alongside the patch of bushes, pawing the ground with his thick, stubby hands.
“She’s probably just as insane as everyone else here,” I mutter. “Who in their right mind gives a ceramic cat to an infant right before abandoning her?”
Suddenly Winky stands up straight, holding George triumphantly in his hand. Holding a sob of relief in my chest, I shake my head as he sits down in the road next to me.
“Take him,” he says, balancing the tiny figurine carefully on my kneecap. “This here’s the only thing you’ve got of her. So hold on to him, even if you don’t know what it means. Then when you find her someday, you can ask her.” He is looking directly at me, something he rarely does when we talk.
“You think I’ll find her someday?” I ask.
Winky nods. “Yup.”
“Why?”
Winky struggles to his feet. “ ’Cause you want to. It’s a fire thing inside you. And when you got something burning like that inside, nothing else really matters till you find a way to put it out.”
I pick George back up with two fingers. The top half of his left ear is missing. I rub my finger over it tenderly and then insert him back into my pocket, pushing him down deep until he reaches his usual place against the curve of my thigh.
“Come on, now,” Winky says. “Let’s clean up this mess.We’re gonna be late for prayers.” He looks over his shoulder as I get to my feet. “And no more pouting.”
The Great House doors are unlocked, which means that dinner is over, but evening prayers have begun. Winky and I slip in quietly and kneel down at the very back of the room. The service is interminable, as always, and I soon stop chanting and begin looking around for Agnes and Benny. I strain to the right and then to the left, looking around the throng of robed bodies, but I don’t see either of them anywhere. Mr. and Mrs. Little are kneeling in front, right behind Emmanuel and Veronica, counting off the prayers on their consecration beads, but the space next to them is empty.
Emmanuel completes the service by standing in front of everyone and making the sign of the cross over our heads.
“ In nomine Patris … ,” he intones.
I hate your guts, I think to myself.
“… et Filii … ”
You big phony. You monster .
“… et Spiritus Sancti.”
In a little while, you’re never going to see me again.
“Amen.”
All around me, people bow their heads, murmuring “amen” under Emmanuel’s raised arms. They do not move until he recedes from view, head lowered over his folded hands, and disappears into his room at the back of the house. I angle my way through the crowd, sidling carefully over to the bench outside his door and reach under it for my shoes. They’re there. I feel a weird sort of tenderness toward them as I pull them back out, as if they have been lonely without me.
Now I head over to Mrs. Little so that I can ask her about Agnes, but someone has already gotten hold of her and is steering her toward the kitchen. That leaves Mr. Little. I swallow hard and walk up to him.
“Do you know where Agnes is?” I ask.
Mr. Little looks down at me as if regarding a bug on the sidewalk. “Excuse me?” He takes a step backward the way he always does, as if I have cooties or something.
“I said, do you know where Agnes is? I didn’t see her during prayers.”
Mr. Little inserts his arms, one at a time, into the billowing sleeves of his robe and fixes his gaze at a spot in the middle of my forehead. He has a buzz cut and it makes his head look pointed on top. “Agnes and my mother took Benedict down to the Field House. Benedict got ill during dinner and had to go to bed.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re not to go down there,” Mr. Little says. “I mean it.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. “I’m not going to do anything. I just want to check on Benny. And say good night to Agnes.”
Mr. Little doesn’t blink. “Benny doesn’t need checking. And Agnes will be fine for one night
“She’s probably just as insane as everyone else here,” I mutter. “Who in their right mind gives a ceramic cat to an infant right before abandoning her?”
Suddenly Winky stands up straight, holding George triumphantly in his hand. Holding a sob of relief in my chest, I shake my head as he sits down in the road next to me.
“Take him,” he says, balancing the tiny figurine carefully on my kneecap. “This here’s the only thing you’ve got of her. So hold on to him, even if you don’t know what it means. Then when you find her someday, you can ask her.” He is looking directly at me, something he rarely does when we talk.
“You think I’ll find her someday?” I ask.
Winky nods. “Yup.”
“Why?”
Winky struggles to his feet. “ ’Cause you want to. It’s a fire thing inside you. And when you got something burning like that inside, nothing else really matters till you find a way to put it out.”
I pick George back up with two fingers. The top half of his left ear is missing. I rub my finger over it tenderly and then insert him back into my pocket, pushing him down deep until he reaches his usual place against the curve of my thigh.
“Come on, now,” Winky says. “Let’s clean up this mess.We’re gonna be late for prayers.” He looks over his shoulder as I get to my feet. “And no more pouting.”
The Great House doors are unlocked, which means that dinner is over, but evening prayers have begun. Winky and I slip in quietly and kneel down at the very back of the room. The service is interminable, as always, and I soon stop chanting and begin looking around for Agnes and Benny. I strain to the right and then to the left, looking around the throng of robed bodies, but I don’t see either of them anywhere. Mr. and Mrs. Little are kneeling in front, right behind Emmanuel and Veronica, counting off the prayers on their consecration beads, but the space next to them is empty.
Emmanuel completes the service by standing in front of everyone and making the sign of the cross over our heads.
“ In nomine Patris … ,” he intones.
I hate your guts, I think to myself.
“… et Filii … ”
You big phony. You monster .
“… et Spiritus Sancti.”
In a little while, you’re never going to see me again.
“Amen.”
All around me, people bow their heads, murmuring “amen” under Emmanuel’s raised arms. They do not move until he recedes from view, head lowered over his folded hands, and disappears into his room at the back of the house. I angle my way through the crowd, sidling carefully over to the bench outside his door and reach under it for my shoes. They’re there. I feel a weird sort of tenderness toward them as I pull them back out, as if they have been lonely without me.
Now I head over to Mrs. Little so that I can ask her about Agnes, but someone has already gotten hold of her and is steering her toward the kitchen. That leaves Mr. Little. I swallow hard and walk up to him.
“Do you know where Agnes is?” I ask.
Mr. Little looks down at me as if regarding a bug on the sidewalk. “Excuse me?” He takes a step backward the way he always does, as if I have cooties or something.
“I said, do you know where Agnes is? I didn’t see her during prayers.”
Mr. Little inserts his arms, one at a time, into the billowing sleeves of his robe and fixes his gaze at a spot in the middle of my forehead. He has a buzz cut and it makes his head look pointed on top. “Agnes and my mother took Benedict down to the Field House. Benedict got ill during dinner and had to go to bed.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re not to go down there,” Mr. Little says. “I mean it.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. “I’m not going to do anything. I just want to check on Benny. And say good night to Agnes.”
Mr. Little doesn’t blink. “Benny doesn’t need checking. And Agnes will be fine for one night
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