books, anything she wanted. Regina worried that they were overspending
and would have to eat beans for a year to balance their budget-she
didn’t like beans-but they failed to pick up on her hints about the
virtues of frugality. Finally she had to stop them by pretending that
her weak leg was bothering her.
From the mall they went to dinner at an Italian restaurant. She had
eaten out twice before, but only at a fast-food place, where the owner
treated all the kids at the orphanage to burgers and fries. This was a
real restaurant, and there was so much to absorb that she could hardly
eat, keep up her end of the table conversation, and enjoy the place all
at the same time. The chains weren’t made out of hard plastic, and
neither were the knives and forks. The plates weren’t either paper or
Styrofoam, and drinks came in actual glasses, which must mean that the
customers in real restaurants were not as clumsy as those in fast-food
places and could be trusted with breakable things. The waitresses
weren’t teenagers, and they brought your food to you instead of handing
it across a counter by the cash register. And they didn’t make you pay
for it until after you’d eaten it!
Later, back at the Harrison house, after Regina unpacked her things,
brushed her teeth, put on pajamas, took off her leg brace, and got into
bed, both the Harrisons came in to say goodnight. Mr. Harrison sat on
the edge of her bed and told her that everything might seem strange at
first, even unsettling, but that soon enough she would feel at home,
then he kissed her on the forehead and said, “Sweet dreams, princess.”
Mrs. Harrison was next, and she sat on the edge of the bed, too. She
talked for a while about all the things they would do together in the
days ahead. Then she kissed Regina on the cheek, said, “Goodnight,
honey,” and turned off the overhead light as she went out the door into
the hall.
Regina had never before been good nighted, so she had not known how to
respond Some of the nuns were huggers; they liked to give you an
affectionate squeeze now and then, but none of them was a smoocher.
For as far back as Regina could remember, a flicker of the dorm lights
was the signal to be in bed within fifteen minutes, and when the lights
went out, each kid was responsible for getting tucked in himself. Now
she had been tucked in twice and kissed goodnight twice, all in the same
evening, and she had been too surprised to kiss either of them in
return, which she now knew she should have done.
“You’re such a screwup, Reg,” she said aloud.
Lying in her magnificent bed’ with the painted roses twining around her
in the darkness, Regina could imagine the conversation they were having,
right that minute, in their own bedroom: Did she kiss you good night?
No, did she kiss you?
No. Maybe she’s a coidtuh.
Maybe she’s a psyche de’non chic Yeah, like that kid in The Omen.
You know what I’m worried about?
She’ll stab us to death in our sleep.
lets hide all the kitchen knives.
Better hide the power tools, too.
You still have the gun in the nightstand?
Yeah, but a gun will never stop her.
Thank God we have a crowd We’ll sleep in shits.
Send her back to the orphanage tomorrow.
“Such a screwup,” Regina said. “Shit.” She sighed. “Sorry, God.”
Then she folded her hands in prayer and said softly, “Dear God, if
you’ll convince the Harrisons to give me one more chance, I’ll never say
shit’ again, and I’ll be a better person.” That didn’t seem like a good
enough bargain from God’s point of view, so she threw in other
inducements: “I’ll continue to keep an A average in school, I’ll never
again put Jelly in the holy water font, and I’ll give serious thought to
becoming a nun.” Still not good enough. “And I’ll eat beans.”
That ought to do it. God was probably proud of beans. After all, He’d
made all kinds of them. Her refusal to eat green or wax or Lima or navy