“You know what’s best? If you just brush her hair. That calms her down.” Shelby looks at Mrs. Boyd. She’s afraid to touch Helene. Mrs. Boyd urges her on. “It’s fine, Shelby, really.”
Shelby goes closer. She can smell the faint oily odor of shit from the bag attached to Helene and the scent of lavender powder. Shelby takes the hairbrush and gently begins to brush Helene’s hair. Diana is right. The motion seems to settle her. Is this when a miracle can happen? The room is darker than before, the roses on the wallpaper are more deeply red than Shelby had remembered them.
“It’s me,” Shelby whispers. All she can hear is the rhythm of the oxygen machine. She thought she would be more upset than she is. It’s peaceful in this room. And yet, Shelby doesn’t feel as if she’s with Helene. She’s with someone, but the Helene Shelby thinks about every day isn’t in this bed. Mr. Boyd is right about that. And it’s equally true that the girl Shelby once was isn’t here either. If she were, Shelby would want to put her arms around herself and tell the Shelby she used to be that she has a good heart and that the person who will punish her most in this world is herself.
“You’re good at this,” Diana tells Shelby as she brushes Helene’s hair. “You’re a natural caregiver.”
Good enough for Shelby to be left alone with Helene while Mrs. Boyd and Mrs. Campbell go to the kitchen to fix lunch. Shelby pulls a chair closer to the bed.
“Helene,” she says.
What Shelby wants is the most difficult miracle of all. She wants to be forgiven. She takes Helene’s hand in hers, and though it is impossible for Helene’s brain to dictate what she should do, her hand responds, perhaps involuntarily, perhaps not. She holds Shelby’s hand, and then lets go. It is the exact moment Shelby has waited for. She couldn’t leave without it.
Out in the yard, Mr. Boyd is still throwing the tennis ball for the dogs, but only the General is interested. The other dogs lie in the grass, exhausted. Shelby has said her good-byes to Mrs. Boyd and now comes to stand beside him.
“It’s a good thing you tired them out,” she tells Mr. Boyd. “They have a long ride ahead of them.”
“I was right, wasn’t I? It’s not Helene.”
“Not the same Helene. No.”
James has arrived with Coop, walking from his mom’s house, and he’s packing his belongings into the 4Runner. He honks the horn and waves at Mr. Boyd.
“Jimmyboy,” Mr. Boyd calls.
James comes into the yard with his dog. “Hey, Bill,” he says warmly. The men shake hands. When Shelby gives James a look, he shrugs. “Small town.”
“I’ve known Jimmy since before he was born,” Bill Boyd says. “I’m going to help his mom out with her yard work after you leave, unless I hitch a ride to California.”
“You wouldn’t trust my driving,” Shelby says.
“No one could have done any different, Shelby. It could have happened to anyone.” He gives her a brief, heartfelt hug. “I’m glad you made it, kiddo.”
James loops an arm around her. “She was always going to make it.”
Neither of the men asks where she’s going when Shelby crosses the lawn. She stands at Helene’s window. She looks inside, and then she lets herself move forward into whatever fortune awaits.
They stop at the beach in Northport one last time. The rocks here are mossy and green. It’s low tide, and the scent of salt is bitter. James gets out and walks along the shore. He leaves his black coat on the rocks. Later, when the tide comes in, it will float out to sea, like a dark flower, but they’ll be gone by then. Shelby knows they won’t get through New Jersey until the evening, but she doesn’t mind. She thinks of the way angels arrive, when you least expect them, when the road is dark, when you’re bleeding and alone and hopeless, when you’re sleeping in a basement, convinced that no one knows you’re there.