“Fine and dandy.”
“He had a troubling nightmare,” she said, nodding toward Willie’s room.
“What was it about?”
“I don’t know, exactly. More or less a typical nightmare a young child might have. You know, some monster hovering over him.”
“So he didn’t say anything important?”
She hesitated.
“He did, didn’t he? What did he say?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nothing that makes any sense, at least to us. I’ll share it with Dr. Patrick.”
“You should share it with the police,” I said, and walked on to my room, thinking, Why should I trust her? She would keep everything a secret as long as she could so she could stay on this job . . . and maybe be with my grandfather. One way or another, I thought, I’ll let her know I’m on to her.
I was more wound up than I had expected to be before I went to sleep. I wanted to think only about Aaron and me. That poisoned boy ruins everything for me, I thought, even my dreams.
I made sure to rise early enough in the morning to be ready for Aaron at nine. Grandpa Arnold was at breakfast, but we didn’t say much to each other. While reading the newspaper, he was mumbling about some congressman pushing to have tighter restrictions on the trucking industry, especially regulations about drivers and how long they could go without time off. He left before Aaron arrived, and there was no mention of where I was going. When Aaron pulled up and got out, I thought he still looked half-asleep. He wore his school baseball cap, a school sweatshirt, and jeans.
“Do you sleep-drive the way some people sleepwalk?” I asked him when he opened the car door for me.
“I’m awake. I dreamed about you so much last night that it carried into the morning. My mother said I ate breakfast in slow motion and ruined her appetite. My parents make a big deal of weekend breakfasts. Sometimes they go out to brunch.” He looked back at the house and then leaned in to kiss me, pausing to look closer. “You look wide awake.”
“I’m probably just running on rage,” I said.
“Oh? Now what?”
I waited until he got in and we started down the drive. “We’re having Thanksgiving.”
“So?”
“I think my grandfather wants it mainly for the boy. They think it might help him recuperate faster.”
“Ah,” Aaron said. He thought a moment. “Who else will be there?”
“His private-duty nurse and Myra. My uncle can’t come. He’s in a successful show.” I looked at him. “Why? Do you want me to have you invited to my house?”
“I’d love it, but I don’t think I can get out of ours. My sister will be home, and my parents invite friends. It’s a big deal.”
“It always was for me, too, but unlike my grandfather, I’m not very thankful this year.”
He nodded. “Maybe you should think of it like this. If it does help the boy, he’ll be out of your life that much faster.”
I grunted.
“You don’t think so?”
“No. I think my grandfather sees him as never leaving, no matter what he says to anyone else.”
“The boy might not feel that way after a while. His life before can’t have been so bad that he doesn’t want anything to do with anyone in his family. Hell, he probably misses his mother or father, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “And if I voice an opinion, everyone practically jumps down my throat. I’m trying to ignore his existence, but it’s not easy with stair lifts and wheelchairs and therapy equipment, not to mention a nurse parading about as if she is already part of the family.”
We grew quiet as we approached the famous Prescott cemetery. He drove in slowly. I told him where to turn, and then I told him to stop. He turned off the engine and sat back. I got out of the car and walked the path to Willie’s grave. There was just a marker on it now. The monument was being prepared. It was going to be very special.