When She Woke (21 page)

“I bet they are. You’re wonderful with words.”

“Besides, it’s hardly appropriate for a clergyman to be writing about murder.”

Or having an adulterous love affair with a member of your congregation.
“Will you let me read one?” Hannah asked. Aidan hesitated. “C’mon,” she said, “I showed you mine.”

His eyes slitted, and his lips curved in a lazy, intimate smile. His hand lifted to her breast. “So you did,” he said, circling her nipple with his forefinger. “But I like you better without it.”

The memory was so vivid she could almost feel his hands on her. She let her lids fall closed, circled her nipples lightly, tugged on them as he’d done. Felt a twinge of arousal, a hollow, mechanical echo of what she’d felt with Aidan. She opened her eyes. Her hideous red self stared back at her.

“Lights out,” she said.

She returned to the bedroom and slipped under the covers. Kayla didn’t respond to her murmured, “Good night,” and Hannah assumed she was asleep. She closed her eyes, feeling bone-tired but safe for the first time in months. And yet, despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. Images of the faces she’d seen today paraded before her mind’s eye: the enlightener, the Henleys, the two boys in the car, the woman at the pawnshop, Becca, Cole, the guard at the library, Aunt Jo, Mrs. Bunten, Aidan, the teenager at McDonald’s, TJ. A grim pageant of fury and malice, shock and disgust, pity and grief. These were the emotions Hannah elicited in other people now.

Beside her Kayla sighed and sat up. The floorboards creaked under her weight. Hannah heard a whisper of sound, the soft whoosh of fabric falling to the floor. The brush of bare feet against wood. A squeak of bedsprings. Murmurs, which faded to silence, which was broken by moans, sporadic at first and then rhythmic and urgent. A woman’s cry, a man’s gasp. Silence. Finally, the sound of weeping: first one woman, and then two.

H
ANNAH SLEPT UNTIL WELL PAST
noon, waking to the heavenly smell of frying bacon. It told her immediately that she was no longer at the center; that she wouldn’t have to endure another hasty, tepid shower and meager breakfast, another soporific sermon by Reverend Henley, another gruesome enlightenment session with Bob. She showered and put on the clothes Kayla had left for her: jeans, a cotton sweater, underwear, socks, sneakers. Hannah had never worn pants before, and the snug feel of them was discomfiting. She’d been taught that pants were inappropriate for girls because they were immodest, an explanation that had never made sense to her, given that pants, unlike all but floor-length skirts, covered a hundred percent of a woman’s legs. Once, just after she turned sixteen, she pressed her mother as to exactly why they were immodest. “Because they remind men of your legs and what’s between them,” her mother replied. “Is that what you want to do?” The answer had disturbed Hannah so much that from that moment on, she never again questioned the convention.

Now, eyeing herself in the mirror, Hannah could see her mother’s point. The jeans were a little short but otherwise fit her form perfectly, emphasizing the length of her legs, the smallness of her waist, the roundness of her buttocks. When she stood with her legs together, there was a triangular gap just below her crotch, and two more at the top and bottom of her calves. The gaps seemed almost like invitations.

But. Hannah cocked her head, tasting a new idea. If women’s pants were suggestive, men’s were equally so, and they revealed a great deal more of what was underneath them. There was almost always a bulge—you couldn’t help but notice it—and if the pants were tight, you could see practically everything. And the way men were always drawing attention to it! Touching and scratching themselves with total unselfconsciousness, as if they were alone and not in public. She’d even seen Aidan do it a few times, absent-mindedly. And yet no one accused men of being improper or of encouraging sin by reminding women of what hung between their legs. She looked at herself in the mirror, irritated suddenly by the double standard. This was how her body was made. The fact that it was well made and encased in a pair of blue jeans didn’t mean she was inviting anything.

“You alive in there?” Kayla called out.

Hannah went and joined her in the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Kayla returned brightly. The cheerfulness was a bit forced, but Hannah was glad to see that the despair of yesterday was gone.

“Where’s TJ?”

Kayla shrugged. “He was gone when I got up. Left me a note saying he’d be back by three. I’d like to be out of here before then.”

“You mean, for good?”

“Yup.” There wasn’t an atom of doubt in Kayla’s voice.

“Where to?”

They discussed their options over breakfast. Neither of them wanted to stay in Dallas; the associations were too painful. But the idea of going someplace where they knew no one was daunting. “I’ve got a cousin in Austin,” Kayla said. “He’s completely mental but he’s family, I bet he’d help us get on our feet. And there’s Annie, my best friend from college, she’s down in Corpus.” Kayla looked expectantly at Hannah.

“All my friends and family are here.” It struck her then, just how small and contained her life had been: a snow globe, without the snow. “I vote Austin, if your cousin will help. But we’ll need a car.”

“I’ve got one. It’s parked at my old apartment, assuming it hasn’t been towed. My problem’s lana. I’m pretty close to broke.”

“I’ve got plenty of money. Enough to last us for a good while.” Kayla looked at her curiously but didn’t ask, for which Hannah was grateful. “Anyway, before we can go anywhere, I need to get some clothes and some other things from home. Which means I need to call my father. I doubt my mother would let me in the house.”

“I hear you. If TJ hadn’t gone to my apartment after I was arrested and picked up my port and some other stuff, I’m sure my mama would have thrown it all away.”

“Daddy gets off work at six. He could probably meet us somewhere by seven or so.”
If he’s still speaking to me.

Hannah used the vid in the bedroom to make the call. To her relief, her father picked up at once.

“Thank God,” he said, when he saw her face. “I’ve been worried sick, and so has Becca. Are you all right?” He looked careworn, anxious—her fault, Hannah knew.

“I’m fine. I’m with a friend in East Dallas.”

“I know, I found you on geosat. I was just about to head over there. But Hannah, why did you leave the center? I haven’t had time to look for a place for you, I don’t have any job leads—”

“It’s all right, Daddy. You aren’t responsible for me.”

“If you had a daughter of your own, you’d know better than that.”

His words summoned an image of Pearl as she might have been: lying on her back in her crib, waving her chubby arms and smiling up at Hannah.

“I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me.” Her father sighed, a pained hiss. “We’ll figure something out, Hannah. I’ll come pick you up as soon as I get off work.”

A siren song, to which she longed to surrender. How wonderful it would be, to give herself over to his loving guidance, to let him swoop in, take charge, figure out what to do next. Daddy to the rescue.

No. She wasn’t a child anymore, and she’d dragged him deep enough into her troubles, him and Becca both. Hannah shook her head and made her voice firm. “I’m leaving town. I just need you to bring me some things from home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Where will you go? You have no connections, no money.”

“My friend has money,” she lied. “And my mind’s made up. I can’t stay here, not after everything that’s happened. Surely you can understand that.”

“This friend of yours, is she also a . . .” He faltered.

“A criminal? An outcast? Yeah, she’s just like me.” He flinched at that, but Hannah pushed down her remorse. As much as she hated to hurt him, she knew she’d only cause him more pain if she stayed.

“All right,” he said, defeated. “Tell me what you need.”

She gave him a list—her port, some clothes, some toiletries— and they agreed to meet at seven in the parking lot of the little shopping center near the house. Hannah hung up and then, unable to resist the impulse, did a search on Aidan. There were over a hundred thousand entries. She looked through the more recent ones and found a news vid of his swearing-in ceremony as secretary of faith. He stood on a dais with Alyssa, his parents, President Morales and some other officials. The president extolled the work Aidan had done so tirelessly on behalf of children and the poor, the hope his ministry had brought to millions across the globe, the power of his vision for an America and a planet united in the love of God. Alyssa held the Bible while he took the oath of office, swearing to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic, so help him God. Then, to enthusiastic applause from the assembled guests, Aidan stepped up to the podium. In close-up, his face was drawn, his spirit visibly dimmed. He began with thanks: to God and His blessed Son, Jesus Christ, to the president and vice president, to his predecessor, to this senator and that congresswoman, to his parents and finally, to his wife, whom he credited with making him not just a better minister, but a better man through her loving and compassionate example. This elicited an abashed smile from Alyssa and a chorus of
awws
from the audience, but to Hannah, his words—all of them—seemed rote, deadened, and she knew it was because he was mourning her. She wondered, had she made him a better man, or a worse man? Had that even been in her power, or had she simply allowed him to be the man he was, good and bad both?

The speech continued, but Hannah turned it off and rejoined Kayla in the kitchen. She’d reached her crazy cousin, who was indeed willing to let them stay with him until they found a place of their own. While she was packing her things, Hannah did the breakfast dishes and made the bed. Fifteen minutes later, they were ready to go.

As they were about to walk out the door, Hannah said, “You’re not even going to leave him a note?”

“Nope. Got nothing to say but goodbye.”

They headed toward Greenville and the train station. The sidewalk was narrow, so they went in single file, with Hannah in front. They didn’t speak, but she could hear the soft slap of Kayla’s footsteps behind her, moving at a slightly different cadence from her own. How different she felt from when she’d walked this same sidewalk yesterday, because of that simple, companionable sound. A car turned onto the street and approached them. Hannah reached up to raise her hood but then stopped herself, letting the bright afternoon sun shine down upon her naked red face.

K
AYLA’S OLD APARTMENT
was in Oak Lawn. They took the train to Lemmon and the bus across to Wycliff. The driver was indifferent to them, but their fellow passengers’ eyes were hard and unwelcoming, herding them to the rear. There were two other Chromes back there, one on either side of the aisle, a Red and a Green, both male. The Red was a bum, probably homeless, definitely unbathed for quite some time. Snores smelling of booze and rotting teeth issued from his gaping mouth. The Green, on the other hand, was young and good-looking, with a coiled intensity and manic eyes. Hannah and Kayla exchanged a glance and chose the loud, smelly bum. They took seats two rows behind him, four rows behind the Green, who watched them as they passed. As she had with the Yellow in the train station the day before, Hannah found herself automatically assessing him, mining the information presented by his face and body. Greens were a wide-ranging category. If he was an arsonist or an armed robber, he probably wasn’t dangerous, at least not to them. But if he’d been chromed for something like aggravated assault . . .

He turned his head and looked back at them. “I’ve got TJ’s bowie knife,” Kayla said under her breath. She opened the duffel bag and showed the knife to Hannah. “I took it from his room this morning.”

“Good, we may need it,” said Hannah. “But not for this guy.” Once again, she marveled at her certainty. Had becoming a Red given her an extra sense, a knowledge of the hidden desires and evil in other hearts? She shook her head as a more likely, less romantic explanation occurred to her: becoming a Red had forced her, for the first time in her life, to really pay attention.

“That bus driver wouldn’t lift a finger to help us, I can tell you that,” Kayla said. “And neither would any of those other upstanding citizens in front.”

“That’s all right. We won’t need them to.” Hannah gestured toward the Green, who was now intent on a hologame he was playing on his port. “Look, he’s already lost interest in us.”

Kayla gave Hannah an appreciative look. “God seems to be sending some information to you that I’m not receiving on my bandwidth. But all I can say is, praise be.”

“God’s got nothing to do with it,” Hannah said.

“I thought you were a serious Christian.”

“I was, once. Are you?”

“Nah, I’m not religious. I mean, not like they taught us in church, anyway. I figure if there is a God, She’s good and surged right now about the state of things down here.”

That’s blasphemy,
Hannah thought, with a flare of outrage that was followed, a beat later, by wonder at the vehemence of her reaction. Why, when she no longer believed, would she respond like that? It had been pure reflex, she realized. She had no more control over it than she would over her salivary glands in the presence of freshly baked bread. Was that all her religious beliefs had ever been then, a set of precepts so deeply inculcated in her that they became automatic, even instinctive? Hear the word
God,
think He. See the misery of humankind, blame Eve. Obey your parents, be a good girl, vote Trinity Party, never sit with your legs apart. Don’t question, just do as you’re told.

“Hey, where are you?” Kayla said. “You’re graying out on me.”

“The past,” Hannah said. “Where else?”

“I hear that. Spent a lot of time there myself lately, and somehow I always come back feeling worse, not better. Figure I’m better off leaving it in the rearview mirror where it belongs.”

Watching the lights of the city fly past outside the smudged window of the train, Hannah was gripped by a sudden sadness. When she was a child, it had always seemed to her as though the landscape were moving, hurtling past her while she remained in place. Now, the illusion was gone. It was she who was leaving all this behind.