Chapter 30. Jenny
JENNY
When she woke, Simon was standing beside the bed, pulling on a fresh tank top. His blue one with the white trim. His hair was a mess, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked pale. Hungover. He noticed her watching. A smile ghosted across his lips, then disappeared.
“I’m going to get the old lady to feed the animals and make us breakfast.”
“Ruth. You should use her name.”
“Ruth. Whatever.” He was walking toward the door. “You should go back to sleep.”
Jenny rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Outside, the cows were mooing and the horses neighing for their food. The sun was filtering through the curtains, making patterns.
Simon had told her to go back to sleep. Like a child. He was only trying to be nice—he cared that she got rest—but the words pricked at her. Tiny thorns, digging into her skin.
She got up and had a shower, thinking about Alice and the others. Could they hear the water? They probably wanted showers too. But Simon wouldn’t let them come up.
Dressed in clean clothes, she walked out into the kitchen, and finding it still empty, she stepped out onto the porch. Ruth and Simon were in one of the paddocks. Ruth was feeding the horses. Simon was leaning against a fence post and watching. He turned to look at Jenny.
She gave him a small wave, which he returned with a thumbs-up.
Jenny went back to the kitchen. Maybe she could make coffee, but she didn’t see an automatic drip coffee maker like she had in her house. Only a tarnished metal percolator with a glass knob top was sitting on the stove. She didn’t know how to use those.
She washed the dirty dishes that Ruth had brought up from the basement and was putting the last one in the rack when the front door banged open. She spun around as Simon entered the kitchen, dragging Ruth behind him. He held the green phone in his other hand, wires dangling.
“Did you see this?”
“What?” Jenny’s face was so hot. Like she’d been standing by a fireplace. She wiped at her brow, forgetting that her hand was wet and soapy. “Where did you find it?”
“The barn. On the workbench.”
She shook her head. “I was looking for twine.”
“It was ringing. Ruth says she forgot about it.” He gave an angry laugh, pulled his arm back, and threw the phone against the far wall, where it hit with a clatter of the bells. The bottom half-spewed metal innards as it slid across the floor to knock against the garbage can.
Bones, who must have followed them into the house, was bumping against Ruth’s legs, leaning into them, and barking at Simon.
“Tell him to shut up,” Simon said to Ruth.
“Bones. Enough.” Ruth sounded like she was trying to be firm, but Jenny heard the quiver in her voice. The dog quieted, an anxious whine still leaking from his throat.
Simon opened the back door, grabbed some dog treats from a container on the counter, and threw them outside. Bones trotted outside, and Simon closed the door behind him.
He pushed Ruth into one of the chairs and leaned into her face. “Who was calling you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nah, you were bugging out. Who were you expecting?”
Ruth looked to Jenny then back to Simon. Jenny held her breath.
“Our daughter calls.”
“What will she do if she can’t get you?”
“She might call a neighbor.”
“Goddamnit!” Simon kicked one of the kitchen chairs, knocking it over, and making Jenny flinch. Ruth pressed her fingertips against her lips, eyes wide.
After a moment of Simon breathing hard, with his hands on his hips as he glared down at the chair, he spun back around toward Ruth. “Breakfast. We need food and coffee.”
“Now?” Ruth spoke in a hushed voice.
“She doesn’t have to—” But Jenny didn’t get to finish before Simon grabbed Ruth’s arm, lifting her from the chair, his hand tight around her bicep. Ruth’s face twisted.
“Simon! You’re hurting her.”
He glanced at Ruth’s face and let go of her arm, giving his head a shake. Jenny wished she knew if he was angry at her or if he was angry at himself for hurting the woman.
“Make enough for everyone.” He sat in the chair, gun on the table, and lit a cigarette.
Ruth filled the percolator with water, then scooped coffee grounds into the basket.
She put everything back together and sat it on one of the burners, clicking the knob until a blue flame burst up, and all the while Jenny stood uselessly nearby.
She thought about sitting with Simon, but then Ruth noticed her and pointed to a cupboard.
“You can gather mugs, cream, and sugar.”
Ruth was slower than Alice when she cooked.
She carefully laid each piece of bacon in the frying pan so that they didn’t touch, flipped them when they were crispy, then took them out and lined them up on a plate covered with paper towel.
She gently stirred the scrambled eggs, adding small bits of cream and salt.
She didn’t speak to Jenny other than to make brief requests, always with a please or a thank-you, as though Jenny was a guest. The only time she sounded unhappy was when she muttered about how she wished she had her knives, so she could make hash browns.
Jenny worried that Simon would hear, but when she glanced at him, his expression was blank as he gulped his coffee and took quick drags of his cigarette, tapping the ash onto a saucer.
When breakfast was ready, Jenny sat across from Simon, who shoved forkfuls of food into his mouth.
She studied his bloodshot eyes and his hands, which were nicked and bleeding.
He smelled of mechanic’s grease and stale beer.
He looked up at her, his eyes softening as he gave her a small smile.
He was still there. He was still her Simon. She took a deep breath.
A scratching sound at the back door. Simon grabbed the gun.
“It’s just Bones,” Ruth said as she walked toward the porch. “He’ll be wanting his food.”
“Stop!” Simon said. “I didn’t tell you that you could open that door.”
Ruth froze, her hands out. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Walk backward into the kitchen.”
She slowly reversed until she was near the sink, then lowered her hands. She looked at Simon. “Can I get his bowl ready?”
Simon nodded, then turned to Jenny. “Let the dog in, babe.”
When she opened the door, Bones bounced into the house and ran straight for the bowl that Ruth had set on the floor. For the next couple of minutes, the only sounds were of Bones crunching his kibble while the chain on his collar smacked against the bowl.
Jenny had been hungry, but with the fresh tension in the air, she couldn’t eat the rest of the food on her plate. She sipped at her coffee and waited for Simon. When he was finished, she cleared off the table. Simon pushed it and the chairs out of the way, then lifted the hatch.
While they’d been eating, Ruth had washed the frying pan, loaded the tray from the night before with plates of food and a bottle of milk, and refilled the plastic pitcher of water.
Jenny watched Ruth disappear down into the basement, each step making the dishes clatter on the tray. She had taken the container of cookies. Bones scrambled to follow.
When the hatch was closed, Simon turned to Jenny. “Can you pack up some food? Water too. We need to be ready in case we have to split. That phone call has me spooked.”
“Okay.”
While Simon went to get their backpacks, Jenny found a stack of folded brown-paper shopping bags in one of the drawers, but she wasn’t sure what food to take.
They wouldn’t be able to cook, and they didn’t have a cooler.
She collected two boxes of crackers. A block of cheese, a basket of strawberries, and a few red apples.
She searched through cupboards until she found a metal thermos and filled it with water.
Lastly, she took a loaf from the bread box.
Simon came out carrying their packs and the pillowcases full of what was left from the robberies. He dumped everything by the back door. She added the food to the collection.
“I need you to keep watch up front while I get the rifles.”
She moved to the living room window. The curtains were still closed from the night before. She slid them open, already feeling the heat of the sun through the glass.
She heard Simon in the kitchen and looked over her shoulder. He was resting the shotgun and the boxes of ammunition by their gear, then he walked toward her with the rifle and one box of ammunition. He set the bullets on the side table and held the rifle out.
“It’s loaded.”
She carefully took it from him.
He checked the view from each window, then closed the curtains again. “You can’t see much of the driveway leading up to the house. You’ll have to sit out on the porch.”
“You really think a neighbor might show up?”
“Maybe. Or someone else she didn’t tell us about.”
Jenny hadn’t thought about that. Ruth could be lying just the same as them. They could have a son or friend, or a farmhand, maybe. Someone she knew would check on them.
“How long are you going to be?”
“Not sure. Might be a while.” He rubbed his hand through his hair, made a frustrated face. “I screwed up, so I have to take the rear end apart again.”
She wanted to reach for his hand. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She felt calmer when he was holding her, but it was too late. He was already walking toward the fridge, where he grabbed a couple of beers, gripping the bottle necks between his fingers. He glanced at her.
“I just like the taste. I’m not going to get drunk.”
“Last night…”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
She nodded, because she didn’t know what to say. She was overwhelmed with a swell of relief and love. He’d made a mistake and apologized. He didn’t try to twist things and blame her.
She followed him to the kitchen, waited while he opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. At the last moment, he turned and met her eyes.
“Hang in there, babe. It’s almost over.”
Jenny thought about those words all morning and into the afternoon as she sat outside.
She knew Simon had meant that their time at the farm was almost over, but she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that pushed down on her shoulders, her chest. Her calves ached with it.
She tried to lose herself in a romance novel that she’d found in the house.
Her hair was wilted around her face, her neck and brow damp with sweat.
She needed the bathroom. Water. Food. Simon hadn’t come back for lunch.
She got to her feet and scanned the field toward the road. She couldn’t see or hear any cars.
She picked up the rifle and hurried inside. She used the bathroom, then mixed a pitcher of iced tea and fetched a sleeve of saltine crackers and an apple from the bags she’d packed earlier.
She took everything outside. Once she’d settled into the rocking chair, she leaned the rifle against the porch railing.
She sipped her tea and dozed in the warmth, watching the chickens through her lashes.
She wondered if there were farm cats in the barn.
She liked cats. Her gaze drifted from the barn, down through the pasture to where the horses and cows grazed.
Something caught her attention in the corner of her eye. She turned to look down the driveway, where it dipped out of sight. Some sort of haze. Smoke?
She narrowed her eyes and focused on the spot until it became clearer.
Not smoke. A cloud of dust.
She grabbed up everything and rushed into the house. When she passed through the kitchen, she set the book and glass on the table. The rifle in her hands, she ran out the back, down the porch steps, nearly tripping in her sandals, and ran the short distance to the garage.
She flung the door open.
The garage was narrow and crowded, with barely any light coming in through a dirty side window. A blue truck had its rear end jacked up and its tires off, while an extension cord light hung over the tailgate. A thudding metallic sound was coming from underneath the truck.
“Simon!”
He popped up from the other side. “What’s wrong?”
She gulped at the air, chest heaving. “Someone’s coming.”