"I guess I'm talking too much. Wade is always accusing me of that and slapping those hands over his ears. Am I talking too much? Just say so and I'll shut up. Just don't slap your hands over your ears like Wade does. He has no idea how much I hate that. Or maybe he does and does it anyway. Men."
"No," I said, smiling. "I don't mind your talking at all."
She beamed.
"I knew that you wouldn't. I just knew it. Wade, I said, a girl like that is probably just dying to have someone like me to talk to. She's like a flower kept growing in a pot too small. Oh come on," she said, seizing my hand and turning back toward the orphanage. "Let's tell them we're tired of waiting and anxious to get going. Why should it take so long, anyway?"
She took a few steps and paused, turning back to me.
"You are anxious, aren't you? Anxious to get going, I mean?"
I looked at her, at the orphanage, at the meager gardens, and then smiled and nodded.
"Yes," I said. "Very anxious."
She squealed with delight and practically dragged me toward the door.
It did feel like a whirlwind, but I didn't mind it. I packed and said my goodbyes in less than an hour. Mother Higgins took me aside before I joined Ami and Wade, who were waiting in the lobby.
"You have been with us a long time, Celeste," she began. "I've always known you were a special girl. You have learned to cherish and guard tightly what you hear inside yourself and what you see. That takes wisdom. I have watched you in prayer, and I know you have a maturity and direction inside you. These people might not be right for all that, but you have to be generous. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, Mother Higgins."
She nodded.
"I think you do, dear. I think you are truly wise be-yond your years. Most of the time, that's a blessing; sometimes it can be a burden. It is a burden if you are intolerant of those who do not have your insight and maturity."
"I understand, Mother Higgins."
She smiled.
"I know you do. I'm very proud of how you've grown and overcome your difficulties. I only pray that this is the opportunity you well deserve. Best of luck, dear," she said, and hugged me. "Call me whenever you want."
Wade helped carry out my suitcases. I had two good-sized ones now. I remembered when I had only a carry-on bag. Ami waited beside their big black Mercedes. It looked like the limousine I had once dreamed would come to take me away, but to take me back to the aromas that lingered in my memory, the tastes that dwelled on my tongue, and the whispers that lived in-side my ears.
"I'm going to ride in the back with Celeste, Wade," she told him. She smiled at me. "We'll feel like we've got a chauffeur then, Celeste. You don't mind being our chauffeur, do you, Wade dear?"
"What's new about that?" he quipped, and she laughed.
"Oh, you're just going to love us," Ami said, and practically pushed me into the car. She closed the door quickly and sat back to catch her breath. She saw the way I was gazing at the old orphanage, and I knew that it displeased her.
However, I couldn't help it. The cold stone front somehow had become so familiar and
comfortable, I felt like I was leaving an old friend. For most of the last year I had been the oldest girl there, and often I found myself -acting more like a house mother. I didn't mind it so much. In fact, I wondered how sad the other girls would be when they learned I had left.
"You're not even a little unhappy about leaving that place, are you?" she asked, a note more of fear in her voice than of disgust.
"It's been home for a long time," I said. It was the last place I had ever seen Noble, too, I thought; although now the vision was foggy in my mind.
"Oh, it hasn't been a home. It's been a . . . a place. You're about to enter a home," she said, almost snapping at me. She smiled quickly. "At least, I hope with all my heart that you will believe that, Celeste," she added in a far softer tone of voice.
Me too, I thought.
But somehow, despite all the time that had passed and how much I had grown and learned, the concept of home still remained very vague. It was more like a partially formed dream, a flurry of images yet to be connected, feelings yet to be felt, promises yet to be kept.
On the ride to their house, Ami told me about her own youth, the places she had been with her parents, and her schools. She described her social life in great detail, especially the grand part
ies. Then she listed her boyfriends. She began when she was only ten. It amazed me how she remembered their names and the order of their appearance. She was up to twenty when she paused.