Bent Road by Lori Roy

Be back for sure.”
    Peering through the rifle’s sight, Daniel scans the field until he sees the dead prairie dog lying in the grass. Ian says prairie dogs are bad for the fields. He says they’re rodents and that there will be lots more in the spring. Baby ones by June. They’re the hardest to get. They don’t come out like the others. Daniel drops the barrel of the rifle, flips the safety and pushes up on his knees.
    “I’m not waiting around for another stupid prairie dog.”
    Being careful to step over the winter wheat, Daniel stands and walks toward home. Behind him, Ian stumbles with his old rhythm, the one he had before he got his new boots. God damn, Daniel hates that sound.
    “Slow down,” Ian calls out.
    Holding the rifle at his side instead of over his shoulder, Daniel takes long steps toward home and doesn’t look back.

Chapter 9
    Trying to outrun the cold air that follows them onto the porch, Celia hustles everyone through the back door. Evie darts left, squeezes between Elaine and the doorframe and slips in front of Ruth.
    “Sorry,” she says, tripping over Ruth, and the two of them stumble into the kitchen.
    “Evie.” Celia grabs Evie’s collar before she falls face-first on the kitchen floor. In a quieter voice, she says, “You be careful of Aunt Ruth. And mind yourself. We have company.”
    Celia pulls off her coat and tips her forehead toward Father Flannery, who sits at the head of the table. Arthur sits at the other end, and Reesa has taken a seat in between.
    “So sorry to keep you waiting, Father,” Celia says. “We lost track of time.”
    Evie steps up to Father Flannery, extends her hand the way she and Celia practiced in the living room the night before and says, “Hello, Father Flannery.”
    Father Flannery pushes back from the table, his knees falling open to make room for the belly that hangs between them. He takes the tips of Evie’s fingers in both hands. “Fine day to see you, Miss Eve.”
    “I’m Evie in our house, Father. Eve is only for Grandma Reesa’s house. And church.”
    Father Flannery studies Evie over the top of his glasses. The tip of his nose and chin are still red from the cold. He finally nods and drops Evie’s hands. “Your hair is cut,” he says to Ruth.
    “Yes.” Ruth touches the ends of her new shorter hair and smiles up at Elaine. When she looks back at the Father, he isn’t smiling. Ruth drops her eyes to the floor.
    “Elaine cut it, Father,” Evie says. “She’s going to color it, too. Red maybe.”
    Reesa, who has made herself at home in Celia’s kitchen, having already brewed the coffee and set out the cream and sugar, shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “Good gracious,” she says.
    Arthur scoots up to the table, the squeal of his chair legs silencing Evie and Reesa.
    To break the sudden silence, Celia opens the refrigerator and says, “Has Reesa offered you pie, Father?”
    Reesa frowns, causing deep creases to cave in at the top of her nose, and shakes her head at Celia. “Didn’t seem the time for pie yet.”
    Father Flannery, still staring at Ruth, says, “Pie’d be real nice, Mrs. Scott. Real nice about now.”
    Arthur waves off Celia’s offer of pie and focuses on Father Flannery. “Seems there must be something the church can do for Ruth,” he says. “Something that can help her out of this mess.”
    “It’s not that easy, Arthur. They’ve been married a good many years.”
    Arthur exhales and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.
    “What about ‘inadequacy of judgment’?” Celia says, leaning into the refrigerator and pushing aside a carton of eggs. No pie. She stands, hands on her hips, and looks around the kitchen. Everyone at the table is staring at her.
    “One of my aunts on my mother’s side married quite young,” she whispers.
    “That’s good, Celia,” Arthur says, motioning for her to hand him the coffee pot. “Does that work for us, Father?”
    Celia unplugs the pot