Read Paris Trout for Free Online

That's all right," he said.
    She said, "Nobody told me so."
    He put himself between her legs and took her safety
pin. She felt herself exposed. "Please," she said, "I
gone bleed all over your new car. I bleed bad when it comes."
    It stopped him, that fast. "You ain't bled
nowhere yet?" he said.
    "No."
    He lifted himself off her, carefully, as if he were
afraid to wake her up. He opened the door behind him and slipped
outside backwards. She thought he would pull her after him, but he
left her there and buttoned his trousers. She found the safety pin in
the crack between the cushions of the seats and put herself back
together.
    Henry Ray did not speak when he got back in the car.
He turned in a slow, careful circle, sticking his head out the window
to see where the wheels were going. He drove that same slow speed
back over the tire tracks. She did not know if he was mad or not; she
wished she were there with Thomas. Thomas didn't take a temper.
    Henry Ray stopped the car at the highway and pulled
on the hand brake. "They ain't nothing to tell about this,"
he said. She didn't answer. "I let you go, so you ain't got
nothing to tell."
    She looked down at herself and wondered what it would
have been like, to have that inside her. She wondered if there would
be a baby there now. She wondered if it would be as black as Henry
Ray. "If you tell, Miss Mary prob'ly send you out of the house,"
he said.
    " I ain't said nothing."
    "She don't like stories on her boys."
    Rosie wished he would turn the engine off so she
could hear the sounds of the country. She wanted to feel peaceful. "I
don't tell no stories," she said.
    He made no reply. He pushed the clutch to the floor
and put the car into gear and then killed the engine. When he saw
that he'd forgotten to take off the hand brake, he cussed her. Then
he said, "Ain't nothing gone right in this world since I seen
you and tried to be nice."
    And she sat still, thinking of things she could say
back.
    He drove back to Cotton Point slower than he had come
out. Twice she felt him begin to talk and then quit before the first
word. She looked out the window for the mare in foal, but she didn't
see it again.
    Nothing looked the same on
the way back.
    * * *
    THEY CAME OVER the bridge and stopped at the
crossroad. Indian Heights was left; the town itself was straight on.
Henry Ray spoke to her then. "You want a Popsicle?" he
said. He wasn't in a temper now.
    " You ain't got no Popsicle," she said.
    " I got money. What color you like?"
    " Purple," she said. She'd had only one
Popsicle in her life, and it was purple.
    He seemed to be deciding something again. "You
ain't gone tell stories to Miss Mary?" he said.
    " I already said I don't tell no stories."
    He drove across the road that led to the Heights and
into town. He turned right on Main Street, and Rosie studied the
people on the sidewalk, thinking she might see the lady who had taken
her to Thomas Cornell Clinic. She thought she might wave. The woman
wasn't there, though; none of the white people she saw were pretty.
Rosie guessed Mr. Trout kept her inside.
    Henry Ray continued east, crossed into Bloodtown, and
pulled into a gas station. The man who pumped the gas smiled at Rosie
as he washed the windshield. He had a uniform with letters over the
pocket. ROY. He was skinny and light-skinned, and she liked his looks
better than Henry Ray's, maybe better than Thomas's.
    She did not acknowledge his smile, even when he waved
at her with his pinkie finger right up against the windshield. She
thought about it later, though.
    The man stopped the pump at one dollar. Henry Ray
came out of the station, carrying a Popsicle, and held it in his
teeth while he opened his wallet to find his dollar bill. Once he was
inside the car he broke the Popsicle in half, and then slid one side
out of the paper and handed it to her.
    It was purple, just like he promised.
    She put it in her mouth carefully, not wanting it to
break, and held it there a moment, tasting just