As I lay staring at the ceiling, I remembered that Mitch hadn’t answered my questions about Mom. It must mean she was dead or had left him. It had been foolish to get my hopes up. Now I had to bundle all my hopes and pin them on Mitch. Maybe he had some other children—-some siblings for me, maybe some other grandparents. Maybe I’d still get to have some sort of family. I had to focus on that.
But for a little while I let myself imagine my mom cooking breakfast in the cabin’s little kitchen. I imagined her waking me up for school. I imagined us watching Offender NYC together and eating popcorn. This lovely daydream was interrupted by the fact that, try as I might, I couldn’t picture her with Mitch. I immediately felt guilty at this thought, because I’d only recently been able to picture her at all. Mom must have loved him, and I was the result.
I sat up and looked out the window. Sunrise was a ways off, but I could make out mountains and trees. I smelled wood and pine in the sweet, clean air. It was chilly in the room, but I liked it. Not like Kansas, where your sheets and towels never feel quite dry. Maybe I wouldn’t go back to Kansas at all. Maybe I’d stay here with Mitch for a while. I could cook and clean for him like I did for Michael Rhones. I could make a home for us.
But that was a crazy thought. I’d only just met him.
Maybe he could get me a job at the mine, or maybe there was a shop down in Paiute where I could work, waiting on tourists. Maybe I’d make friends with some of the local girls. Maybe I’d go to movies and shop in the supermarket.
Did I really think Mitch would just invite me to move in with him? Did he believe I was his blood? Maybe we should get a DNA test to confirm our relationship so he wouldn’t think I wanted anything from him. I needed to find out about my mom, but did I want more than that? What exactly did I want from Mitch?
I knew what I needed—-more time. But Dekker needed to go back, and the pressure to find out everything I could as quickly as possible was giving me vapor lock.
Plus how would Mitch react to all the drama surrounding me? The theft and murder warrants? The commitment papers Mr. Dooley had so thoughtfully drawn up? If Mitch knew everything . . . anybody in his right mind wouldn’t want me to stay. He’d be afraid I’d kill him too.
I walked to the bathroom, closed the door and checked the shower and the closet before using the toilet. A clock sat on the vanity, saying five--fifty. Mitch would be getting off work in ten minutes, and then he’d be home. Realizing this, I had an overwhelming urge to wake Dekker up and talk to him.
I went into the hall and turned the master bedroom doorknob slowly before pushing the door open. Dekker was sprawled on the bed, and I looked at him for a while—-his unruly dyed black hair, his big Adam’s apple, his long fingers. I remembered the dream I’d had at the motel, about Dekker and me kissing. Maybe it was just hormones, but I couldn’t help feeling attracted to him at this moment. It was gratitude too. He’d put up with a lot of crap from me this past week. He’d let me into his world but never made me feel like a freak. Well, hardly ever.
His eyes opened, focused exactly on me. I started.
“How long you been standing there?”
“Awhile,” I said.
He sat up and scratched his head. “Petty, you know you’re not supposed to talk to me right when I wake up.” Dekker swiveled toward me and put his socked feet on the floor. “Holy shit, it’s cold,” he said. “You suppose it ever gets warm up here?”
I shrugged.
He sat blinking. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost six.”
“Mitch will be coming home soon.”
“Yes.” I wanted to talk to Dekker about all the things I was feeling, but I didn’t have the words.
“It’s kind of hard to believe we actually did what we said we were going to do,” he said. “Other than you kidnapping me at gunpoint, and me finding out you actually killed Michael Rhones and everything, this has been a pretty amazing road trip.”
I didn’t say anything, stung by Dekker’s words, remembering how he’d characterized me the day before—-the boogeyman. I couldn’t help grimacing.
“That was a joke, Petty,” Dekker said. “You need to start getting used to that sort of thing. I don’t really believe you killed your dad. Or, the guy you thought was your dad. The guy who raised you.”
Even though I now knew Michael Rhones—-Charlie Moshen—-was not my father, I felt a pang in my stomach. He was the only dad I’d ever known. He was the one who’d trained me to disarm the old man with a shotgun in Salina. He was the one who’d taught me how to knock someone out with a punch to the temple. He was the one, as Dekker said, who’d raised me. That counted for something, no matter how crazy he was, no matter how strange.
“Dekker,” I said. “I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. How grateful I am that you’re my friend.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. This was the first time I’d said anything so personal, and it felt as strange to me as it looked like it felt to him. But being around his family, even for such a short time, had shown me how friends act toward one another.
“Even though I had to kidnap you to make you my friend,” I added.