Captain wouldn’t say a word, and finally Shooter gave up. He brooded awhile in his reclining chair. Then he turned on the television and tried to get interested in an old John Wayne movie. After a time he dozed off and when he woke up it was ten o’clock and the movie was over.
He got to stewing then, recalling how Della had spoken so sharply to him that afternoon. Who did she think she was? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d been trying to do nothing but a good turn for her ever since Ronnie left, and then for her to snap at him like that. By god, he didn’t regret for a second what he’d told Missy. He would like Della and her mob much better if only they lived somewhere else.
He wouldn’t tell Laverne Ott any of that because now, in the light of day, that trailer collapsed and charred, it seemed like too shameful a thing to say.
“They need us now, Carl,” Laverne said to him from her car. “Those girls and, yes, Ronnie too. All of us. It’s going to take all of us.”
He wanted to tell her he’d patched that goat pen. He’d done what he could. He wanted to tell her Captain’s heart was full of love for Della and those girls. He wanted everyone to know that, to know there might not be any explaining when it came to why Captain did the things he did, but always he was a boy full of love. He didn’t want anyone to forget that. He wanted to say all this, but it was too late. Laverne was gone, and there were other cars coming down the blacktop, slowing to a stop — gawkers — and he went back into his house where they couldn’t see him or have the chance to ask him any questions.
Very few people — not even Shooter — knew everything that was happening in the days between the fire and the visitation for Della and Gracie and Emily and Junior. Sure, word had gotten around that Wayne Best had used that tire iron on Ronnie and put him in the hospital, and people knew that the girls were staying with Pat and Missy, at least until that mess between Ronnie and Wayne could be sorted out. Readers of The Goldengate Weekly Press learned that Angel, Hannah, Sarah, and Emma needed clothes and school supplies and toiletry items. Folks wrote down the correct sizes of shirts and pants and shoes and went shopping at the Walmart in Phillipsport. They picked up packs of pencils and pens. They bought crayons and notebooks, tubes of toothpaste and toothbrushes, deodorants and shampoos. Some folks tossed in little extras like bubblegum or candy. They picked out baby dolls for Sarah and Emma, music CDs for Angel and Hannah, the sorts of things that normal kids their age would like because it was important for them to remember what it was to be a kid, particularly now that the fire threatened to rush them away from their childhoods.
The Bethlehem Christian Church accepted the donations, and in town the Goldengate First National Bank did the same. Missy started a fund at the bank to help with the girls’ care, and people donated what cash they could manage. They didn’t know that Missy had opened the fund on the condition that she be the account holder and the only one to make decisions about it. She didn’t want to take the chance that Ronnie might get his hands on the money. She couldn’t bear the thought of him and Brandi taking it and doing only God would know what.
Decisions like that got made behind doors closed to most of the folks of Goldengate and Phillips County. There was so much they didn’t know and wouldn’t find out until the visitation and the funeral and the days that would come.
They didn’t know that Ronnie, once he was out of the hospital, drove out to Pat and Missy’s, and Missy met him in the driveway holding her cardigan sweater closed by wrapping her arms across her chest.
“I won’t have you upsetting them,” she said.
“Missy, those are my girls, and I’ve come to take them.”
Brandi was sitting behind the wheel of her Mustang, staring straight ahead, as if she weren’t there at all.
“I guess she’s agreed to that.” Missy nodded her head toward Brandi. “Your girlfriend? She ready to be a mama four times over just like that?”
“She’s got a good heart, Missy. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”
Missy stepped up close to him and kept her voice low. “Ronnie, there’s no need to stir anything up right now. I’ve got your girls settled in here. The visitation’s on Tuesday, and there’s still this matter of what you’re going to do about Wayne. Let things settle down, Ronnie. For those girls’ sake, let them have some stability now.”
“Their place is with me. I can take care of them.”
“Can you, Ronnie?” Missy let a silence settle between them. The engine in Brandi’s Mustang ticked as it cooled. A crow cawed as it circled overhead. Up the road at Shooter Rowe’s, the engine of an ATV revved. “I mean,” Missy finally said, “it’s not like they’ve been used to having you around. They were making do without you for a good long while.”
She knew as she said it that it was a mean thing to say. She could see the pain of it in Ronnie’s pinched face, his downcast eyes, but she wasn’t sorry. She’d told the truth, and where was the harm in that? She felt that already the fire had changed her, was giving her the chance to know her own heart in ways she’d never known it.
“I’d like to see them, Missy.” Ronnie wouldn’t look at her, and she knew what it was costing him to keep his temper reined in, to have to ask her for the favor of seeing his own daughters. “Is it all right if I just say hello?”
At that moment, Brandi put down the passenger-side window on her car and said, “Ronnie, what’s the holdup? I’m getting cold.”
“Guess you’ll have to make it a quick hello.” Missy nodded her head toward the house to let Ronnie know he should follow her. “Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to get frostbite.”
Ronnie hesitated, waiting for Missy to say it would be all right for Brandi to come inside with him. When it became clear that no such invitation was coming, he looked back at Brandi and gave her a shrug of his shoulders. Then he turned and went up the driveway with Missy.
Hannah met him at the door. She threw her arms around his neck, and the feel of her slight body was enough to bring him close to tears. She was so slender — all arms and legs — barely any weight to her at all.
“Daddy,” she said in a whisper.
“Baby,” he said.
Missy let them have that moment, and Ronnie was grateful. He held onto Hannah, as she clung to him with such a fierce grip his neck began to hurt, but he wouldn’t for the life of him tell her to let go.
Few people would ever hear about this moment when he was so thankful for Hannah, and for Angel, even though he knew she still hated him, and for Sarah and Emma, who both watched shyly from the archway that led to the kitchen, keeping their distance as if they somehow knew that this moment between Hannah and their father was something special and held themselves back so it could last a little longer.
Finally, he eased Hannah away from him, and he saw Sarah and Emma. Sarah had a sucker in her mouth. Emma was holding onto a blond-haired doll wearing a bright blue and red plaid dress.
“Girls,” he said to them, “is Missy taking good care of you?”
At first there was only silence, as if the girls were trying to figure out the right answer. Finally, Sarah said, “Yeppers,” which was the silly way she had of saying yes, and for just an instant Emma giggled.
Ronnie didn’t know what to do with that sound of joy rising up from so much sadness. He could tell Missy didn’t know what to do with it either. He heard her intake of breath. Her eyes opened wide. He felt just as startled. He let the moment rest there, afraid to say anything, afraid to make a move, knowing that soon the moment would vanish — light as smoke — and they would come back to the facts of the matter. He would tell Hannah and Sarah and Emma that he’d see them in a few days. He’d say to tell Angel that he loved her.