Page 2 of Resilience on Canvas
Clara stopped stirring and placed one of her hands over her heart. “And you wanted to cheer him up with an extra penny candy?”
“Yeah,” May said, shrugging once more like it was nothing. But it was something. Because not too many kids would surrender the only treat they’d seen for months to someone else, even if that someone had been feeling sad.
Thomas and Peter were still fighting. Robert pursed his lips, unsure how to fix this.
Both of his brothers were so Goddamn stubborn.
Only having one of them in the family would have been plenty.
Why had the Lord seen fit to “bless” them with two?
Raising twins was far from easy, especially these boys.
And Robert couldn’t help but feel like he was failing.
Maybe the twins were fed and clothed, but sometimes it seemed like there wasn’t one lick of generosity between them.
They were both still so selfish, even when no one had nothing and everybody should have been helping everybody else.
Robert’s ears turned hot, shame over his own piss-poor parenting turning to fury.
“Give me that,” he said, snatching the candy from Peter’s hand.
“Hey!” Peter exclaimed.
Ignoring Peter and Thomas’s complaining, Robert walked over to the stove and handed the candy to May. She turned the candy over in her hand, her eyes widening as she studied the green-and-white wrapper.
“It was a sweet thing you did for Jasper today,” Robert said. “I think you deserve this more than either of those two.”
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” he said, smiling a bit. It seemed like he was raising one of them right. “After you’re finished eatin’ that, though, I need you to set the table. Think you can do that? ”
May nodded while she ripped open the wrapper. Robert caught Clara’s eye, and his face fell once he saw her expression—her mouth pinched in the corner, one of her eyebrows lifted. Probably she wasn’t too keen on his parenting choice. But what else should he have done?
Before Robert could defend himself, his pop burst in, throwing the door open with such ferocity that it struck the wall, and everyone flinched from the thud. Raymond Davis started toward the kitchen, stumbling a bit with each of his heavy footsteps.
“When’re we eatin’?” he asked, his words wobbling nearly as bad as his legs.
“Just a minute or two,” Clara said, her voice so small and uncertain it pulled at Robert’s heart. Nobody never knew how their pop would react to even the simplest inconvenience.
Pop pulled out a chair, and the moment he sat, he started coughing.
Within seconds, he was hacking so bad, even Thomas and Peter were looking concerned, their brows furrowing and eyes blowing wide.
Robert and Clara exchanged a knowing glance.
While everybody in Guymon coughed a bunch nowadays on account of the dust storms, some people seemed to be faring worse than others.
And their pop hadn’t been in the best health even before all this started.
Seemed like his cough was worse now than it had been only a few weeks back.
And, well, with how miserable he was making everyone, maybe that. .. maybe that was a kind of blessing.
Soon as the nasty thought entered Robert’s head, his stomach soured, and he clenched his teeth to keep the bile from rising up his throat.
Damn, he was a real bastard for thinking such a thing, wasn’t he?
Once their pop’s coughing fit passed, he pounded on his chest twice and then nodded toward the stove .
“Soup?”
“Corned beef casserole, Pop,” Robert said.
“Why’s it in a pot, then? Ain’t you need to bake it?”
“No point,” Robert said. “We ran out of gelatin.”
“It’ll be like a... like a hearty stew,” Clara said, trying to sound positive.
Pop scowled, though thankfully he kept his mouth shut.
Over the next few minutes, Robert and May set the table while Clara finished preparing the food.
Thomas and Peter weren’t none too happy, both of them clearly still mad over the candy, throwing Robert mean looks every time he caught either of their eyes.
Robert scowled right back, though he knew he hadn’t made the right choice with regards to the candy.
It wasn’t like taking the treat had helped either of his brothers learn that they ought to have shared the stupid thing rather than fight over it.
And now, knowing the boys, they’d try to torment poor May somehow later that evening.
Robert pushed the food around with his fork for a while before finally forcing himself to have a couple of mouthfuls. Over the course of the meal, Clara kept on looking sorrowful. Meanwhile, the twins and May began irritating each other with teasing remarks. And their pop...
Well, Pop spent supper prattling on and slurring his words, lamenting the state of things.
Here Robert’s family was, each person lucky enough to have food to fill their belly, but not one of them was happy. What a mess everything was.
Later that night, when the kids were in bed and Pop was snoozing on the sofa, Robert snuck outside for some time to himself.
Since the wind wasn’t blowing, he wouldn’t need to protect himself by wearing a rag over his face or one of them sets of goggles they had.
Settling on the rickety porch, Robert crossed his legs and took out the cigarette tin from one of his front pockets.
He opened it, eyed the row of rolled cigarettes—ones he’d rolled himself—and closed it, only to then open it once more.
Smoking was making him cough more often lately.
Besides that, tobacco was expensive, and these were his last cigarettes.
He shouldn’t have one. He ought to save them for when the state of the farm—or, hell, the state of the whole Goddamn country—improved.
But how else was he to calm the storm of upset that was brewing inside him?
Robert retrieved a matchbox out of his other pocket.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he lit one of the cigarettes and brought it to his lips.
Sucking in an inhale, Robert relished the warmth spreading throughout his chest. Exhaling, Robert looked up at the sky.
It was a clear night, and the smattering of stars was providing just enough light to illuminate some of their property.
Robert could see the outline of their barn, filled with farming equipment that they never used no more, and he could see the wooden posts of the fence surrounding the cow pasture, too.
In the cloak of the evening, Robert could almost pretend that everything was the way it used to be only a few short years ago, when they’d had rows of wheat stalks and a field for the cattle to graze.
He could let the blackness of nighttime transport him into the past, where he could hear his mother, her bubbly laughter not yet choked by the consumption that had eventually taken her from this world.
He could, for a moment, remember happier times.
While Robert was puffing on his cigarette, Clara came out of the house, her light steps barely even making the floorboards creak beneath her.
“I thought you were stoppin’ that,” she said, tapping his hand that was holding the cigarette. “We’re barely catchin’ our breaths as it is. ”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. He took one more pull before snuffing the cigarette out on the porch floor. “Just... needed one.”
Clara sat beside him, curling her legs to her chest.
“Are you upset with me?” she asked.
Robert cocked an eyebrow. “Why would I be?”
“I must have ruined things with Henry somehow,” she said, her soft voice barely above a whisper. “I swear I’ve been nice to him. Not too nice, though, you know? I never wanted him to think he was marryin’ someone who had no morals. But maybe... maybe I—”
Robert snorted. “Clara, yer practically the picture of purity. Ain’t no way that Henry thinks otherwise. I’m sure he still wants to marry you. Maybe he’s feelin’ nervous now that the weddin’ is so close.”
Clara let out a hum. And Robert prayed to God that he was right.
Over the next half hour, the two siblings sat together on the porch, watching the stars twinkle and listening to the crickets chirp.
All the while, Robert’s mind kept returning to the state of things—their sorry farm and their sorry lives—and shame settled over him, heavy and uncomfortable, like a blanket in the middle summer, making his face flush and his pits sweat. Everyone was counting on him.
But try as he might, he couldn’t seem to fix everything that had been broken.