I give a weak smile. “I’m going to have to —”
“Sure,” Mrs. Bailey says. “We understand.”
I go to Aisha’s room and close the door behind me. She’s on the bed, propped up, a pillow on the headboard behind her. She’s staring into space.
“I guess I should have seen this coming when they started with a prayer,” I say. “Sorry.”
She doesn’t look at me, but she also doesn’t seem about to explode, either. I sit down next to her, pick up a pillow, and put it behind me as I lean back.
“You know, I didn’t even mind the prayer,” she says, her voice soft.
“Me neither. I was surprised, but I didn’t hate it.”
“It’s the rest of it. They’re so nice, and they’re so perfect, and yet.”
I wait for her to finish. “Yet what?”
Her eyes are rimmed in pink. “This place is melting me.”
I don’t know what that means, but I nod and I put my hand on her arm.
“Wyoming melted you, and Utah is melting me.”
“Walking wounded,” I say.
Aisha nods, hard. “Right?” she says, turning toward me now. “I’m so mad, because. These people. They’re like my family was.” The tears are beginning to fall now. “My dad was always good to me, great to me. And then this thing. He couldn’t hack it. He saw it as his failure, and he’s not so good with failure. The religion thing, that made it easy for him not to deal with it. The church told him I needed fixing, so instead of working on accepting me as I’ve always been, he gives me an ultimatum. Be someone else, or be gone.
“So I’m sitting there looking at the smiling Baileys, and it hurts. I woke up one night at the zoo and it was raining, and I was alone out there. My dad decided it was better for me to sleep out in the fucking rain than to love me as I was. That hurts, Carson. It hurts bad.”
I don’t say anything. I just hug her. She hugs me back, and we lie down and look at each other. Her head is turned to the side, and her tears zip across her cheeks like they’re climbing a mountain and then falling off a ledge.
“It’s the hypocrisy. They preach love, but they’re selling fear. I hate that so much.”
“I hate it too,” I say.
“Do you? Because you don’t always seem to get it.”
“I hate that it hurts you.”
She squeezes my arm. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” I say back.
“For what?”
I say, “For saving my life.”
She averts her eyes. “I didn’t save your life.”
“You kind of did. Before you, I never had any of this — friends, adventure. You saved my life because I never knew what life could be.”
She covers her eyes with her hands. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
We lie there facing each other for a little while longer, until her eyes dry and suddenly we’re just two happy kids on an adventure, looking at each other. Her eyes are playful, and kind, and they love me. Even if she doesn’t love me like a boyfriend, it’s more than I ever could have hoped for.
“So do we go back out to those awful people?” she asks.
“They’re not awful.”
She whispers, “I know. Come on. I’ll make nice.”
We do go back to dinner. Aisha apologizes again, and Mr. Bailey surprises me by spending ten minutes explaining that they’re liberal Mormons, actually, and they don’t agree with every position of the church, and take his wife, for instance, her work, and Aisha nods and nods until her neck gets tired. I drift off listening to the sounds of it, happy for the moment because there’s harmony, even if it’s awkward turtle harmony.
When I head off to my room for the night, I read more of my grandfather’s journal. I’ve never gotten to know anyone this way before, just from their writing. And it’s weird, because it’s kind of like seeing myself in the future. It’s like I’m finding me in another person. I flip through pages and pages with the header “Russ’s Book of Puns,” because I don’t feel like reading puns tonight. I stop at one of the final pages with writing on it.
It takes me several seconds to close the page. His boy, so needy? Wow. My dad is, isn’t he? Like that night when he thought I was his dad. And what does Russ mean, he needs a pass? Like it’ll be a sin? Does he mean leaving? Is he asking for a pass in case he leaves?
I can’t wait to meet my grandfather and find out.
WHEN I WAKE up in the morning and creep into the hallway, Aisha’s door is open slightly, and I peer in. She’s asleep on her side, her right arm splayed above her head and her left one clutching a pillow to her chest. Her head rests on her lavender pillowcase that she brought in from her car. Her hair billows around it as if it has expanded overnight. Infinite fine little wisps of Aisha, curling into themselves.
I feel as if I’m seeing something gentle and elusive. Secretive. Aisha’s sleeping hair.
The floor creaks beneath me, and Aisha wakes up and sees me. “What are you doing?” she grumbles.
I don’t say anything for a few seconds. “Watching you sleep.”
“Can you stop?”
“Crabby,” I say. “Crab shack. Crab apples.”
“Not a morning person,” she says, stretching her arms up above her head. “I’m not a person of the morning.”
I laugh, because she’s repeating my words from a few days ago, back in Montana.
Just like at the Leffs, we leave with more stuff than we had when we arrived. Gareth gives me a couple of pairs of his old shorts, just in case we aren’t heading right back to Billings after meeting Mrs. Clancy. I thank him and tell him I’ll send them back, but he tells me not to worry about it. Mrs. Bailey gives Aisha another pair of shorts, which Aisha at first refuses but then gratefully accepts.
“So what’s the plan for the day?” Mr. Bailey asks as Aisha loads the car. Mrs. Bailey stands next to him.
“Gonna go to Temple Square to meet this woman who knew my grandfather, I guess,” I say. “Have absolutely no idea beyond that.”
“Oh, you’ll love Temple Square!” Mrs. Bailey says.
“And if you need to stay longer, you’re welcome,” Mr. Bailey says, and I think, Really? After the dinner fiasco, you’d have us stay longer? I smile at him, and maybe that thought comes through, because he smiles back in a way that seems to say, Yeah. Even though.
The Baileys hug me, and then they face Aisha. Mr. Bailey asks, “Is it okay if I hug you?” Aisha nods, and then I get to watch the world’s most awkward good-bye hug.
“Stop by later, dude,” Gareth says. It’s seven thirty in the morning and his breath already smells like beer. This time, I really don’t want one.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, but I know we won’t. We wave good-bye, and I can tell Aisha feels extremely relieved to be out of there. I get why she feels that way, but I don’t need to feel the same way. It’s nice that we don’t have to agree on everything.
We park a block south of the Temple, and as we walk to the gate, I notice that it’s painfully clean here. The buildings are made of a sparkly white stone, maybe marble. Not just the tall and imposing Temple; all the buildings surrounding it too. Fountains of white with pristine turquoise waters spill over angels and cherubs and swans. Every few minutes someone pushes a cart along, sweeping up any litter, and as a result, the sidewalks sparkle as well.
“You could probably feed all the people in Rwanda for ten years with what it cost to build this shit,” Aisha mutters, and I nod.
We find the Tabernacle building, which is in the southern part of the square next to the main Temple. It’s a cream-white oval almost the size of a football stadium, with velvet ropes cordoning off the entrances. It makes me remember the Porcupine of Truth and the velvet ropes that separate those who die from Des Moines. I think about saying something, but I’m not sure Aisha is in the mood. Instead I say, “It’s just too clean.”