Sleep feels as far away right now as Mount Blessing. I turn on the TV, putting the volume on mute so as not to disturb anyone, but pretty soon my mind starts to drift. For some reason, I can’t get Lillian out of my head. I like her. She’s sort of sloppy, or at least it seems like she doesn’t really care all that much about her appearance, and she says things the way they are, even if what she’s saying doesn’t make her look all that good. I like that in a person. I’m so sick of all this striving toward perfection I could puke. After we were done playing cards, I was so disappointed when she stretched and then told us that she was going to bed.
“But it’s only eleven o’clock,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. She looked at me—and let me tell you something, she has this funny way of looking at you—and smiled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll have lots of time to talk tomorrow.”
“But I want to talk now,” I say aloud to no one. Throwing back the covers, I climb out of bed, unzip my knapsack, and pull out my sneakers.
The main lobby is bright with lights. A man is sitting behind the front desk, reading the funny pages on the back of a newspaper.
He looks up as I pad along the floor. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, pointing to the door. “I’m just going outside for some fresh air.”
The night air is sharp and cool. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs as I look around in the dark. It’s really dark. Just as I am about to turn back around and go inside again, I notice the Queen Mary parked a few cars away. I streak toward it, open the front door with a trembling hand, and scoot inside. Reaching under the front seat, I feel around until my fingers come in contact with Nana Pete’s keys. I turn on the engine, and then switch on the front beams until I can see the shrubs on the side of the motel. Okay. Much better.
I open my hand carefully and stare down at George lying in the middle of my palm. I have been clutching him so tightly that I am afraid he is broken. The chips in his tail and ear are still there, and everything else seems to be in place.
“Hey, George,” I whisper softly. “How are you, buddy? What’s new?”
There is a rapping sound on the side window. My head jerks around so suddenly that I pull a muscle inside my neck. “Agnes!” With only a sliver of light illuminating her wide face and her bare legs sticking out from under Nana Pete’s long brown cardigan, she looks like she is about three years old. I wrap George up tight again in my hand, roll down the window, and lean out toward her.
“God, you scared me!”
She cocks her head and pulls the edges of Nana Pete’s sweater under her chin. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing. Do you know what time it is?”
I shake my head. “I just needed some air. It’s not that cold.”
She studies me, waiting for me to say something more, but I don’t. “Were you going to run away?” Her voice is wobbly.
“What? No!” I open the door and get out of the car. “I wouldn’t do that, Agnes. I promise. I wouldn’t leave you. Ever.”
She stares at the thick yarn weaving in and out of the cardigan sleeves. “You were ready to back at the hospital.”
“Oh, that’s just what I said. But I didn’t mean it. Not really.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah, anything.”
“Did Winky ever do anything to you? Like hurt you at all? I mean, since you’ve been in the Milk House?”
I take a step back. “What? No! Never! Why would you even ask me that?”
Her body shudders, trying to hold back the tears. “I don’t know. I just … ” She shakes her head. “I’ve been thinking … ,” her voice trails off softly. “Things have just … gotten so crazy all of a sudden.” She brushes her fingers across her eyes. “I don’t know what to think anymore. It’s so confusing.” She presses the edges of the sweater against her face. “I just want to do the right thing, Honey! I just want to be good!”
I wrap both of my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair. “You’re already good, Agnes,” I say after a moment. “Why can’t you believe that?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not good! I’m weak! I was terrible to Benny and I am always tempted to sin, especially out here, where everything is weird and freaky.”
“Have you ever tried to trust yourself to do the right thing?” I ask. “Instead of always waiting for some sign or trying to figure out what Emmanuel thinks is right for you?”
She raises her tear-stained face. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not strong enough. I need Emmanuel to tell me what’s right. We all do.”
I shrug. “I don’t.”
“But that’s because you don’t care about being good!” Agnes wails. She looks at me intently. “Why don’t you want to be good? Why, Honey? Why?”
“I care about being good. I just—”
“Then what’s this?” Agnes pulls the pink flower barrette out from under the cardigan and shoves it at me.
I stare at her, speechless. “Where’d you find—”