When She Woke (11 page)

Fed up with the condescending litany, Hannah said, “Or what?”

“One step off the path and you’ll be warned. Two and you’ll be cast out.” She strode from the room. Hannah heard a muttered
humph
and glanced down. The girl on the floor mouthed the word “bitch.” For the first time in months, Hannah smiled.

Bridget was waiting by Hannah’s bed with more instructions. “Worship is at six thirty in the morning and seven o’clock in the evening in the chapel. Mealtimes are at six, noon and six. If you arrive after the blessing has been said, you will not be served. You will spend weekday mornings in enlightenment and the afternoons doing useful work. You will have two hours of reflection time after evening worship. The lights go off at ten.”

“What about weekends?”

“Saturday mornings you will devote to independent Bible study. The afternoons you may spend as you wish. Sundays are purely for worship.” Bridget glanced up at a clock on the wall. “It’s five thirty now. Get dressed, and I’ll take you to supper.”

Hannah looked longingly at the bed. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “And I’m so tired.”

“Meals and services may not be skipped unless you’re ill.”

“I
am
feeling a little unwell.”

” ‘He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house’ “ Bridget said.

Hannah had never hit anyone in her life nor wanted to, but at that moment her hand was twitching with the urge to slap the woman’s smug red face.

“I’ll be back to get you in twenty minutes,” Bridget said. “Be ready, Walker.”

When she was gone, Hannah took what she needed from the closet, drew the curtain around her bed and got dressed. The garments were strange and constricting and the fabric coarse, but she felt a little better once she had on underwear and shoes, a little less vulnerable.

She went to the bathroom to wash her face and hands and pin up her hair. The other girl was now on her feet, cleaning the large mirror behind the sinks. She gave Hannah a swift, friendly assessment. “Don’t let Fridget get to you,” she said. “she’s just surged because her time’s almost up, and they’re booting her out of here in a month. Nut job actually likes it here.” The girl’s voice was low and mellifluous, with a roundness that suggested the Deep South. “I’m Kayla, by the way.”

Relieved that everyone wasn’t as unpleasant as Bridget, Hannah introduced herself. “Where are you from?” she asked Kayla.

“Savannah. We moved to Dallas when I was eight, but I’ve managed to hang on to the accent.”

“How long have you been at the center?”

“Twenty-five days, and I mean to tell you it’s been the longest three and a half weeks of my whole life. I’m out of here any day now, as soon as my boyfriend comes to fetch me. He’s looking for a place for us.”

The innocently spoken words were cruel reminders that Aidan wouldn’t be coming for Hannah. “So he doesn’t mind … whatever you did?” she blurted out. She looked away then, mortified by her own rudeness. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“No need to apologize,” Kayla said, with a dismissive wave. “Anyway, it’s no secret. I shot my stepfather.” Her tone and expression were as remorseless as if she were talking about a mosquito she’d swatted. “My mama’s not speaking to me, so I can’t go home.”

Alarmed, Hannah took a small, involuntary step back. If the center didn’t admit violent Reds, then why had Kayla been allowed in here? And were there more like her?

“Don’t worry,” Kayla said drily, “I don’t shoot scared little apples like you.”

“Apples?”

“You know, red on the outside, white on the inside.” She grinned. “I just made that up.”

There was something about the girl, not innocence exactly— clearly Kayla was no innocent—but an openness and absence of guile that quieted Hannah’s unease. “Mine isn’t speaking to me either,” she said.

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

Hannah pictured her mother at the jail, distraught and bewildered.
I betrayed every value she ever taught me. I committed adultery with a man of God. I murdered her unborn grandchild.

“Hey,” Kayla said, “whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me.”

The unexpected compassion brought a lump to Hannah’s throat, and that stiffened her spine a bit. When had she become so pathetic, so grateful for any little scrap of kindness tossed her way?

She forced herself to look Kayla in the eye. “I had an abortion.”

Hannah waited for the inevitable recoil—the reaction she herself would have had if someone had confessed that to her six months ago—but Kayla nodded matter-of-factly. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

Hannah hesitated, then asked, “Is that how you felt about killing your stepfather? Like you had to do it?”

“Oh, I didn’t kill him.” She sounded regretful.

“So how come you’re a Red instead of a Green?”

“My stepfather’s rich and white. It’s a winning combination.” Hannah’s brows drew together, and Kayla said, “Oh come on, don’t tell me you buy all this crap about our so-called ‘post-racial society.’ Chromes may be the new niggers, but believe me, the old ones still get screwed good and regular.”

At a loss, Hannah said nothing. Of course, she knew there was still racism—she wasn’t that naive—but it wasn’t a subject she’d ever given much thought to. Growing up, she’d almost never heard anyone make disparaging remarks about African Americans or people of any other ethnicity, and when someone had, her parents had been quick to denounce such statements as ignorant and unchristian. People of all races worshipped at Ignited Word, and the Paynes—and the church—were proud of that fact. Yes, Hannah reflected now, but how many nonwhite members did they actually have? And how many black, Hispanic or Asian families had ever been invited to her house for supper? The answers were troubling: relatively few, and none.

“Anyway, his fancy lawyer convinced the jury it was attempted murder,” Kayla said. “Like I was after his fucking money, the lying cocksucker. I
wish
he was dead.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

Kayla’s red hand rubbed the towel against the mirror in furious circles. “Son of a bitch was messing with my little sister. She’s just thirteen.”

Hannah shook her head, her mind shrinking away as it always did from the incomprehensible but irrefutable fact that people did this to children, that they did it and somehow went on living with themselves. She’d met abused children at the shelter, kids as young as six who’d been molested by a parent, relative, family friend, priest, stranger. She’d looked into their eyes and known that no amount of kindness or love that she or anyone else gave them would ever completely heal them. These encounters had left her feeling heartsick, but they’d enraged Aidan. He didn’t allow Blues to attend his services, even with an assigned chaperone (though all other Chromes were welcome, provided they sat in their designated area). Hannah had asked him once whether he thought God forgave child molesters. He was silent for a long time. “The Bible tells us He does, if they truly repent,” he said finally. “But I don’t believe even our Savior’s blood is powerful enough to wash away that sin.” It was the only time she’d ever heard Aidan blaspheme.

“I was aiming for his balls,” Kayla said, “but I ended up shooting him in the gut. I should have used a knife is what I should have done.”

“My cousin’s a nurse,” Hannah said, “She says stomach wounds are the most agonizing kind there are. It takes a long time to heal, and some people never do. They’re literally poisoned by their own waste.”

Kayla’s hand went still and her lips quirked at the corners. “Is that a fact.”

“Yep. It’s supposed to be one of the worst deaths there is.”

Her new friend smiled, a bright, fierce slash of teeth. “That’s mighty good to know.”

Hannah suddenly remembered the time. “I’d better get ready. Bridget will be back soon.” She gathered her long hair, twisted it into a bun and tried to pin it up, but it was too heavy, and it defied her efforts, tumbling down her back.

Kayla moved behind Hannah. “Here, let me help you.” With perfect ease, she took hold of Hannah’s hair and started braiding it. “Most of the women here are all right, but you watch yourself around Fridget, hear? She not just a bitch, she’s a snitch. You put one foot wrong, and she’ll neg on you to the Henleys. She thinks if she’s a good little rat, they’ll let her stay past her six months, but it’s not gonna happen. My uncle, he’s the one who got me in here, he said they hardly ever make exceptions.”

“They did for you,” Hannah said. “Letting you come in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, Uncle Walt’s a big-time preacher in Savannah. He pulled some strings.”

Kayla’s hands were deft, and Hannah’s hair was soon tamed and bound into a bun. “You’re good at that,” she said.

“I used to work at a salon. It’s how I put myself through Baylor. Where’d you go?”

“College wasn’t an option for me,” Hannah said. There’d been no money for it, but even if she’d been able to get a scholarship, her parents would have opposed her going. They’d taught her that her highest purpose as a woman, the purpose for which she’d been created, was to get married, be a helpmeet to her husband and raise a family. She had grown up believing that, but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking wistfully about what it would be like to have four years to do nothing but
learn.
One day the summer before her senior year of high school, she’d told her mother she was going to the mall and instead taken the train into Dallas. She’d gotten off at Mockingbird Station and walked the few blocks to the university, moving slowly in the 105-degree heat, taking shallow breaths through her mouth. The campus was mostly deserted, as she’d known it would be; like most universities in the hotter parts of the country, SMU had long ago closed its doors during the summer months. The cost of air-conditioning was prohibitive, and without it, the heat was too intense and the air quality too poor to hold classes.

Majestic oaks lined the empty walkways. Grateful for their shade, Hannah meandered through the campus, imagining the sidewalks thronged with students and herself among them. She saw a man emerge from a large building whose entrance was dwarfed by tall white columns. She mounted the stairs and went inside, stepping into quiet, and cool air that smelled deliciously of books: the library. Of course, it would have to be climate controlled year-round to protect the books from the heat and damp. She went through the scanner and past the security guard, then through a large set of double doors leading to the main reading room. Enormous as it was, it was crowded; most of the seats at the long wooden tables were filled. At least half of the people were elderly, seeking shelter from the heat. And oh, the books! Row upon row of them, more than she’d ever seen in one place.

“Hey there,” said a young man behind the circulation desk. He was good-looking in an unkempt way, with artfully tousled hair and long sideburns—doubtless a student here. “Don’t you have your student ID tab?”

Its absence must have set off an alert. Hannah looked down at her blouse and then pretended to search her purse, not wanting him to know she didn’t belong here, in this beautiful, peaceful, book-filled space. “I guess I left it at home,” she said.

Apologetically, he said, “I’m not supposed to let you in without one, unless you’re over sixty-five. Which you’re obviously not.” He gave her an appreciative, lopsided grin. Flirting with her. “Though for you I believe I could make an exception.”

Hannah looked back at him, this boy whom she might have dated if she’d gone to school here, and then she looked around the room at all the books, all the thousands and thousands of books containing so many answers to so many questions. Here, in this place, asking “Why?” would not be improper or sinful. Here, she couldn—

Her port buzzed: a message from her mother reminding her she had sewing circle at four. She pictured herself and the other women bent over their needles, chatting about a new gingerbread recipe they’d tried, a vid they’d seen the night before, the best place to find bargains on baby clothes, and mentally compared the image to the one in front of her: the students bent silently over their books, their lips moving as they memorized formulas and orders of mammals and the names of ancient kings, their minds grappling with philosophy, literature, quantum physics, international law. They were inhabitants of another country, one in which she was a foreigner and always would be.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I don’t belong here.” She walked out of the room, out of the building, off the campus and back to the station, never once turning her head to look behind her.

“I was going to get my masters in education,” Kayla said, bringing Hannah back to the present. “Had a scholarship to UT starting in September, and then this happened.” She gestured at her red face.

“You lost a lot,” Hannah said.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I’m just a seamstress. Well, I used to be.”

“And you still are,” Kayla insisted. “Just because you’re a Red doesn’t mean that’s all you are.” She took Hannah’s bonnet and set it on her head with a little flourish. “Ooh, girl, you’re looking fine now. All you need is a scrub brush in your hand and you’ll be almost as sexy as me.”

Hannah tried to return Kayla’s smile, but her own lips were frozen. She stared at her reflection, stricken. An alien stared back at her.

“Come on,” Kayla said. “Buck up, now. You’ll make it through this.”

“What if I can’t?”

Kayla locked eyes with her. “You have to, or they win.”

They heard footsteps approaching. “Here comes Fridget,” Kayla said. “Remember what I told you.”

Bridget appeared in the doorway. She surveyed Hannah with a cool, critical eye and finally gave her a grudging nod. “Follow me.”

“I’m right behind you,” Kayla murmured.

T
HEY ENCOUNTERED OTHER
women along the way, emerging in color-coordinated groups from doorways and stairwells. Hannah heard a few low-voiced exchanges, but for the most part the women proceeded in silence. A cluster of the Reds with dolls stepped into the hallway. The pasty-faced girl was with them.

“Why isn’t she a Chrome?” Hannah asked Bridget.