"You want to tell me what happened out there?" Nick asks.
I stare out at the road. The moon hangs above us, waiting maybe. The trees are dark. I touch my head where the headlamp should be.
Finally I say, "I don't know. I think the pixie guy was out there calling my name, like in some horror movie, and then I yelled back at him, and there was an eagle, and then I yelled some more, and he was gone."
"You scared the pixie away? Is that what you're saying?"
"I don't know."
"Why did you go out there?"
"I wanted him to take me. I don't want you to get hurt or Devyn or anybody. So I figured… It sounds so stupid."
"You were going to sacrifice yourself to save everyone else?"
I cringe. "Then I wimped out."
Nick pulls up to Betty's and hops out of the MINI. I unlock my door and he lifts me out, placing both of his big hands on either side of my waist like I'm a little kid or something.
"I'm fine," I say, trying to pull away. "I can walk."
He arches an eyebrow but lets me go and watches me sway on the driveway. "I think you've had a shock" "Well, you almost ran me over."
"You were standing in the middle of the road," he argues, hustling me inside.
"You were speeding," I tease.
I open the door to Betty's house and turn.
"I was not speeding," he says, fixing his hat. It has a bigB on it for Bedford.
"I'm sorry," I say. And I am. I lean against the door that is quiet and doesn't complain about things or your behavior or anything like that. Doors are very good that way. Blood has seeped through the tissue. I hold it against my cheek.
He watches me and doesn't move. So I add, "I went out in Charleston all the time."
"This is not Charleston."
I laugh. "That's for sure."
"Zara, this is serious." He pushes me lightly into the house.
"Why, because it's about pixies? 'Zara, this is serious,' " I turn and walk toward the sofa, feeling ridiculous because I've totally lost my cool and acted like some diabolical dictator or something, and I've got to hold on to some dignity. I plunk myself onto the corner of the couch. I grab onto the armrest. He stays standing. Of course. Not like he'd want to hang out and stay awhile, maybe have some hot cocoa, talk about why everyone in this annoying town is so deranged and paranoid and can run so darn fast.
"What?" I manage to say. "Aren't you leaving?"
"I promised Betty." His jaw firms up and then he says in a calm but forceful tone, kind of like an actor trying to play a cop, "You can't go out after dark."
"I'm not a boy."
"No? Really?" His mouth loosens up. "But you are what the pixie guy wants."
"You think so? Then why doesn't he just grab me? Why does he just call my name?" I pull the tissue away from my face. Blood drips.
"Maybe that's the rule. I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything." Nick yanks me up by the arms and brings me into the kitchen. It still smells like spaghetti.
He grabs a dish towel and shoves it under the faucet, then presses it against my head. The water drips down my face.
"Sorry. Forgot to wring it out," he says and blushes, actually blushes, as he wrings it out over the sink.
His fingers twist and squeeze the cloth. Then he brings it back up to my skin. His touch is actually almost tender and his eyes seem to soften a little. I stare up at him, leaning against the counter. He is so very close. With his free hand, he cups my uninjured cheek and tilts his head, staring at me, staring into me.
"I can't figure you out," he says.
I swallow. His eyes watch my neck move and then they harden as they look at the dish towel over my cut.
"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" he says.
"No."
If I keep my eyes open and take a little time maybe I could figure him out, but do I really want to try?
Probably.
"Betty is going to kill you." His thumb moves slightly against my cheek but it's enough to make me tremble, and not in a bad way. Something is so going on but I don't know what.
I reach out a hand. "I was scared. I was scared before you came. I thought I heard… I think I'm going crazy. Does Maine make people crazy? Does the cold or something get into people's brains and not allow them to think rationally or I don't know, maybe freeze their neurons or something?"
I stop talking because even I can hear this sort of hysterical edge taking over my voice. My hands grab onto air, nothing but air, looking for words or something to hold on to.
He shakes his head and his hair moves in the air the way a dog's does. "You're not crazy."
"I feel crazy."
"Why?"
"It's just… I don't know what's going on. Ask me about the situation in Darfur, I can tell you all about it.
You want to know how many people are waiting on death row in the United States? I know that too. But no, I can't understand why there are pixies in some hick Maine town."
"I don't really understand it either."
I sigh and touch my hand to my cheek, then rub it across my eyes. I'm so tired. The floor sways a little and I manage to shuffle into the living room and flop down on the couch. He moves beside me instantly, putting his hand on my shoulder, peering at me. He moved so fast I hardly noticed it.
"I'm a little woozy," I say. "Which is probably why I'm acting like… like…"
"Woozy?"