“We thought maybe she needed the hospital, Sarah,” one of the boys said. “We found her when she’d just climbed out of a dumpster filled with paint cans.”

“Okay. Can you boys bring her in?”

“Sure.”

The tailgate grated down among blue flashes and I held on to the sleeping bag as they pulled it out the back of the truck. Then I was in someone’s arms, with my cane in my hand, and we followed Sarah, the world biliously bouncing with each step.

She held the door open, and her scent floated moonglobes across my vision as we passed her.

Inside, the cottage remained just as I remembered it. The colors were perhaps a bit faded, there were piles of clothes about, but basically it was the same. A mass of twinkling lights in the corner hurt my eyes. I squinted in pain, and realized it was what I had hoped to find at Sarah’s. A Christmas tree.

“Here. Put her on the bed.”

The bedspread radiated with orange and red and I felt its design tattooing itself on my back. My legs still twitched. I was cold and beginning to shiver. Sarah covered me with a yellow blanket and left the room. I heard her talking with the boys, then doors slammed and the truck roared off down the road. When she returned, she held two steaming mugs of hot tea.

With a gentle hand behind my head, she lifted me up for a sip, then settled me back down with a pillow. She sat on the edge of the mattress and regarded me with cool brown eyes while she blew the steam across her own mug.

I couldn’t meet her gaze.

“Angelina,” she finally said. “What are you doing?”

“I had to come here,” I managed to say. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“With . . . I can’t—I need—I don’t— Oh, God!” I was incap­able of explaining through the pain, through the frustration, the years, the lifetimes of bizarre experiences.

“I think you need some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“No, no, now, please now.”

“No, it’s getting late. I have work to do yet tonight and I have to dance tomorrow. I have to sleep. You stay here and I’ll sleep in Samuel’s bed.”

“Samuel. Where is he?”

“With his father,” she said with a touch of something red that I could not identify but could plainly see in the tonal difference of her speech. “Good night.”

“It’s good to see you again, Sarah.”

“That’s nice,” she said, then turned out the light.