“That’s them,” Reeves said.
Down the highway under some trees some people stood by a white mailbox. The little girl was standing behind the woman. A boy in a T-shirt stood next to the girl. They both looked small, babies, really.
I looked at Reeves. His alcoholic’s face was up over the wheel with his eyes squinted, trying to see through the dirty windshield and glare off the highway. Fine veins branched redly under his cheeks. He was excited for sure.
We went off the road and along the shoulder.
“Becca’ll ride up here with us,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”
We came alongside and he stopped the car.
“Well,” he said out my window, “I made it after all.”
“I knew you would,” the woman said. “I wasn’t worried.”
“That’s good,” Reeves said.
The woman smiled at me and pulled the children forward. Her hair was bleached, the roots showing dark. Her eyebrows were painted on, like those I had seen in photographs of Mexican whores in boxes outside Mexico City around the turn of the century.
“C’mon, Paul,” she said, tugging at the boy. He resisted, apparently scared of me. His face was dirty and he wore thick spectacles, his eyes large and milky-blue behind the glass. The woman pushed him forward, then the little girl.
“This here’s a Washington boy,” Reeves said. “Picked him up outside Lassiter.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said. She pushed the boy again, and I reached over and opened the back door.
Reeves leaned over the seat and as the little girl got in he lifted her up over and stood her between us.
The woman then the boy got in and I closed their door.
“This sure is good of you, Pat,” the woman said.
“How’s my ol’ Becca?” Reeves said. He laid his arm around the child’s waist. “Can you give your ol’ Uncle Pat a kiss? Hmmm? Can you?”
The girl was looking at me, her head slightly above mine, her eyes clear child’s eyes. She was a beautiful little girl.
Reeves put his hand on her leg.
I shook my head at her.
“The bank closes at three, don’t it?” the woman asked.
Reeves pulled Becca to him. She put her arm around his neck.
“Ain’t she somethin’,” he said.
Becca gave him a kiss. Reeves moved his hand up under her dress. She kissed again and started to bounce up and down on the seat, the cushion gently moving beneath me.
“Well, Pat,” I said, “I believe you. I think I’ll get out here if you don’t mind. I’d like to walk a bit.”
“Out here?” Reeves said, looking over Becca’s shoulder. He had a perplexed look on his face.
“Right,” I said. I opened the door and got out. In back the woman was looking in her purse. She looked up, startled.
“Sure,” Reeves said. He reached around Becca and closed the door.
I stepped back.
Becca didn’t look, watching Reeves as he took the wheel. Then the car moved off, bouncing as it hit the pavement, sun flashing sharply off its dusty flanks. The boy’s face appeared at the rear window, soon vanishing into shadow.
I watched them for a moment and then turned around and walked over to the mailbox.
Leona Pride, it read. “A widow woman,” Reeves had said. “Yes, sir, really honest to God in love, the both of us. No, she don’t know. She thinks it’s her I’m interested in.”