We pulled out into the human traffic. I turned and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
We navigated through the aisles to the stuff we needed. We each had to buy some clothes—-luckily, Walmart’s stuff was pretty cheap. I got a pack of underwear, pajamas, two pairs of jeans, and three T--shirts for less than fifty dollars.
Dekker insisted on using his own money to buy his clothes. I insisted on buying the food.
I was so glad to get out of there.
Back at the motel, Dekker put the food away then flopped on the bed with the TV remote.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” I said. I took my Walmart bag into the bathroom, then brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on my pajamas, feeling shy about Dekker seeing me like this. But I couldn’t sleep in the tub.
“My turn,” Dekker said, and took his stuff into the bathroom.
I found an old blanket on a plywood shelf above the little fridge. I spread it out on the couch and took one of the lifeless pillows from the bed. Then I crawled into my couch bed, lay on my side and faced the wall.
I heard the toilet flush, the bathroom door open and the light go off. “Petty, where are—-what are you doing?”
I turned over and looked at him. “What?”
“Why are you on the couch?”
“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”
“Yes, we can,” Dekker said. “I’m not going to—-I’d never—-you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know you wouldn’t do anything on purpose,” I said. “But as a guy, you have certain reflexes you can’t control.” I was glad my back was to him, because my face flamed with embarrassment.
“What does that mean?”
“My dad told me boys can’t help overpowering girls. It’s something their bodies are programmed to do. It’s not your fault. But I can’t be in the same bed with you.”
“That is so sick,” Dekker said.
“I know, but you can’t help it.”
“That’s not what I mean. What your dad told you was a lie. It’s not true. Anyone is capable of self--control. Nobody is ‘programmed’ to ‘overpower’ anyone else.”
“Of course you’re going to say that,” I said. “You can’t help it.”
“I can help it! If you don’t believe me, look it up on the Internet.”
I sat up and faced him.
“Your dad,” Dekker said, “Charlie Moshen, Michael Rhones, whatever the hell his name was—-was a total skeev. He made it his life’s mission to fuck with your head. He lied to you about—-well, about everything, as far as I can tell. You need to understand that. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No,” I said. “I’m already here, and you’re too tall. Now go to bed.” I turned over again.
He sighed, exasperated, and got in bed.
Thursday
IT WAS A restless night. There were lots of sirens, howling dogs, -people yelling in English and Spanish. Plus the smell of rot, ancient cigarette smoke, mildew, and B.O. was so ingrained in every fiber of the room, I couldn’t escape it. I also couldn’t stop hearing my grandmother’s creepy low voice in my head saying, Ma ma ma ma.
My disappointment at not being able to ask Jeannie a ton of questions was heavier than I would have expected. I hoped today would be different. I had a whole list: What was my mom like as a kid? How did they get along? What was I like as a baby? What exactly happened between Michael Rhones, my mom, and my real dad?
I guess I’d expected to feel some sort of instant connection with her, but all I’d felt was fear and revulsion. This person meant nothing to me, and I wondered what life would have been like had Michael Rhones not taken me away. I wondered if I’d have spent time over at my grandma’s house, baking cookies and coloring and sewing like I’d seen on TV.
I knew about Alzheimer’s disease, but I’d never seen it in real life. It was scary and life--shattering.
I woke up earlier than Dekker and tried to go back to sleep, but my back hurt and my legs were stiff from being bent all night. Plus my sinuses and throat were so dry they ached. I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came out, Dekker’s eyes were open.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Hey,” he said, sleepy.
“You ready to get going?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Something you need to know about me,” he said. “I wake up slowly. You need to give me about thirty minutes before you try to talk to me.”
“Okay,” I said.
I was antsy, anxious about going back to the Village at Xanthia. I couldn’t just sit there and wait, so I got over my self--consciousness and did push--ups, sit--ups, squats, lunges, tricep dips.
“You make me feel lazy,” Dekker said.
“Nineteen,” I said, “twenty, twenty--one . . .”