Be Good Be Real Be Crazy (7 page)

Daphne's tangled response didn't make any sense—at least not to Homer.

“She's found a paradise of her own creation, one spun with sugar and cinnamon. She says the creek is full, the sun doesn't dip into the horizon, and it's always morning and never too late.”

The old man bowed his head, and though Homer couldn't see his face, he noticed that the man's back looked a little straighter as he sat down.

All the answers that followed were just as odd and discombobulated as the first. And yet the askers, no matter how desperate the question, all seemed to understand, to hear something in the gibberish that was as clear as to them as the words of a neon sign set against the otherwise empty dark.

There will come a time when yellow will be the right color to hear. You'll know where.

The past has not happened. Not yet. It will. But false hope won't make it the same as it was before.

Be generous with your weaknesses. Wishing alone won't make the pumpkin into a pine tree.

To a stocky man in a fleece pullover who asked about his estranged daughter, Daphne said, “She's made a beautiful life out of dust and tumbleweeds. She's pulled the moon closer with her truthful smile. When you send the letter, add a flower. She'll open it this time.” The man nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he handed the mike back to Gerard.

The guy who spoke next grabbed the microphone before Gerard had the chance to pose for the camera crew. “Yeah. I've got more of a statement than a question.” Maybe it was the way the upturned collar on his trench coat hid his face or maybe Gerard didn't like how the guy was shifting from side to side like a boxer about to throw a punch. Whatever his reasons, Gerard raised his hand and two wide men in black overcoats and headsets appeared next to him.

“I—” The man in the trench coat hesitated, glanced at Gerard and the men with headsets, and then spoke so quickly everything he said sounded like one big word. “Whatyou'redoinghereisthedevil'sworkandtheOneabovewillpunishyouinhelleverlastingforyoursins.” His rant done, the man dropped the mike to the ground, held his hands in the air, and started walking across the clearing toward a break in the woods. The men with headsets followed a yard or so behind.

Gerard picked up the microphone and plastered a big smile on his face. “Whew. I apologize for that ugly interruption. Okay, who's next?”

With each question, Daphne slumped a little bit more. Each answer she gave transformed into a hand pressing against the back of her neck. When a woman with a cane pushed herself to her feet, the microphone grasped in her free hand, her mouth opening to ask her sad or anxious or pained question, Daphne folded in half like an antique doll and didn't sit back up.

Just like that, the strange show was over.

It was horrifying, how well rehearsed everything was that happened next. Gerard excused the crowd, explaining that the Oracle was done for the day and the gift shop was open until five as Clara Belle waved and the two security guys reappeared to carry Daphne off the platform.

Watching this, Homer felt like Einstein's glass dome had actually been lowered over the clearing and he needed to escape immediately, but Mia's hand, still gripping his, held him in place as he started to stand.

“Let the rest of them go. Then we'll find her,” she said.

Einstein nodded in agreement, so Homer stayed put and they waited until they were the only ones left, save for two men in coveralls who came to sweep up the tissues and tickets left behind on the flattened grass.

When they got back to Daphne's trailer, there was a small fleet of cars parked out front, including the TV crew's huge SUV.

The elderly woman who answered the door might have looked sweet under other circumstances. Her hair was neatly pinned like a movie star from the 1930s, her swishy dress a comforting shade of sky blue. But at that moment, she looked like a woman who was expecting—and ready for—a fight.

“Yes?”

“Uh, hi.” Einstein's hand was still raised from knocking. He lowered it quickly. “We . . . we wanted to check on Daphne.”

“We're her friends,” Mia added.

The woman looked them up and down, head to toe, one by one. “How do you know my granddaughter?”

“She let us—”

“She helped us last night,” Homer interrupted Einstein. He suspected that Daphne's grandmother wouldn't like the fact that her granddaughter had let three tourists sleep in her trailer home.

The woman eased her grip on the door handle, but her expression remained guarded. “You'll have to come back another time. She overdid it again and needs to rest. I was just kicking those fool TV people out before y'all arrived.” She started to shut the door, but Mia's voice stopped her.

“Does it happen a lot? Her collapsing?”

Daphne's grandmother made her free hand into a fist, squeezed it tight, then looked up. “Let me tell you something. When that baby of yours comes into the world, you're gonna want to make it so that little soul never feels even a thimbleful of pain.” The hardness in her voice dissolved like a sugar cube in hot water. “And it will break your heart when that child goes invitin' all that bad stuff into her life after you spent most of yours trying to keep those hurts away.”

Einstein tucked his nose into his sweatshirt. Homer looked at his feet. Only Mia seemed to know what to say.

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, child.” Daphne's grandmother was weary, strong, and kind all at once. “It's not your fault. And Lord knows, I shouldn't make a mama-to-be worry. I beg Him for guidance,
but Daphne's like her father, stubborn and hungry for bigger things.” She shook her head gently. “She tells me, ‘Ya-Ya, open your Bible—all those heroes and saints, they had to suffer some to do good.' She says, ‘Ya-Ya, we all make sacrifices—at least I know I'm making mine.' I suppose she's not too far from the truth.” Daphne's grandmother tapped her fingertips against the door, each tiny
ping
a period at the end of whatever silent prayers she was reciting in her head.

Homer found his voice. “I'm sorry we've upset you. We wanted to make sure Daphne—”

“I should go check on her. I don't trust those TV folks any farther than I can throw 'em. I'll tell her y'all came by. 'Kay?”

“Thank you.”

Daphne's grandmother nodded and started to shut the door, but stopped abruptly. “You're Homer?”

“Yes. That's me.”

“I'm feeling my age today. Forgettin' everything.” She fished a folded piece of paper out of her front pocket. “Daphne said to give you this. Said to tell you it was the first one she saw.”

“I—”

“Hope it didn't cost her something?”

Homer nodded, closing his hands around the paper scrap.

“It did. But you can't blame yourself for that.” Daphne's grandmother smiled sadly and pushed the door the rest of the way shut.

Homer waited until they were back at the car to open Daphne's note and read it out loud. “If you believe in gravity, you already believe in something higher than yourself.”

“Huh,” Mia said as she put her bag in the Banana's trunk. “What do you think it means?”

“From a physicist's point of view,” Einstein, who was half hidden behind a pine tree, shouted, “it doesn't make sense at all.”

Mia looked around the trunk lid at Homer. “What do you think?”

Homer hesitated before answering. “I don't know.” But he did. He just didn't know how to explain.

IT TOOK MILES AND MILES
of pavement between them and Pythia Springs for Homer to ease his grip on the steering wheel.

Mia and Einstein had switched spots, so now she was curled across the backseat, her arms folded for a pillow, and Einstein was slumped against the passenger-seat window up front. Homer couldn't make himself get back on the highway. If that meant he had to drive longer to make up the time, it was worth it not to be surrounded by tractor trailers and trucks with overstuffed beds. And he needed to let them sleep: Mia and Einstein both. When he slowed to a stop at the first real traffic light he'd seen for hours, Homer glanced to his right. Einstein's head was thrown back and his mouth was slightly open. Homer reached over and slid the glasses off his brother's face and set them in a cup holder.

“Don't be worried about Daphne. She'll be okay.” Mia's voice was barely louder than a whisper. “She's very smart.”

“I'm not worried.” Homer glanced in the rearview mirror. Mia was still resting her head on her arms, but her eyes were open, and they met his in the mirror.

“You're a rotten liar, Homer.”

Homer thought about protesting, but only for half a heartbeat. “Yeah, I know. It's on the list.”

“List?”

“Of things I'm bad at. Lying falls somewhere in between juggling and biology.”

“You're silly, Homer. You're great at tons of stuff.” Mia's pitch rose as she continued. “You're nice and sweet and tall and good at picking up heavy things. And everyone likes you because you smile with your whole face, not just your mouth.”

Homer pretended to search for a radio station so he wouldn't be tempted to look over his shoulder. Most of the time it was okay that Mia didn't like him more than as a friend, but sometimes, when she said stuff like that, a dam inside him threatened to crumble, to flood his chest with a feeling that wasn't quite sadness but wasn't quite regret either. It was like experiencing a memory in the present. It took the Banana drifting onto the rumble strip for Homer to snap out of his thoughts.

“Question. What's the worst thing you've ever done?” Mia asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, have you robbed a bank?”

“Nope.” Homer put on his blinker and passed the minivan
he'd been stuck behind for over an hour. He'd had plenty of time to assemble an image of the family inside from the many stickers lining the van's rusted bumper: the parents were proud of their honor students, wanted peace for the world and Mick Swanzy for Sheriff, and they loved their dachshund—a lot.

“Have you ever kidnapped anyone?”

“Nope.” Homer felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He could hear the smile in Mia's voice, and that made it nearly impossible not to smile with her.

“Masterminded the takeover of a politically unstable country?”

“Ha. You've been spending too much time with Einstein.”

The backseat crackled as Mia shifted around. “So spill. What's the worst thing you've ever done?”

Homer slid his hands up and down the steering wheel. The view outside had morphed from dense South Carolina woods into never-ending North Carolina fields, scrubby, but still tinted with green even in December. “My dads love to bring up the time I set one of their tea towels on fire in the backyard.”

“What's a tea towel?”

“It's a useless piece of fabric that just takes space away from towels that are actually useful.”

“Oh.” Mia frowned. “Is that why you set it on fire? Because you were mad at it?”

“No.” Homer coughed. “It was an accident. I was trying to do a voodoo ceremony and—”

“Why? Were you making a voodoo doll of someone?”

“No. My dads said that I had a stage where I was super into rituals. D.B. was worried I was going to join a cult, but Christian said I was ‘emotionally mature' and should be ‘encouraged to explore' my ‘innate spiritual nature.'” Homer laughed. “Or something like that. Then he went to the hardware store and bought me a bunch of battery-powered candles and hid all the matches.”

“Huh.” Mia sat up. Out of the corner of his eye, Homer saw her wrap her arms around her stomach. “You're lucky,” Mia said quietly. She turned toward a side window. “That Christian and D.B. found you. Got you.”

“Yeah. I know.” Part of him wanted to shout and pound his fists against the steering wheel. Yeah, he was lucky, and yeah, it really sucked that Mia wasn't. It sucked that she never got a new family. Another part of him wanted to stop the car, pull Mia into a hug, and tell her she was amazing. That any family would have been incredibly lucky to have her. That he was pretty sure, very sure, that he was in love with her. Instead he kept his hands on the wheel, cleared his throat, and hoped that words that made sense would come out of his mouth. “I was a strange little kid.” Homer shook his head. “I guess I still am. Strange, that is.”

“I used to make my stuffed animals pray when I was in fourth grade. Every night before bed, I'd line up Elly Pants, Boo Bear, and Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Mike the Giraffe. I was still living with my bio mom then, but it was around the time her drinking got so, so bad. She yelled a lot. Fought with her boyfriend. I started going to my room earlier and earlier every night, you know, to get out of the way. But I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep, so I'd set my toys up and pretend they were praying.” Mia laughed. “I didn't know any real prayers, so I had them recite Christmas carols and then ask God for the stuff I secretly wanted.”

“Let me guess. Mike the Giraffe's favorite was ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas'?”

“Because of all the animals?” Mia said, reaching down to the floor. When she sat up, she had a pen woven between her fingers.

“Yup.”

“Ha.” Mia put one end of the pen in her mouth. “You're so clever, Homer.”

“No, I'm not. Glad you're fooled, though.” Homer felt his cheeks flush. “I'm also not a germ-o-phobe or anything, but it might not be a good idea to put that pen in your mouth.”

“This pen? Why?” Mia kept chewing.

“Because it was on the floor and I don't think the Banana's previous owner was concerned about the mats staying clean.”

“Huh.” Mia chomped down twice more before spitting the pen cap into her palm. “Good point.” She dropped the cap and pen on top of a stack of magazines at her feet.

“So, what'd the stuffed animals ask for?”

“Oh, stupid stuff.” Mia made a dismissive motion with her hand.

Homer decided not to press her, but he couldn't keep himself from asking one more question. “What's the worst thing
you've
done?”

“Ever?”

“Yup.”

“I stole something.”

“A big something?”

“Yeah. The first time I got to go back and live with my mom, I stole her car keys.”

“Where did you want to go?”

“Oh, no. I didn't want to drive. I was only fourteen. I did it because I didn't want my mom to drive. I don't remember how long it was before she started drinking again, but one night she was loopy and I took her car keys. Whew. She got so, so mad.”

“You were trying to help her,” Homer said lamely.

“Yeah. But then I told Ms. Kincaid, the social worker, about hiding the keys. I thought she'd be happy that my mom couldn't drive, but instead my mom got in trouble and Ms. Kincaid said I had to live somewhere else again.” Mia stretched her arms above her head, her mouth open in a wide yawn. “A
www,
why am I such a sleepyhead today?”

“You should sleep. It's been a crazy twenty-four hours.” Homer looked at the map on his phone. “Besides, we've got
lots of time before we reach anywhere that might have a hotel.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I like taking the smaller roads. It'll make the trip longer, but it's much more interesting than the highway.” What Homer didn't say was that he was happy to draw out the time he had left with Mia for as long as he possibly could.

The old leather of the backseat crackled as Mia curled up. This time her face was turned away from Homer and she pressed her arms close to her chest instead of folding them beneath her head.

“Uh, Mia?”

“Yeah?” Mia said, tucking her knees up higher.

“I'm sorry. About your mom. It sucks.” Homer glanced in the rearview mirror. Saw Mia's shoulders rise and fall, and then looked back at the road.
Maybe she's already asleep.

When she did speak, Homer could only hear some of what she said.

“Others have . . . worse. I was . . . because . . .”

Homer didn't say anything else after that. And when Einstein woke up, he let him pick where they'd stay that night.