I was halfway through my strength exercises before I realized that I’d dreamed Dekker and I had been lying on that bed, kissing for hours. I was appalled by how uncontrolled my brain was—-why hadn’t Michael Rhones told me about this, trained me to manage my subconscious?
Suddenly, I was afraid Dekker could read my thoughts, see into my head, and shame engulfed me like a tidal wave. I’d only ever had dreams like that about actors on TV, never a real person. It was as if I had violated him, done things to him without his permission, like when Randy had attacked me a few nights before. I knew it wasn’t the same thing, but I was still disturbed and felt like apologizing to him. But I knew that would be inappropriate.
Would Dekker be able to tell that I’d dreamed about him? Would it show on my face somehow?
And did I want to kiss Dekker?
I pushed this thought out of my head and went back to my workout, pushing myself, doing more reps, imagining Michael Rhones shouting at me to try harder. Even so, I could feel I wasn’t getting the oxygen I needed, because I hit muscle failure long before I normally did.
“How does anyone breathe this air?” I said. “There’s nothing to it.”
Dekker stretched and yawned. “Yeah, but isn’t it kind of nice not feeling moist all the time?” He startled, as if he’d said something wrong. “I mean, feeling like you’re wet? The humidity, I mean. I don’t miss it. That’s what I’m saying.”
I took a shower before dressing in the bathroom, and then Dekker took his turn in there while I watched TV. The thought of visiting my grandma again made me fidgety and nervous. What if she still couldn’t talk? How were we supposed to find my real dad? This whole trip would be for nothing, and then what would I do?
I reached for Mom’s silver necklace and realized I’d forgotten to put it on. When had I taken it off? It must have been the night before. But where did I put it? I couldn’t remember. The necklace wasn’t in my shoes, the Walmart bags, or in any of my pockets. I felt around on the bed and peeled back the sheets and blankets, then felt around on the floor. I brought the lamp off the nightstand and looked under the bed for it. It was gone.
Dekker came out of the bathroom, bringing a cloud of steam with him. “What are you doing?” he said.
“My mom’s necklace,” I said. “It’s gone.”
“I’ll bet you lost it in the tornado,” he said as he folded yesterday’s clothes.
“No,” I said. “I had it after that.”
“Are you sure? Maybe—-”
“Yes. I had it yesterday.”
I was annoyed that he didn’t seem to understand how important this was to me. The necklace was the only thing of my mother’s I had, and I’d only had it for two days. I mourned its loss.
“It’ll turn up,” he said. “You ready for this?”
We walked out the door. It was chilly, but the dazzling morning sunshine made me squint. Frost covered the Buick.
I walked to the passenger door then stopped and stared.
“Did you roll down my window?” I said.
“What?” Dekker said. “Why would I—-oh, shit. Oh, no.”
When he got to the driver’s side, he went limp then started jumping up and down. “Shit! Shitshitshit!”
I went around to where he stood and saw that someone had scratched CRAKER into the paint on the door. I looked around the parking lot and saw faces peeking around terry--cloth curtains, shaking their heads. I went back to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Glass dropped to the ground and there was more on the seat. I brushed it off before I got in.
Dekker sat rocking in his seat, pulling his hair with both hands. It was then I saw the radio had been wrenched out of the dash. And the glove box was open.
“What does ‘craker’ mean?” I said.
He banged the heels of his hands against his forehead.
“Did they mean to write ‘cracker,’ like white trash?” I thought about the run--down, jerry--rigged house I’d grown up in and the crappy trailer homes in Saw Pole, and I figured the key artist was pretty accurate.
“Will you shut up?” Dekker said. “Don’t you see what happened here? We were robbed!”
“We didn’t really listen to the radio anyway. We just need to find some cardboard and duct tape to shut up this window.”
“No! They stole my money!”
“Your money?”
“It was in the glove compartment.”
Why had he put his money in the glove box? “What? How much of it?”
He didn’t say anything.
“How much, Dekker?”
“All of it.”
Chapter 21
WE GOT OUT of the car.
Dekker paced. “Why me?” he wailed at the sky. “Why?”
“Because you left all your money in the glove compartment of a fairly nice car in a terrible neighborhood,” I said. “I’ve got just fifteen hundred left.”
He glared at me.
“You know,” I said, “I may not know a lot about how the real world works, but I know enough never to leave a thousand dollars in a—-”
Dekker strode toward the motel office. I followed him. He threw the door open and banged on the bell on the counter. “Hello?”
The old man came out of the back. “Can I help you?”