But if Count Piro was blocking out his memory of his family and where he came from, even if he was pretending to do that, how horrible must that be? How would I feel if the people who had done this to him drove up here one day and took him away, mainly because of what we had forced him to remember? And there was nothing Grandpa could do about it, either. Would I feel better, successful, happier?
I recalled something My Faith was fond of saying: “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.” Once I overheard Myra ask her what she thought that really meant. Without hesitation, My Faith said, “God’s watching over us, but he’s not down here making us do the right thing. We’ve got to do that ourselves and just know he’s watching us.”
Myra hadn’t replied, but I had thought more about it and was thinking about it now.
God didn’t stop that pickup driver from killing Willie, and even if the pickup driver ended up in hell, it wouldn’t bring Willie back.
And even if Aaron and I found out the truth about Count Piro, that wouldn’t bring Willie back.
His room would be empty again.
All would not be right with the world.
17
Aaron was surprised at my lack of enthusiasm when he called me the following morning.
“Are you all right?”
he asked.
I was in such deep thought when my phone rang that I didn’t hear it until the third ring. I was sure he asked how I was because my “hello” sounded like that of someone who was under hypnosis.
“Yes. Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep that well.”
“Because you were dreaming of me?”
“No. I didn’t sleep enough to dream.”
“Sorry. We’ll have to do something about that. I was thinking I would come over.”
“Not today. I have too much homework to leave for Sunday night, and I’ve got to make significant progress on my history term paper. Fortunately, my grandfather has some books I can use in his library.”
“Sounds like a perfect way to ruin a Saturday. Are you sure? It’s nice out. Maybe they’ll let us wheel the kid around the property or something, and we can pry the truth out of him.”
“Not today,” I said, my words as final as death itself.
“Okay. You still want to go out tonight, though, don’t you? We have plans to make for the immediate future.”
“I don’t think so. My grandfather is thinking of getting our Christmas tree today. It was always a big thing for all of us to decorate it,” I said. “We’ll be doing it all day and tonight. We always had a little pre-Christmas dinner when we finished the tree.”
“We’ve never done that. My mother gets it delivered all done by some decorator.”
“How cold,” I said. I didn’t mean to say it so critically.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I’ve always been more interested in presents, anyway, and barely noticed the tree, but maybe I should come over to help you with yours. It’ll give me an appreciation for what I’ve missed.”
I didn’t say yes.
“But I imagine it’s something you want to do with your grandfather,” he added after my silent response.
“This time, more than ever, I think,” I said.
“Sure. I understand,” he said, his voice dropping off with the weight of disappointment and clearly indicating that he didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand. “Well, maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow, and we can do some planning then. I mean, you can’t be doing homework all day Sunday, too, right?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Maybe?” He was silent a moment. “You’re not mad at me or anything, are you?”