(16)

But I had to say something. I'm afraid I stammered a bit before saying, "She's trying to find herself. I'll have a talk with her."

"Do," said Gwen, smoothing out my shirt and patting my chest. Her expression was that smiling facade with the questions retreating a ways behind the drapes of her lowered eyelashes. "I'll make y'all some corn bread and ham hocks'n beans, with brown sugar."

Moira was at the side of the house that faced the remains of a barn and a padlocked aluminum shed. The dogs were loping around empty chicken coops. Coming up to her I saw one of them heisting a leg on a well-pump. For some reason my eyes followed the power line that sagged between two poles that leaned away from each other, so that I nearly bumped into her. She was staring accusingly at her cell phone. Looking up at me she said, "I wish you hadn't brought me here. Why did you? She doesn't want me here. I heard what she said."

"I don't know why I came here either," but that was a lie, and I think Moira knew damn well it was. I didn't want to admit the reason, not even to myself. "If you'd rather leave now, we'll go. But Gwen's fixing us a meal."

"I haven't anywhere to go. Mother's ruined things for me with the Benton's. Hadley's moved in with June and doesn't want me coming back. June's sister, I mean. Dad wants me back and he's mad at Josie's dad for..." She snorted a laugh. "I'm back to calling him Josie. Dad never liked him; well, not since Joe changed his mind about himself...herself, rather. Last thing I wanna do is go home to that."

I said something stupid then that embarrassed me the moment I said it; that her riding with me was like a ladybug riding a dead leaf twirling in the wind. I was trying to explain that I wasn't a solution to her problem of homelessness, just a purveyor of it. She dropped her hands to her sides and turned to stare up at me as if I was a failed power-pole. "So you're gonna go wait for me somewhere I can't find you, like what you wanted to do in Topeka?"

"If I wanted to do it, I'd have done it. Let's have our meal and visit awhile longer, then we'll be off." The words rang hollow. Moira gave me a sour smile. "Sure," she said, "and that'll kill her. You should of thought of that before you brought us here. She wants you, William. She wants her Hangman."

I lowered my voice. "Gwen doesn't know what she wants, anymore than you do. She just knows she wants out of here, as badly as you wanted out of Milwaukee."

Moira smiled that big sunburst smile. "And you don't know what you want, either. You're no better off than we are. I remember what you said the other night, that destinations were just an excuse for leaving places. Places, yeah, and people too!"

Gwen came around the corner after letting the back-porch screen slam shut, to alert us. She set down a bucket of water. "Thought I heard voices," she said. "Hang, can you see if you can get that pump going for me?"

I took the bucket over to the water pump, and while I primed it I heard Gwen ask Moira if she'd pour the corn bread batter in the pan while she tended to the bean pot. An excuse for a talk, I knew, and had some misgivings about it as I worked the pump handle; primed it some more and tried again. When a spout of water gushed out the dogs whined and sniffed at the puddle.

Okay, there was water in the well. Now what? I rolled a smoke and finished off the bottle of lager. I imagined Gwen and Moira maneuvering around each other verbally, getting each other's measure, wanting to see where the other stood with me, or what the other thought of me, whether I was worth the fuss. Well, I wasn't. Not ordinarily. I was a ticket out of undesirable places. I was a gate to lean on, a gate that opened without any effort, and a footpath to follow. I was a hard slab of maleness to lie under until the storm passed. Given enough sun and enough air to breathe, I would not be needed. I told myself  I was glad of that. Some other wind-devil would come around. Roads were not made for just one traveller.

Moira came out on the back porch. She looked strangely happy. I even heard a bird singing on the tin roof of the porch. "We can shower up, she says. Dinner will be ready soon. She says there's plenty of hot water."

I had gone over to the opposite corner of the house to look at the camper pick-up. The cab was full of bricks. The hood was partly up and I saw there was no engine. A bicycle with a basket on the handlebars was chained to the truck's door latch. I looked at Moira leaning out the porch's screen door, her face glowing a peach color in the low sun.

"Alright," I said.