckles same day if you ask nice and pay cash." "A buckle." "Your husband wears a belt, doesn't he." Scarlett was out the door in twenty minutes. The shop smelled like oil and cut hide. The owner listened while she stood at the counter with her purse against her stomach. She told him what she wanted engraved. She told him she needed it by three. He wrote it on a slip and quoted her a price that made her hand shake when she counted the bills. She paid it. She walked the beagle mix at noon and did not call Clayton. She wanted to hand him the thing through the mail before she said a word about it. At three she went back. The owner slid the buckle across the counter on a square of felt. Polished silver. Bold lettering across the face. Scarlet and Clayton forever, her name spelled the way Clayton had first said it wrong at the fair. She hadn't corrected the engraver either. She ran her thumb over the letters and felt the whole eleven years sit inside the metal. She boxed it at the post counter with a note that said only, Wear this Saturday. I'll be on the porch by sundown. She paid for overnight. Walking back to the cedar street house, she felt lighter than she had all week. Then her phone buzzed. Rose. Scarlett answered on the sidewalk. "The doctor's office called the cottage," Rose said. "They want you in tomorrow. Clayton's already in the truck."