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“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he asked.
I looked at him blankly.
“For the hearing. Is your hearing still scheduled for tomorrow?”
I hadn’t thought of that for hours. “Yes. At least, I think so.” My mind tripped backward, trying to think what might have happened tonight to change the hearing.
“At eleven?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He followed me to the door, his hands fluttering for places to rest. Finally, he grabbed the doorknob. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you feel better now?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door, and I stepped onto the stoop. All around were shadows, and the lawn in front of the church fell down the hill into blackness.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me drive you.”
“No, no, I can walk. It’ll be nice.”
“It’s so far.”
“Not really.” I ran down the steps. “Thanks,” I said.
He hesitated. “Wait,” he said again. He moved from behind the door and stepped onto the stoop. The light pouring from the study silhouetted his figure. His fine blond hair seemed afire. “I almost forgot,” he called out. “Did you want to tell me something?”
“No,” I said, turning away. I felt a sudden heaviness. Why did he have to ask me that? He’d known what I was going to say. Everything had been all right until then. Why’d we have to pretend now? “No, it was nothing,” I called back.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The walk to the Vernons’ took about half an hour. I avoided the square, to make sure I wouldn’t run into anyone who’d wandered back from the fair. I went down Parker Street, behind the hotel, past the army recruiters’ building, the bowling alley, the Sears catalogue store. Turning down Molly Street, I crossed to the other side to stay away from the bars—the Little Las Vegas, Tumble Inn, Murphy’s, all lined up and spitting out bad smells and jukebox music. When I came to the tracks, I crouched and put my hand on a rail, feeling for a train. The metal was cool and still. Down Prosperity Street, I followed the hum of the KTD, letting my body absorb the vibrations from the air. Flashes of white welding light sparkled through the factory’s squinty, stained windows. The midnight whistle was still about fifteen minutes away.
As I came down the Vernons’ block, I saw someone on the curb under the streetlight, sitting slumped over, like a drunk. When I got closer, I realized it was Bunny. She heard my footsteps and stood, but waited for me to come to her.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She put her arms around me and hung from my neck without saying anything.
“The man inside sent me away,” she mumbled finally. “He growled. I heard him growl.”
Bunny dangled from my neck for a few more seconds and then dropped down to the curb again. I sat beside her. Between her feet on the street was the goldfish bowl she’d won earlier in the evening. “He’s still alive,” she said, pointing to the fish.
“Lucky him.”
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Bunny rested her head on my shoulder. I braced my arms in back for support, letting my fingers slide through the cool grass. I told her all about Banyon’s Woods, though she hardly seemed interested. I couldn’t even tell if she was listening.
“I really am a good mother,” Bunny said, when I’d finished. “Maybe Tom does have problems, but look at you—you’re a perfect child, a perfect child.”
“Stop it,” I said gently.
“No, really. Every mother would love to have a daughter like you.” With her head on my shoulder, she was talking across the street, and her voice had a distant quality. She was quiet for a minute or so and then said, “And, anyway, I love Tom, so I don’t care.”
“I know. I love him, too.”
She was quiet again. The sharp squeak of a cricket persisted from the tree above us. A car nosed around the corner and down Oak. The driver, an old man, was gripping the steering wheel with both hands and straining to see in front. He went by without noticing us.
