Page 101 of Resilience on Canvas

Robert heard Henry’s voice, but it was far away.

One sixty times seven. Henry had taught him to take it in pieces. One times seven is seven. Sixty times seven was too hard. Smaller. Fifty times seven. Dammit, what was fifty multiplied by seven? Robert began counting on his fingers. Fifty cents. One even. One fifty.

Henry’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Robert, we’ll figure it out somehow.”

Growling, Robert waved his hand back and forth, shooing Henry away. He resumed counting. Two. Two fifty. Three. Three fifty. Plus the seven. Plus the rest? Christ, what was left? Seventy more cents? So, together, him and Henry would make eleven bucks and twenty cents each week.Ifthey worked every single day as hard as they could. Andifevery farm paid the same. But, no matter what, they’d still have to pay the men with the trucks for their transportation. It would cost them... three whole buckseach week. Give or take. But that would be fine, right? Because they’d still have seven or so left. Rent would cost...

“Maybe we should—”

“Hush up, Henry!” Robert shouted.

Covering his head with his hands in some pathetic attempt to focus his thoughts better, Robert walked farther from the booth. Once he was a ways away, he returned to trying to work out the math in his head. Now, where was he? Renting a whole house for everybody, that would cost them twenty. God, why was this so hard?

Robert heard theswish, swishof Henry’s pant legs moments before feeling Henry’s close presence and then Henry’s warm breath brushed his cheek.

“Robert, come back here out of yer head. I can help you,” Henry whispered into Robert’s ear. “Are you tryin’ to work out the budget?”

Opening his eyes, Robert heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I’m tryin’, but it’s too hard.”

“Let me help.” Henry reached out and squeezed Robert’s bicep, his warm smile slowing Robert’s fast beating heart and coaxing him out of his still-spiraling thoughts. Robert nodded, and Henry took a step back so they wouldn’t be standing so close to each other. “Alright, well, I think we’ll make maybe between forty-six and fifty bucks each month. I mean, there might be some months where we’ll make more. Or... less. But—”

“Keep goin’, Hen,” Robert said, a pleading edge to his voice, his hands starting to tremble. “I need to know if we can make it on our own like this.”

“Uhm, well, we’ll have to pay twenty or more for rent and twelve or so for transportation. At least, ’til we can buy a car or somethin’. Which means we’ll have sixteen or... twenty, maybe,bucks a month for us to buy food and clothes and such. Which, uhm, I mean, it...”

“It won’t be enough,” Robert choked out, his heart cracking in two. “We can’t take care of everybody with the money we make here, can we?”

“Not if we want to stay in the city, no, but—”

“Hen, I-I can’t make my family live out here,” Robert said, his voice shaking as his eyes filled with tears. “I can’t.”

Covering his mouth to stifle a sob, Robert looked out at the rows of tents near the roadside. He began picturing the children out here, living in a little tent without no room for toys, without no privacy, without noschoolhouse. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Hecouldn’t. And yet...

What other choice was there?

Robert sank to his knees, the future he had coveted withering before his eyes. Grief took hold of him, sinking its barbed hooks into Robert’s shattered heart and tethering him to the earth. Even though the soil here was fertile, there wasn’t no way that Robert and his family could thrive. It was as though the Davis name was tainted, poison in their blood, preventing them from ever blossoming into the people Robertknewthey could be. All he had ever wanted in his whole entire life was to help his family grow, to tend to them and make them bloom. Foolishly, he had thought that by leaving Oklahoma, he could ensure his family’s prosperity. But it seemed that no matter where Robert took them, their lives would continue to wilt.

What future was there for them now?

Henry knelt beside him.

“Robert, uhm, people are watchin’. Maybe we ought to head back, you know?” He shuffled closer and leaned in to whisper, “Let me take you home.”

“What home?” Robert choked out. He ripped out a fistful of grass with a pained howl. “That Goddamn house ain’t our home. Charles and Lillian Sherwood might want to help my siblings, but youknowit ain’t a home for the two of us. Christ, Hen, I wanted you and me to make ourownhome. But we can’t. Not with this kind of money. We won’t never be Robert and Henry Davis now.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“We won’t!”

“Robert, what you and me are to each other, no one can take that from us. If I say I belong to you, then I belong to you. Did you hear what name I provided this mornin’ to that man runnin’ the farm? Henry Davis. I’m yers, Robert. Even if we can’t have a bedroom to ourselves right now, even if my parents refuse to think of us as more than friends, even if we can’t never really be married, I’m yers. Forever and ever.” Henry took hold of Robert’s fingers. Squeezing them, he said, “We’ll figure everything out. Iknowwe will. I mean, we made it out here, right? Even though it seemed like life or God was fightin’ us every step of the way?”

Robert took a pause, trying to breathe in the truth of Henry’s words, but the weight of failure was pressing on his chest, and the breath he took was uneven and shallow. Henry’s words, they may have reached his mind, but even though Robert knew he ought to believe them, he couldn’t, for they hadn’t reached his heart.

Still, he wanted to believe Henry. He wanted it more than he could say.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice thick with sorrow.

Henry released Robert’s hand and said, “We’ll keep tryin’. Maybe we’ll only work here a couple times a week. Stay back in San Francisco sometimes. Keep searchin’ for work in the city so we won’t have to pay the folks with the trucks. We’ll have more time with our family, too, that way.”

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