Transcription
Dr. Ryan visited frequently during this period, and Josie's spent long stretches of the day asleep. The sun would pour in its normal nourishment each day. His pattern often falling across her sleeping form, but there remained no sign of his special help. But here again, the sun was perhaps correct to wait.
Josie did become gradually stronger until eventually she was able to sit up in bed. She'd been warned by Dr. Ryan not to resume her oblong lessons. So there now came the days when, propped up on her pillows, she created many pictures with her sharp pencils and sketch pad. Each time she finished a picture or decided to abandon one, she'd tear it out and toss it into the air, allowing it to float down onto the rug. And it became my job to gather these sheets together into ordered piles.
As Dr. Ryan came less, Rick visited more. Melania, the housekeeper, had always been wary of Rick, but even she could see how much his visits raised Josie's spirits. So she allowed the visits, though insisting they last no more than 30 minutes. The first afternoon Rick was shown up to the bedroom, I started to leave in order to give privacy, but Melania, the housekeeper, stopped me on the landing, whispering, "No, you stay in there. Make sure no hanky-panky."
So it became normal for me to remain during Rick's visits, even though he sometimes looked towards me with "go away" eyes and almost never addressed me, even to say hello or goodbye. Had Josie also made such "go away" signals, I wouldn't have remained, even after Melania, the housekeeper's, instruction. But Josie seemed happy about my presence. I even thought she took comfort from it, though she never included me in their conversations. I did my best to get privacy by remaining on the button couch and fixing my gaze over the fields. I couldn't help hearing what was being said behind me, and though I sometimes thought I shouldn't listen, I remembered it was my duty to learn as much about Josie as possible, and that by listening in this way, I might gather fresh observations otherwise unavailable to me.
Rick's visits to the bedroom during this time fell into three phases. In the first phase, he'd glance around nervously when he arrived and behaved throughout the 30 minutes as though any careless movement he made might damage the furniture. It was in this phase he took up the habit of seating himself on the floor just in front of the modern wardrobe, resting his back against its doors. From the button couch, I could see their reflections in the window, and with Rick in this position and Josie sitting up in bed, they looked almost as though they were seated side by side, except with Josie at a higher level. Throughout this first phase, there was a gentle atmosphere, and the 30 minutes often passed with nothing much of substance being said. The children would often share memories from when they were younger and make jokes about them. It would only take a word or a single reference to trigger such a memory, and then they'd become immersed in it. They conversed at such moments in a speech that was like a code, making me wonder if this was on account of my presence in the room, but I quickly understood it had simply to do with their familiarity with each other's lives, and that there was no intention to exclude my understanding.
Josie didn't at first draw pictures while hosting Rick, but as they became more relaxed, she often sketched throughout the entire 30 minutes, tearing out sheets as she went and allowing them to float down to where he was sitting. And this was how, quite innocently at first, the bubble game began.
The coming of the bubble game marked the start of the next phase of Rick's visits. It's possible that the bubble game was one they'd invented a long time earlier in their childhoods. Certainly, when the game started this time around, there had been no need for instructions between them. Josie had simply begun to throw down her sketches to Rick, even as they continued their rambling conversations, until at one point he'd scrutinized a picture and said, "Okay, is this now the bubble game?" "If you want, Rick." "Just if you want, Ricky. I don't have a pencil. Throw me one of the dark ones. I need all the dark ones here. Who's the artist here, anyway? How can I do the bubbles if you won't even lend me a pencil?" Even with my back to them, it wasn't hard to guess the outline of this game, and once Rick left at the end of each half hour, I was able to observe the pages as I gathered them from the floor. And so it was I began to appreciate the growing importance this game had for both of them.
Josie's sketches were skillful, usually showing one, two, or occasionally three people together, their heads drawn deliberately too large for their bodies. During those earlier visits, the faces tended always to be kind and were sketched only with black sharp pencil, while their shoulders and bodies, like the surroundings, had been done with color sharp pencils. In each picture, Josie left an empty bubble hovering above one head or the other, sometimes two bubbles over two heads, for Rick to fill in with words. I understood quickly that even when the faces didn't resemble Rick or Josie, within the world of this game, it was possible for all sorts of picture girls to stand for Josie and picture boys for Rick. Similarly, other figures could stand for others in Josie's life: the mothers, say, or children from the interaction meeting, as well as others I'd not yet encountered. Although for me it was difficult to understand who may face, many faces stood for Rick. He appeared to have no such problem. He never asked for clarification concerning the drawings that fluttered down to him and would write his words into the bubbles without any hesitation. I soon understood that the words Rick wrote inside the bubbles represented the thoughts, sometimes the speech, of the picture people, and that as such, his task carried some danger. From the start, I worried that something Josie drew or something Rick wrote would bring tension, but during this phase, the bubble game seemed to result only in enjoyment and reminiscence. Reminiscences, and I'd see them reflected in the glass, laughing and pointing four fingers at each other.
Had they concentrated solely on their game as they first played it, if they'd kept their conversations focused just on the pictures, perhaps the tension wouldn't have leaked in. But as Josie continued to sketch and Rick to fill in the bubbles, they began to converse about topics unrelated to the pictures. One sunny afternoon, with the sun's pattern touching Rick's feet where he sat against the wooden modern wardrobe, Josie said, "You know, Ricky, I'm wondering if you're getting jealous. The way you always keep asking about this portrait." "I don't understand. You mean you're doing an actual portrait of me up there?" "No, Ricky, I mean the way you keep bringing up my portrait, the one this guy's doing for me up in the city." "Oh, well, that. I did mention it once, I suppose. That's hardly bringing it up all the time." "You keep bringing it up twice, just yesterday." Rick's writing hand paused, but he didn't look up. "I suppose I'm curious, but how can anyone get jealous about your portrait getting done? Seems dumb." "But you definitely sound that way." For the next few moments, they were silent, getting on with their respective tasks. Then Rick said, "I wouldn't say jealous. I'm concerned. This guy, this artist person, everything you say about him sounds, well, creepy." "He's just doing my portrait, is all. He's always respectful, always anxious not to tire me out." "He never sounds right. You keep, you say I keep bringing this up." "Well, that's because each time I do, you say something else to make me think." "Oh my god, this is getting creepy." "What's creepy about it?" "For one thing, you've been to the studio, what, four times? But he never shows you anything. No rough sketches, nothing. All he seems to do is take photos. Up close. This piece of you, that piece of you. Is that what artists really do?" "He prefers photos because that way I don't get exhausted sitting still for hours in the old-fashioned way. This way, I'm only in there 20 minutes tops each time he takes the photos he needs, stage by stage. And Mom's always there. Look, would my mom hire some pervert to do my portrait?" Rick didn't respond. Then Josie went on, "I think it is some kind of jealousy, Ricky, but you know what? I don't mind. Shows you've got the right attitude. You're being protective. Shows you're thinking about our plan. So don't worry." "I'm not worried. This is such a ridiculous accusation." "It's not an accusation. I'm not saying it's like sexual or anything. What I'm saying is that this portrait, it's just part of the big world out there, and you're worried it'll get in our way. When I say you might be jealous, I'm just meaning it in that sense." "Fair enough."
Their plan, though frequently mentioned, was rarely discussed in detail. Nevertheless, it was during this still gentle phase of the visits that I began to gather together their various remarks about it into a coherent observation. I came to understand that the plan wasn't anything they built carefully, but more a vague wish connected to their future. I realized too the significance of this plan for my own aims that as the future unfolded, even if the mother, Melania, the housekeeper, and I could remain near her at all times without the plan, Josie might still not keep away loneliness there.
Then came a point when the bubble game stopped bringing laughter and brought instead fear and uncertainty in my mind. Today, this marks the third and last phase of those visits Rick made at that time. It's hard to establish which of them first altered the mood. In the earlier phases, Josie's sketches were often created purposefully to bring back amusing or happy incidents they'd shared in the past. This was one reason Rick was able to fill the bubbles quickly and with little hesitation. But there now came a change in Rick's reactions. When the sheets floated down to him, increasingly he would stare at them for long moments, sigh or frown. Then, when he wrote his words, he'd do so slowly and with more concentration, often not replying to anything Josie said until he'd finished. And Josie's responses, once Rick had passed the sheets back up to her, became hard to predict. She might study a sheet with blank eyes before placing it amidst her bedclothes without comment, or sometimes she'd flick a completed sheet back onto the floor, this time to a spot beyond Rick's reach. Every now and then, the mood might return to the way it was before, and they'd laugh or argue in a friendly way, but increasingly, either Josie's picture or Rick's words would cause an unkind exchange. Even so, a comfortable atmosphere would usually have returned by the time Melania, the housekeeper, called up at the end of the 30 minutes.
Once Rick reached forward and picked up a sheet, regarded it carefully, then put down his sharp pencil. He went on looking at it, the picture, for some time till Josie, noticing from the bed, stopped her sketching. "Something, up, Ricky?" "Hmm. I was just wondering what these were supposed to be. What do they look like, these folks surrounding her? Am I to assume they're aliens? It almost looks like, instead of a head, they have, well, a giant eyeball." "I'm sorry if I have this all wrong." "You haven't got it all wrong." There was a coldness in her voice and almost a small fear. "Well, at least not really. They're not aliens. They're just what they are. All right. They're an eyeball tribe." "And that's rather troubling. And what's rather troubling is the way they're all staring at her." "What's troubling about it?" The silence continued behind me, and in the window reflection, I saw Rick continuing to stare at the sheet. "So, what's troubling about it?" Josie asked again. "I'm not sure. This is an extra large bubble you've made for her, too. I'm not sure what I should write." "Write whatever you think she's thinking." "No different from the others." There was another silence. The sun on the glass made it hard to see the reflections, and I was tempted to turn around, even though this might reduce privacy. But before I could, Rick said, "Their eyes are really quite creepy. And what's even creepier, it looks like she wants them to keep staring at her. That's sicko, Rick." "Why would she want something like that?" "I don't know. You tell me." "How can I tell you?" Josie's voice was now annoyed. "Whose job is it to do the bubbles?" "She's half smiling, like she's pleased on the inside." "No, Ricky, that's wrong. They're just sick, or that's just sick. I'm sorry. I must be misinterpreting." "Misinterpreting's right. So hurry up into her bubble. The next one's here. Nearly finished." "Rick, you there?" "Perhaps I might pass on this one." "Oh, come on." The sun had retreated now, and I could see Rick in the glass tossing the sheet gently onto the floor to join the untidy pile accumulating closer to Josie's bed. "I'm disappointed, Rick." "Then don't draw pictures like that one." There was another silence. I could see Josie on the bed pretending to be absorbed in her sketch. I could no longer see Rick very well in the reflection, but I knew he'd remained quiet, still against the modern wardrobe, and was staring past me out of the rear window.
After Rick's visits finished, Josie would usually be tired and toss her sharp pencils, sketch pad, and loose pages onto the floor, turn onto her front, and rest. At these moments, I'd come off the button couch to pick up the many items by now scattered over the floor, and I'd then have the chance to see what they'd been discussing during the visit. Josie, even with her cheek pressed into the pillow, wouldn't actually be asleep, and often she'd continue to make remarks with her eyes closed, so she was fully aware I was observing the pictures as I gathered them, and clearly didn't mind. In fact, it's likely it was her wish that I look at them, and every one of them.
Once, while performing this tidying, I happened to pick up a sheet, and though I glanced at it only fleetingly, established straight away that the two main faces in the picture were supposed to represent Missy and the long-armed girl from the interaction meeting. There were, of course, various inaccuracies, but Josie's intention was obvious. The sisters were at the front of the picture with unkind expressions, while other less finished faces crowded around them. And although there were no furniture details, I knew the setting was the open plan. Had it not been for a large bubble above it, it would have been easy not to notice the small featureless creature squeezed into the gap between the sisters. In contrast to the picture Missy and the picture long-armed girl, this creature lacked the usual human features such as face, shoulders, arms, and resembled more, uh, one of the water blobs that formed on the surface of the islands near the sink. In fact, if not for the bubble above it, a passerby might not even have guessed this shape was intended to represent a person at all. The sisters were ignoring the water blob person completely, despite the person's closeness. Inside the bubble, Rick had written, "The smart kids think I have no shape, but I do. I'm just keeping it hidden because who wants them to see?"
Although I only glimpsed this picture for a second, Josie knew I'd taken it in, and she said from the bed in a sleepy voice, "Don't you think that's a weird thing for him to write?" When I gave a small laugh and carried on tidying, she went on, "Do you suppose he thinks I meant that to be him, the little guy between the two nasties? Do you suppose that's why he filled the bubble that way?" "It's possible." "But you don't think so, do you, Clara?" Then she said, "Clara, are you listening? Come on, can we have a comment here?" "It's perhaps more likely he assumed the small person was Josie," she said. Nothing while I ordered the various sheets into piles and placed them with previous ones in a space beneath the dressing table. I thought she'd fallen asleep when she said suddenly, "What makes you say that?" "It's only an estimate. I think that Rick thought the small person was Josie, and I believe Rick was trying to be kind." "Kind? Why is that being kind?" "I believe Rick worries about Josie, how she sometimes appears to change in different situations. But in this picture, Rick is being kind because he's suggesting, 'Russ, Josie is being clever to protect herself and isn't really changing.'" "So what if I sometimes want to act different? Who wants to be the same all the time?" "The trouble with Rick is he always gets accusing when I'm any way he doesn't like. It's because he wants me to stay the way I was when we were small kids." "I don't really think that's what Rick wishes." "Then what's all this? All this no-shape hiding stuff? I don't see what's kind about it." "That's Rick's problem. He doesn't want to grow up. At least his mother doesn't want him to, and he goes along with it. The idea is he lives with his mom forever and ever." "How's that going to help our plan?" "Anytime I show any sign of trying to grow up, he gets sulky." I said nothing to this, and Josie continued to lie there with her eyes closed. She did fall asleep then, but just before she did, she said quietly, "Maybe, maybe he did mean it to be kind."
I wondered if Josie would bring up this particular picture and the words inside the bubble during Rick's next visit, but she didn't, and I realized there was a kind of rule between them: not to talk directly about any of the pictures or bubble words once they've been completed. Perhaps such an understanding was necessary in allowing them to draw and write freely. Even so, as I have said, I considered from the start that their bubble game was filled with danger, and it was what brought about the sudden end to Rick's 30-minute visits.
It was a rainy afternoon. From the sun's patterns, still came faintly, but the sun's pattern still came faintly into the bedroom. There'd been around then a run of fairly relaxed visits, and the mood that day had also been quite comfortable. Then, 12 minutes into the visit, they were again playing the bubble game. Josie said from the bed, "What's going on down there? Haven't you finished yet?" "I'm still thinking, Ricky." "The idea is you don't think. You write down the first thing that comes to you." "Fair enough, but this one requires more thought." "Why? What's different about it?" "Hurry up. I'm nearly finished with the next one." In the window reflections, I could see Rick at his usual place on the floor, knees drawn up so that he could rest the picture on them, both hands down at his sides. He was staring at the picture before him with a puzzled expression. After a while, without pausing from her drawing, Josie said, "You know, I always meant to ask, why is it your mom was doesn't won't drive anymore? You still have that car, right?" "No one started it up in years, but yeah, it's still in the garage. Maybe once I get my license, I'll get it checked over." "It's like she's afraid of accidents." "Josie, we've talked about this already." "Yeah, but I don't remember. Is it because she got too scared?" "Something like that." "My mom, she's the reverse. She drives too fast." When Rick didn't respond, she asked, "Ricky, you still haven't filled that in." "I'll get there. Just give me a moment." "Not driving's one thing, but doesn't your mom mind not having friends?" "She has friends. That Mrs. Rivers comes all the time, and she's friends with your mom, isn't she?" "That's not really what I mean. Anyone can have one or two individual friends, but your mom, she doesn't have society." "My mom doesn't have so many friends either, but she does have society." "Society? That sounds rather quaint. What's it mean?" "It means you walk into a store, get into a taxi, and people take you seriously, treat you well. Having society's important, right?" "Look, Josie, you know my mother's not always so well. It's not as if she made a decision about it." "But she does make decisions, right? One thing she made a decision about you back whenever. I don't know why we're talking about this." "You know what I think, Ricky? Stop me if this is unfair. I think your mom never went ahead with you because she wanted to keep you for herself, and now it's too late." "I don't see why we're talking about this, and what does it matter? Who wants this society anyway? None of it needs to get in the way of anything." "It all gets in the way, Ricky. Gets in the way of our plan, for one thing." "Look, I'm doing my best, but you're not doing your best, Ricky. You keep talking about our plan, but what really are you doing? Each day goes by, we get older, stuff keeps coming up. I'm doing all I can, but not you." "Rick, what am I not doing? What should I be doing? Going to more of your interaction meetings? You could at least try more. You could do like we said, study harder, try for Atlas Brookings." "What's the point in talking about Atlas Brookings? I don't even have an outside chance." "Of course you've got a chance, Ricky. You're smart. Even my mom says you stand a chance, a theoretical chance, but you're smarter than any of the other unlifteds trying to get in. So why won't you go for it?" "I'll tell you. It's because your mom wants you to stay with her forever. She doesn't want you going out there and turning into a real adult." "Hey, are you still not finished down there? The next one's ready." Rick was silent, gazing at the picture. Josie, despite her announcement, continued to add to her picture. Anyway, she went on, "How's this going to work, our plan, I mean? How's it going to work if I've got society and you haven't? My mom drives too fast, but at least she's got courage. It goes wrong with Sal, but even after that, she finds the courage to go ahead with me all over again. That takes courage, right?" Rick suddenly leaned forward and started to write on the picture. He often used a magazine to press on, but this time I could see the page was directly against his thigh and starting to crinkle. But he went on writing quickly, then stood up, dropping a sharp pencil to the floor. Rather than hand the picture to Josie, he tossed it toward the bed, making it land on the duvet in front of her. He then stepped back till he was near the door, all the time watching her with large eyes that were both angry and fearful. Josie turned to him in surprise. Then she put down her own sharp pencil and reached forward for the sheet. For a long moment, she looked at it with blank eyes while Rick kept watching from the door. "I can't believe you'd write this," she said finally. "Why would you do this?" I turned around on the button couch, estimating the tension had reached a level that would could no longer justify complete privacy. Perhaps Rick had forgotten about my presence because my turning around appeared to startle him. His gaze came to me for a second, still filled with fear and anger, then he strode out of the room without a word. We listened to his steps going down the stairs. Once the front door came noise, came. Josie yawned, threw everything off the bed, and lay down on her front as though the visit had ended like any other. "He can be so exhausting sometimes," she said into her pillow. I came off the button couch and began to tidy the room. Josie's eyes stayed closed, and she said nothing more, but I could tell she hadn't fallen asleep. As I went on tidying, I naturally glanced at the sheet that had caused the tension. As expected, the picture showed versions of Josie and Rick. There were many inaccuracies, but also enough resemblances to leave no doubt about the intended identities. Picture Josie and picture Rick appeared to be floating in the sky, the trees, roads, and houses far below reduced to miniature sizes. Behind them, in one section of the sky, were seven birds flying in formation. Picture Josie was holding up with two hands a much larger bird, offering it as a special gift to picture Rick. Picture Josie had a small smile, and picture Rick a look of thrilled amazement. There was no bubble for picture Rick. The only one was for picture Josie's thoughts, and inside it, Rick had written, "I wish I could go out and walk and run and skateboard and swim in lakes, but I can't because my mother has courage. So instead, I get to stay in bed and be sick. I'm glad about this. I really am." I added this picture to the collection I was gathering in my hands, making sure it wasn't near the top. Josie remained quiet and still, her eyes closed, but I knew she wasn't asleep. In the days before Morgan's falls, I would perhaps have spoken to her at this point, and Josie would have responded with honesty. But the mood between us was different now, and so I decided to say nothing. I went to the dressing table, reached down, and placed the latest pile beside the others in the space underneath.
Rick didn't come back the next day or the day after, but when Melania, the housekeeper, asked, "Where boy go get sick?" Josie just shrugged and said nothing. As the days continued and there was still no visit from Rick, Josie grew more quiet, and her signals became "keep away" ones. She still continued with her drawings in bed, but without Rick and the bubble game, her enthusiasm would quickly drain away, and often she'd toss unfinished pictures onto the floor, stretch out on the bed, and stare at the ceiling. One afternoon, when she'd been staring in this way, I said to her, "If you like, Josie, we could play the bubble game. If Josie would draw the pictures, I'd do my best to think of suitable words." She went on staring up at the air, then she turned and said, "Look, that's just not going to work. I don't mind you listening in, but there's no way you could do that instead of Rick. No way at all." "I see. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have suggested." "No, you shouldn't have."
As more days passed without a Rick visit, Josie grew lethargic, and I was concerned she was also growing weak again. It occurred to me this was the ideal time for the sun to send his special help, and whenever his pattern in the bedroom altered suddenly, or when he burst out in the sky following an overcast spell, I'd watch with particular keenness. But though he continued unfailingly to send his normal nourishment, his special care didn't come.
One morning, I returned to the bedroom after taking down her breakfast tray and found her propped up on her pillows, sketching busily with something like her old enthusiasm. She also had a serious expression I'd not seen before while working on a picture, and when I tried to make conversation, she didn't reply. Once, as I was tidying the room and came near the bed, she adjusted her posture to prevent me glimpsing any part of her sheet. After a time, she tore out the page, screwed it into a tight ball, and dropped it into a crevice in her duvet between herself and the wall. She then began a fresh drawing, her eyes large and tense. I sat on the button couch this time, facing towards her, so she would know I was ready to converse whenever she wished to do so. After almost an hour, she put down her sharp pencil and stared at her picture for some time. "Clara, see down there, bottom left drawer. Could you get me an envelope, one of the large padded ones?" As I was crouching down by the drawer, I saw Josie raise her sharp pencil again, and from its movements, I knew she was no longer drawing but writing words. Then she folded the picture down the middle, placing a blank sheet between the two halves to prevent smudging, took the padded envelope from me, and carefully slid the picture inside. Peeling off the thin paper tape, she sealed the envelope, pressing its edges to make sure. "Glad that's done," she said, turning the envelope in her hands as though it brought her comfort to do so. But as I began to move away from the bed, she suddenly held it towards me. "Would you put this in the same drawer you found the envelope?" "Lower left, of course." I took it from her but didn't go immediately to the drawer. Instead, I stood in the middle of the room, holding the envelope, and looked at her. "I wonder if this picture is a special gift from Josie to Rick." "What makes you say that?" "It was just an estimate." "Well, your estimate's right. I wanted it to be for Rick, for when he next comes here." There was silence while she watched me, and I was uncertain if she was simply impatient for me to place the envelope in the drawer as she'd requested, or if she was waiting for me to say something more about Rick and his visits. In the end, I said, "Perhaps he'll come again soon." "Perhaps he will. No sign of it, though. I think Rick will be pleased to see the picture. He'll see Josie took special care with it." "I didn't take special care," she flashed angry eyes. "I got bored and drew another picture, that's all. But you're right, it's for Rick. Problem is, he'd have to come here to get it, and he doesn't come anymore." She went on staring at me. I remain standing in the middle of the room. "Josie," I said after a while, "if you like, I could take the drawing to him." Her eyes became surprised and also excited. "You mean you'll take it over to him, to his house?" "Yes. It's only the neighbor house, after all. I guess it wouldn't be so weird you taking this to him. Other people's afs go on errands all the time, right? I'd be happy to go. I believe I'll be able to find the correct trail to his house." "And you would do it today, before lunch?" "Whenever Josie wishes. If you like, I could take it to him now, right away." "You think that's a good idea?" I raised the padded envelope slightly. "I'd very much like to take Josie's picture to Rick. It would be good for me to explore the outside, and if Rick receives this special picture, he may forgive Josie and be her friend again." "What do you mean, forgive? It's for me to forgive him. That's really dumb, Clara. I don't think I want you to take this to picture to him now." "I'm sorry. It's my error. I don't understand yet the rules about forgiveness. Even so, I think it will be best to take him the picture. I think he'd like it." Her anger faded from her face. "Okay, go ahead. Take it, then." As I turn, she added quietly, "You're probably right. I guess it is him who needs to forgive me. I'll take it to him, and we can see what he does." "Okay, then." She smiled. "If he's rude about it, you can just tear it up, right?" Her smile was almost like the smiles from before Morgan's falls. I smiled too and said, "I hope that won't be necessary." She fell back onto her pillow in a jokey way. "Okay, go. I need a rest now." But as I was leaving the bedroom, the padded envelope held closely to me, she said suddenly, "Hey, Clara?" "Yes?" "It must be dull, right, living here with a sick kid?" She was still smiling, but I saw fear beneath the smile. "It's never dull to be with Josie. You waited all that time for me in the store. I bet you're wishing now you'd gone with some other kid." "I'd never wish such a thing. It was my wish to be Josie's af, and the wish came true." "Yeah, but..." she made a small laughing sound, full of sadness. "That was before you got here. I promised it would be great. I'm very happy here. I have no wish other than to be Josie's af. If I get better, we can go outside together all the time. We could go to the city, see my dad. Maybe he could take us to the other cities." "Those are possibilities for the future, but Josie must know I couldn't have a better home than this one, or a better child than Josie. I'm so glad I waited. That manager allowed me to wait." Josie thought about this, then when she smiled again, it was full of kindness, with no fear behind it. "So we're friends, right?" "Best friends." "Yes, of course." "Okay, good. So remember, don't take any from Rick." I smiled too, then, and held up the padded envelope to show I would take good care of it.