Free Eventide by Kent Haruf

I want to propose. And here you’re already giving me a raft of shit.
    Well, Luther said. You shouldn’t say that.
    What you want to propose? Betty said.
    Let’s get out of this wind, Hoyt said. I can’t talk out here.
     
    T HEY MOVED INSIDE THE TRAILER AND SAT AT THE kitchen table after Betty cleared a place for her uncle. He took off his cap and set it on the table and ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around. You need to clean this place up, he said. Good Christ, look at it. I don’t see how a person can live like this.
    Well, I ain’t feeling very good, Betty said. My stomach keeps hurting me. I can’t hardly sleep at night.
    She been taking pills for it, Luther said. But it don’t seem like it makes no difference. Does it, honey.
    It ain’t yet.
    That don’t mean you have to live like this, Hoyt said. You could do some of it yourself, Luther.
    Luther didn’t respond. He and Betty stared across the room as if there were something hanging on the wall they had failed to notice.
    Hoyt was still smoking his cigarette. Betty, he said, get your uncle a ashtray. I wouldn’t want to dirty your nice floor.
    We don’t have any. Nobody ever smokes in here.
    They don’t? He stared at her, then stood up and ran water from the faucet onto his cigarette and dropped it in the sink among the dirty dishes. He sat down again and sighed, rubbing his eyes elaborately. Well, I guess you heard, he said.
    About what? Luther said. We didn’t hear anything.
    You didn’t hear I lost my job? That son of a bitch out to the dairy laid me off two weeks ago. And that cow wasn’t even marked good. There’s suppose to be orange crayon smeared on her bag. How was I expected to remember she was sick? So I milked her into the tank like you’re suppose to, and the son of a bitch fired me. Then this morning that other son of a bitch over to the apartment house kicked me out.
    What happened with him? Luther said.
    Nothing. Maybe I was a day or two behind on the rent, but I was about sick of his shit anyway. And he knows what he can do with that goddamn apartment of his. Hoyt looked at them. They were turned toward him, watching him like oversized children. So what do you think about all that? he said.
    I think it’s too bad, Betty said. They shouldn’t of treated you that way.
    No sir, Luther said. That ain’t right for people to treat you like that.
    Hoyt waved his hand. I know all that, he said. I’m not talking about that. I’ll take care of his fat ass one of these days. And he knows it. That much is understood. What I’m talking about is this here. I want to make you a proposition. I’ll come over here and move in with you two, and I’ll pay you some rent while I get on my feet. It’ll be good for all of us. That’s what I’m talking about.
    Luther and Betty glanced at each other over their lunchtime dishes. Outside, the wind was shaking the trailer each time it gusted up.
    Go ahead, Hoyt said. Feel free to say something. It’s not that difficult.
    I don’t know, Betty said. We only got three bedrooms. Joy Rae and Richie sleeps in their own rooms.
    They got to have their own rooms, Luther said. And we got ours. We ain’t got no other space.
    Just a minute now, Hoyt said. Think about what you’re saying. Why can’t one of them move in with the other one? What’s wrong with that idea? They’re just little kids.
    I don’t know, Betty said. She looked about the room as though she’d misplaced something.
    What would your mom say? Hoyt said. You not wanting to take in her own brother, not inviting him to come in out of the cold when he needed some help. What do you think she’d say to that?
    It ain’t very cold out right now, Betty said.
    Are you trying to be smart? That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you letting me move in here.
    Well, we want to help you, she said. It’s just— She gestured vaguely with her hands.
    I’ll tell you what, Hoyt said. At least let me take a look. Let’s