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Back Devotion Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. About the Publisher

The waiter was crouching next to Lonnie, in the middle of telling her something I couldn’t hear. She laughed, her head thrown back.

I cleared my throat as I approached. “Are you ready?”

She looked up at me surprised, registering my presence for the first time. “Oh,” she said. “Time to go?”

I nodded and they both stood. The waiter introduced himself. “I hope it’s okay I gave him a sandwich,” he said. “Thought he might like it better than the fish.”

I realized Lonnie had continued to pretend he was my baby. “Of course,” I said.

Lonnie unzipped the sweatshirt and handed it to him. “Thanks,” she said, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said.

I didn’t have to look back to know he was watching her leave.

I tried to keep all that food down, but when we got back to the cabin the sickness overcame me. Thinking of the lamprey, I vomited in the downstairs bathroom while Lonnie put William to bed.

15

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT LONNIE CRAWLED INTO MY BED. She whispered, “It’s scary,” to me in the dark with a little laugh, and I felt her body curl up, legs to her chest, timid.

“It’s okay,” I whispered back, and my assent allowed her to unfurl, the sheets rustling around us as she settled herself into sleep.

I don’t know how to tell about the kind of pain I was in. I didn’t understand it myself. I still felt I hated her, though I fingered the ends of her hair as she slept, thankful for the lack of sensation there. The room was filled with a sort of static I wasn’t used to. The old wooden dresser, the cedar chest at the end of the bed filled with extra blankets, the wavered glass in the windowpanes—everything was alive and crackling. The whole room was filled with objects sleeping—breathing lightly, like Lonnie, unaware of my existence. I put a foot on the floor trying to steady my head, and then quickly drew it back up again, still nauseated by the dark space between the bed and ground. I couldn’t have slept if my life depended on it, though I was also entirely incapable of rising from that bed.