She’d got a cigarette lit. It helped a little. “Yes. I want to know everything.”
“We also need to pay for the barn he burned. It was on tribal land, and I’d be shocked if the owners had insurance. I gather there were tractors, other equipment, plus the building itself. I don’t know how many thousands of dollars, but it’s thousands. I called the church office while I was waiting for you, and Phyllis checked the liability policy—it won’t help us. We do have the three thousand that Becky gave Perry. We can also borrow some of the money she gave Clem and Judson. But we’re going to need a lot more.”
“I’ll get a full-time job.”
“No. This is my responsibility. The question is whether I can get a big enough loan.”
“I’ll work until I’m eighty, if that’s what it takes.”
Russ veered over and braked to a hard stop, so he could look at her directly. “We need to get something straight. This is entirely my responsibility. Do you understand?”
She shook her head emphatically.
“I didn’t listen to you,” he said. “A year ago. You wanted to send him to a psychiatrist, and I didn’t listen. Five days ago—again, I didn’t listen. He was as good as telling me he’d lost his mind. And—God! I didn’t listen.”
She sucked on the cigarette. “It’s not your fault.”
“And I’m telling you it is. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
Through the windshield, she watched an emaciated kid, not much older than Perry, shamble out of a liquor store. His shirt was untucked, his pants barely clinging to his hips. He had a bottle in a paper bag.
“Where are we going? I’m already sick of this car.”
“It is entirely my fault, and that’s the end of it.”
“I don’t care whose fault it is. Just get me out of this car. I’m having a panic attack.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t smoke.”
“Where are we going? Why are we stopped here?”
With a heavy sigh, Russ put the car back into gear.
The next thing she knew, they were in the parking lot of a Ramada Inn, and her desperation to leave the car had passed. The car now seemed relatively secure to her. She closed her eyes while Russ went inside to register.
It was strange, considering God’s everpresence in her, how rarely she felt moved to pray. In her guilt, in Arizona, she’d prayed incessantly, but she’d stopped when she married Russ, just as she’d stopped keeping a diary. Only after the births of her children, for which thanks were manifestly due, could she remember really praying. The weekly prayers she said in church were more lateral than vertical, more about belonging to a congregation. God already knew what she was thinking, so she didn’t need to tell Him, and it seemed silly to trouble an infinite Being for minor favors. But the favor she needed now was large.
Dear God, I accept your will, and you’ve given me no more than what I deserve. But please let it be your will that Perry gets better, the same way you once let me get better. Please also let it be your will that I don’t go crazy again. I want to be myself, I want to be fully present for Russ, and you know how I love you. If you would keep my mind clear enough to recognize your will, I would be so very grateful. Whatever your will requires of me, I will gladly do.
She opened her eyes and saw two sparrows, one more boldly patterned than the other, picking through detritus at the base of a concrete parking strip. She felt calmer for having asked. It was the asking that mattered, not the answer. She decided that, for the remainder of her life, she would pray every day. In a world suffused with God, prayer ought to be as regular as drawing breaths.
Cheered by this insight, she got out of the car with her purse. Russ was crossing the parking lot with the room key. She ran up to him and said, “Have you prayed?”
“Uh, no.”
“Let’s go do it. We can get the luggage later.”
He seemed worried about her, but she didn’t feel like stopping to explain. Their room was at the very end of the first floor. She hurried ahead while he followed with the key.
The room was stuffy, the late sun beating on the curtains. She immediately kneeled on the floor. “Here, anywhere. It doesn’t matter. Will you kneel with me?”
“Um.”
“We’ll pray, and then we can talk.”
He still seemed worried, but he kneeled by her and knit his fingers together.
Oh, God, she prayed. Please be merciful to him. Please let him know you’re there.