“Yes. Many nights I go to the hills. I think I will go to the ocean, but I come back. I am scared in the dark. I am scared of coyote and mountain lion and what will happen if Abuelo catch me. Every day I pray to God, please bring me help.”
“And we came,” I said.
“Yes. Always He answer my prayer.”
“Right.”
“He take my Blackie, my dog, when I pray for Blackie not to suffer.”
“Right.”
“And He give to me Mr. Javier.”
“Why didn’t Mr. Javier help you get somewhere safe?”
“He ask Abuelo can I come and live with him in Nina’s room. Abuelo say no and get the gun.”
“Right.”
“God see. God care.”
“Right.”
“God see you too, Rory.”
“Okay. It’s just, Paula, I’m not down with the Bible. Like, I respect that you believe in God and all, but…”
Paula touched my hand. She could see my face in the moonlight pouring in through the windows, and she must have seen the tears in my eyes, because she goes, “God love you.”
“But I don’t believe.”
“God love all the people. Even who don’t know Him. And He want us to love each other. He is the way, and the truth and the light. Like a ball make of love and light.”
I needed a minute with that. Paula’s not stupid. Maybe that’s the way to go—to think of God as a big ol’ ball of light and love you can tap into. Like the way I feel about my mother. Aunt Lill. My Gramma and Pop. I don’t hate that.
Paula went back to fussing with her doll. I wonder if the family who live in this beautiful house prayed for all of their good fortune and feel blessed by it. I wonder if they are God people. No crucifix on the wall. No Bibles on the shelves. Plus, they know we’re here, so unless we’re being set up—and I can’t even go there—the Masons are just good-ass humans trying to help the wrongly accused.
On the one hand I get that people shouldn’t be made to feel like assholes, and are not assholes, just because they worked hard and have more shit than others. Or even because their parents are rich and they inherited a lifestyle. I mean, I get that. It’s just the disparity. When some people in our country, and in the rest of the world, don’t have shelter, or food, or water, the excess of lives like mine just feels fucking foul. And I know that sounds like some Commie bullshit. It’s just, not everybody starts life with the same degree of privilege. Shelley says some people were born on third base and some people were born outside the ballpark, and the journey to home plate ain’t the same for all. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone to, like, find a way to get everybody in the game?
Fee’s just sitting here with Paula’s head on her shoulder now, quiet, and stroking her stomach. She did that yesterday—rubbed her stomach in concentric circles. I thought it was because she was sick. Now I wonder if some instinct kicked in, some maternal urge to nurture and protect. Maybe I just want that to be true. And maybe thinking that way makes me judge-y.
Paula asks me where I think we might go after here. Where my mother, or whoever is coming to help us, might take us.
I have no idea. I guess that’s true of all people. No one has a clue what happens next.
But I tell Paula about Vancouver. I tell her that I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up there, at least for a while. Lilly will give us all a place to stay. We’d be safe in Canada. And away from all the press. Paula smiles when I tell her that we can walk the seawall together, and shop on Robson, and see movies, and eat in ethnic restaurants. Also, there’s the Aquarium.
“And then we come back home?”
“Yes.”
“You have room for Paula?”
We have room for twenty Paulas at our house on Oakwood Circle. But home isn’t home anymore. And never will be again. I can never go back to Oakwood Circle. The bubble has popped. Thank God. In a way. No, actually, thank God.
“Abortion is legal in Canada,” Fee said.
“Yes.”
“Then I hope we do go there.”
“Yeah.”
“They might offer us asylum or whatever it’s called,” Fee said. “And maybe somehow your mom could help my mom get there too.”