ran my hand along the side of his face. It was still warm from sleep. I wanted to take him to bed with me, just to keep him under my arm until he could rest again. "Don't worry," I said.
"I've got to worry. What if they find me?"
"They've got lots of guys," I said. I didn't want to wake up, not completely.
"You think I should tell my folks?" he whispered.
"You should do whatever you want to, whatever you can live with best."
He sat back on his heels and looked at me. He reached out very tentatively and touched my hair. "I know you're lying, too," he said quietly. "And if you need to stay here, I think it would be just fine." He stayed for a while longer, just looking at me. Then he got up and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
In the morning I didn't know for sure if he'd been there or not. I never knew for sure. I left before anyone was up.
3
I GAVE Interstate 40 up in Nashville. When you don't have a home, it's easy to get attached to things, people, highways. Wherever you are the longest starts to feel like the place you're supposed to be, and I had been on 40 since California. Now I was on 65 going north. Then the Green River Parkway up toward Owensboro. I had good directions. You'd think I would have known by then that all roads are more or less the same, but as I pulled off the exit for Habit I started to think there was a lot out there I hadn't seen, and I wondered if maybe I should.
I found a gas station off the highway and went in to ask about Saint Elizabeth's. I knew how to get to the town but not more than that. There was a woman sitting in front of the station, sunning herself while three children who I guessed were hers sat dully in a small inflatable swimming pool half full of water. They were dark-haired and tan and they all three looked to be about the same size. It was hard to tell because they were sitting down. One of them tried to splash me as I walked by, but the water fell short, making a little muddy spot in the dust.
"Excuse me," I said to the woman. I was waking her up. I didn't want to, but I didn't know what else to do.
"Ma!" one of the children screamed. "Somebody wants gas."
The woman blinked her eyes open and pulled up the top of her blouse, which she had down below her shoulders to get some color on her chest. She looked exactly like the children in the pool. They were only smaller, tanner versions of their mother. She shook the sleep off of her. "Sorry," she said. "I drifted off."
"No," I said. "It's so hot. I know."
She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. I imagined she didn't do a lot of business. She looked over to the pool. One of the girls was trying to hold another girl's face under the water, but there really wasn't enough water to do it right. The boy sat on the edge, watching. "Stop that," the woman said to them without much enthusiasm.
"What I need are directions, really," I said. "I'm looking for Saint Elizabeth's."
The woman's expression changed. She looked back at her children again and then back at me. "Up there," she said, her voice flat. "Three miles past town. On the left." Then she turned around and headed inside the station.
"Can I get some gas?" I said. I had half a tank, but I didn't want to have woken her up just for directions.
"You got enough to get you there," she said, and went inside.
"Boo," one of the girls in the swimming pool said.
It wasn't until I was back in the car and driving again that I realized what had happened. That just by saying where I was going she would know all of my business. She didn't like it, either.
If I drove through a town, I didn't see it. Habit was nothing but two stores and a dozen or so houses that were closer together than the others. Saint Elizabeth's, on the other hand, would have been nearly impossible to miss. I came over the top of a hill and there it was, sitting back from the road. It was giant and white and looked more like a natural phenomenon, like the Grand Canyon, than a home for
"I've got to worry. What if they find me?"
"They've got lots of guys," I said. I didn't want to wake up, not completely.
"You think I should tell my folks?" he whispered.
"You should do whatever you want to, whatever you can live with best."
He sat back on his heels and looked at me. He reached out very tentatively and touched my hair. "I know you're lying, too," he said quietly. "And if you need to stay here, I think it would be just fine." He stayed for a while longer, just looking at me. Then he got up and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
In the morning I didn't know for sure if he'd been there or not. I never knew for sure. I left before anyone was up.
3
I GAVE Interstate 40 up in Nashville. When you don't have a home, it's easy to get attached to things, people, highways. Wherever you are the longest starts to feel like the place you're supposed to be, and I had been on 40 since California. Now I was on 65 going north. Then the Green River Parkway up toward Owensboro. I had good directions. You'd think I would have known by then that all roads are more or less the same, but as I pulled off the exit for Habit I started to think there was a lot out there I hadn't seen, and I wondered if maybe I should.
I found a gas station off the highway and went in to ask about Saint Elizabeth's. I knew how to get to the town but not more than that. There was a woman sitting in front of the station, sunning herself while three children who I guessed were hers sat dully in a small inflatable swimming pool half full of water. They were dark-haired and tan and they all three looked to be about the same size. It was hard to tell because they were sitting down. One of them tried to splash me as I walked by, but the water fell short, making a little muddy spot in the dust.
"Excuse me," I said to the woman. I was waking her up. I didn't want to, but I didn't know what else to do.
"Ma!" one of the children screamed. "Somebody wants gas."
The woman blinked her eyes open and pulled up the top of her blouse, which she had down below her shoulders to get some color on her chest. She looked exactly like the children in the pool. They were only smaller, tanner versions of their mother. She shook the sleep off of her. "Sorry," she said. "I drifted off."
"No," I said. "It's so hot. I know."
She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. I imagined she didn't do a lot of business. She looked over to the pool. One of the girls was trying to hold another girl's face under the water, but there really wasn't enough water to do it right. The boy sat on the edge, watching. "Stop that," the woman said to them without much enthusiasm.
"What I need are directions, really," I said. "I'm looking for Saint Elizabeth's."
The woman's expression changed. She looked back at her children again and then back at me. "Up there," she said, her voice flat. "Three miles past town. On the left." Then she turned around and headed inside the station.
"Can I get some gas?" I said. I had half a tank, but I didn't want to have woken her up just for directions.
"You got enough to get you there," she said, and went inside.
"Boo," one of the girls in the swimming pool said.
It wasn't until I was back in the car and driving again that I realized what had happened. That just by saying where I was going she would know all of my business. She didn't like it, either.
If I drove through a town, I didn't see it. Habit was nothing but two stores and a dozen or so houses that were closer together than the others. Saint Elizabeth's, on the other hand, would have been nearly impossible to miss. I came over the top of a hill and there it was, sitting back from the road. It was giant and white and looked more like a natural phenomenon, like the Grand Canyon, than a home for
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