For the first time in my year and a half on the farm, I went out at night, creeping out of my bottom bunk, away from the heavy air and the noises of breathing like frothing waves, through two more bedrooms of the hall-less long house, and out into the courtyard, in my nightgown over my long johns. The wind caught me, and I seemed to be floating a few feet above the ground. Who was I? What was I looking for? The questions were beside the point. Dice had ripped me out of my body, reducing me to something less than an animal, less than an idea, down to just wind.

I could find Isaac and learn for certain whether my mother was dead or alive. I imagined settling into a chair across from him at the coffee shop in Asheville. Plastic and letters and money and flimsy tables, all the fake-world things. Hot cocoa in Styrofoam. There was so much Isaac didn’t know, would never know, would never understand, but that was how I wanted him, wasn’t it, wasn’t that my revenge, because you who know nothing, love nothing. I could see him once more and say goodbye forever.

CHAPTER 27

It was Valentine’s Day. In the night I’d planned out how I’d get to Isaac. I considered three options. One was to leave and try to hitchhike and hope no one noticed, but I dismissed that; the dogs would sound the alarm and I’d look like I was running away. Another was to volunteer for some errand. The bait shop, the hardware store, something. Maybe Dice would let me go to town alone. And the last option was to try to get Bay to drive me. I knew now that I had some power over him.

Dice sat next to me at breakfast but he did not eat. I had never seen him eating, not our buttercream cakes, not our rib stew. I followed him onto the porch after breakfast. “Dice,” I said, “do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said. He looked me up and down. I felt him peering into my head, watching my plan to see Isaac unfold.

“I was hoping you’d let me drive to Mars Hill today,” I said, “to run an errand.” It was our first private conversation since he said my mother had died. He wanted me to believe that my mother was dead, and he wanted me to join with the protests. He always had a plan, an intention. And I loved him for it.

“An errand?” he said, peering at me. His brow was like the falcon’s brow, heavy and bony to protect his eyes if he dive-bombed a rhododendron.

“A latch for the sheep gate,” I said.

“Gemini can fix it,” Dice said. “I don’t trust you that way yet.”

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