“You can’t make me,” she said, quietly, but with all the force she could muster.
“I can take away your—” He formed a ring with his thumb and forefinger to signify her diaphragm. “Your thing. I have rights.”
She thought of Mrs. Wu, what Dolly’s girls had said: a little bit too much dragon smoke, a bit of a scrape. She thought she could walk to Missoula if she needed to, over the mountains.
“You can’t make me,” she repeated. “I would find a way.”
He looked alarmed, then disgusted. “Who are you?” he said, so differently from how he’d ever said it before.
“Who I’ve always been.”
He shook his head. “No. You’ve changed.”
“Then you’re the one who’s changed me. Blame yourself.”
* * *
—
Just before dawn, a car horn. Faint but insistent, growing louder. It was not the volume but the out-of-placeness that perforated Marian’s dream. She stood at the window in her nightgown. The Pierce-Arrow was weaving through the early gloom up the long ranch road. Sometimes the horn keened for long, sustained seconds; sometimes it was only half a bleat.
Downstairs, Kate was already out on the porch, dressed, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” Marian said, tying the belt of her wool robe. “Why is he doing that?” The car was drawing near, and she wasn’t sure whether Barclay would stop at the house or go careening past.
“He’s probably drunk,” Kate said.
“He doesn’t drink.”
“Not often.”
“Not ever!” When Kate didn’t respond, Marian added feebly, “He told me not ever.”
The car slewed to a stop. Before Barclay had even opened his door, Marian could hear him bellowing his sister’s name. “Kate! Kate!” He stumbled out. “Kate!”
Kate went to meet him, and he lurched to hug her. The force of him made her stagger. He was hatless. His hair stood up in tufts and bunches. “Kate!” he said again, in a choked voice.
She steered him up the steps. He stared at Marian as he passed, leaning against Kate, reeking of booze, lips parted as though he were about to say something. He seemed less like an ordinary drunk and more like someone maddened by a terrible ordeal. Inside, his mother was knitting beside the massive stone fireplace. Without slowing her work, Mother Macqueen shot Marian a hard glare. “It’s the devil that catches him.”
“He catches his own self,” Kate said. She was leading Barclay away from the stairs, toward the back of the house.
Marian followed. “Where are you taking him?”
“To the guest room. To sleep.”
“He should be in our room.”
“No, this is better. He’ll be sick. It’ll be easier for me if he’s down here.”
“I’ll take care of him.”
Barclay craned his head over Kate’s shoulder to look uncertainly at Marian.
“Now you want to take care of him?” Kate said. “You choose your moments.”
“He’s my husband.”
“Be my guest, then. Help me get him up there.”
One on each side, they heaved him up the stairs. On the landing, breathlessly, Kate said, “I’ve never heard you call him your husband.”
“Well, he is.” Already Marian had begun to regret her flash of possessiveness. Barclay stank. He tripped over his own feet. She should have let him stew downstairs under his sister’s ministrations. But they got him into the bedroom and flopped him facedown onto the bed, his feet hanging off the side. Marian said, “He drove from Kalispell like this?”
“From somewhere.”
“It’s a miracle he made it.”
“He always gets home.” Kate picked at the laces of one of Barclay’s muddy shoes.
Marian pulled off the other shoe. “He’s done this before?”
“Once a year maybe. It’s always the same. I think somehow he manages not to let the drink fully hit him until he’s on the ranch road.”
Marian understood why Kate had been already dressed and outside. “You knew he’d gone drinking.”
“I suspected. I’ve been wrong before, waited up all night only for him to stroll in fresh as a daisy.” She caught Marian’s eye. “Off whoring.”
“If you’re trying to shock me, remember I met him in a brothel.”
“How could I forget? In that case, do you think you can manage to undress him? He’ll be sick before long. You need something for it.” From beside the fireplace she took a tin bucket full of kindling, dumped it out into the grate. “This’ll do.” She set the bucket beside the bed.