“And I’ll take excellent care of my Baby Doll.”
Gloria laughs. “Right. Like I said, we gotta talk about that sometime. Shit, you’ve been through a lot. I can’t believe—No. We have to stop talking now, or you’re going to get caught. So let’s say goodbye, and then I want you to start walking back to the house. When we hang up, you should turn the phone off and then throw it as far into the woods as you can, okay? Then go back inside. Like I said, with a little luck, no one will even know that you were gone. And wait—did you say you had a tournament coming up?”
I nod my head yes. “On Sunday, January 23rd. It’s in the gym.”
“Sunday in the gym. Got it. All right, then. Is there anything else you want to say before we hang up?”
I think. “No,” I say.
“Great. So remember, get as much money as you can, and a few phones, and then walk straight to Cumberland Farms on Tuesday when you get off the bus. That’s where we’ll have our little rendezvous. Be sure to walk, nice and steady. Don’t go slinking around all careful. People notice that sort of thing. Walk with purpose, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“Good,” she says. “Now let’s say goodbye. I love you, Ginny.”
“Goodbye,” I say. Then I press the red button on the phone and I stop walking.
I look around at where I am. It is darker than ever now and the road is still sandy and so are my pants and there are piles of snow on the side of the road. Everything is black and white and colder than it was before. So cold that I can’t feel my fingers when I pick at them.
The time is 6:03. I shut the phone off and throw it deep into the woods where no one will find it. Then I turn around and keep walking back to the Blue House.
75
EXACTLY 3:31 IN THE AFTERNOON,
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 19TH
I am in Patrice’s office again sitting in the flower chair. Agamemnon is lying in a sunbeam on the carpet near the heat register. His eyes are closed but sometimes he moves his tail back and forth.
I take a bite of graham cracker.
“What are you thinking, Ginny?” says Patrice.
“I am thinking about Agamemnon,” I say.
“What about him?”
“He isn’t hiding today.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“His tail is moving but his eyes are shut.”
Patrice looks. Agamemnon’s tail twitches from right to left. “You’re right,” she says. “Sometimes animals do that. They look like they’re asleep, but their minds are moving. In his dreams Agamemnon might be chasing a mouse.”
“Or a chipmunk,” I say. “Or a squirrel.” Because I remember that the Maine coons were great hunters.
Patrice stands up. She picks up Agamemnon and turns to me. “Is it all right if I put him on your lap?”
I nod my head yes. I haven’t held a cat in a long, long time. I wonder if I remember how to do it. The last alive thing I held was my Baby Doll. Five years ago when I picked it up to put it in the suitcase. Then before I can think any more Patrice puts Agamemnon on my lap. His head is near my knees. I put my arms around his sides. With my right hand I start to pet him. He purrs.
My eyes are wet. It is hard to see.
“There,” says Patrice. “Now, that’s a surprise, isn’t it? You’re pretty good at holding cats. Now the two of you can get to know each other. He’ll just keep on dreaming, if you let him. I wonder if we could talk about what happened last night. Brian and Maura tell me that they found you climbing back into your window.”
I wipe my eyes and go back to petting Agamemnon. “I went outside,” I say.
“Yes, I’d gathered that,” says Patrice. “They said that you wouldn’t tell them why, though. They said that you had your backpack with you, and your DVD player and fourteen movies inside it.”
“I am fourteen years old,” I say.
“Right. You’re fourteen years old, so of course that’s how many movies you would bring. Did you watch a movie while you were outside?”
“I was going to watch The Sound of Music but then I didn’t.”
“What made you stop?”
I make sure my mouth is closed tight. I think. And keep moving my hands deep in Agamemnon’s fur.
“I’m going to wait until you’re ready to answer,” says Patrice. She picks up some blue-and-white yarn from a basket next to her chair. There are two long silver needles in the yarn. She starts to knit. “But I’ll ask the question again in case you forgot it. What made you stop watching the movie?”
“I got angry,” I say. And clamp my hand over my mouth.
The knitting needles make a clicking sound. “I see,” says Patrice. “I bet you were angry about the conversation you’d just had with Brian and Maura. What was it about?”
I am shocked. Because she gave me the thing I have to say and it’s true, mostly. Now I can just say it. I take my hand away and breathe. “They’re going to bring me to visit the home for girls who aren’t safe,” I say.
Patrice starts nodding her head. “Saint Genevieve’s. And you don’t want to go there?”
I think. Then I say, “No, I don’t want to go there.”
“It sounds like you got angry about having to leave the Blue House, and so you needed to get away for a little while to be by yourself. Have you thought about telling Brian and Maura that you’re angry and that you don’t want to go?”
I am confused. “No,” I say.
“Well, maybe you should. When you tell people that you’re angry, or that you don’t want to do something, then it shows that you care. And that’s what they’ve wanted all along, Ginny. Brian and Maura want to know that you like living with them. That you’d miss them if you had to go away. That it’s worth trying to get you to stay. The only thing they’ve seen you care about since you contacted Gloria on Facebook is your sister. About Krystal with a K, I mean. Now, that’s understandable, considering the circumstances, but aside from that, you haven’t shown anyone that you care about anything. You haven’t shown any interest in staying at the Blue House at all. I mean, your behavior has gotten a lot better, but you still don’t seem to want to stay.”
What this means is that Patrice doesn’t know anything about the reason I climbed out the window. She isn’t going to talk about Gloria or phones at all.
I smile.
“Why are you smiling?”
I want to clamp my hand over my mouth but I don’t. I don’t need to.
“Ginny, I asked why you’re smiling.”
“We are going to the Special Olympics basketball tournament on Sunday, January 23rd,” I say. Because it’s true even if it isn’t the answer to Patrice’s question.
“That’s great,” says Patrice. “I think it’s great that you’ve kept up with all the practices each week, even while Brian was in the hospital. I know he’s glad to be home. Are you still glad he’s home, too?”
I nod my head yes.
“Good,” says Patrice. “You and Brian have a special bond. It will be hard to go away to Saint Genevieve’s and leave him behind, don’t you think?”