“I am pretty lucky,” he said finally.
Miles did not reply.
They sat together in silence, sipping brandy and letting their private dreams take shape in the playground of their thoughts.
Their flight out of Las Vegas was at 7:58 A.M. on PSA flight 726, a smaller jet making a single stopover in Reno on its way north to Seattle. They arrived early at the airport, camped out in an empty terminal until boarding, and took seats at the rear of the airplane to avoid drawing any more attention than was necessary. Ben had bound up Willow’s hair in a head scarf, covered her face with skin-toned foundation cream, and clothed her head to foot to hide her skin, but she looked like a walking sideshow nevertheless. Worse, she was more listless than ever. Her strength seemed to be simply draining away from her.
When they had taken off the second time out of Reno and Miles was dozing, she leaned over to Ben and whispered, “I know what troubles me, Ben. I need to nourish in the soil. I need to make the change. I think that is why I am so weak. I’m sorry.”
He nodded and hugged her close. He had forgotten about her need to transform from human to tree every twenty days. Perhaps he had simply blocked it away when he had agreed to bring her on this journey in the misguided hope that it wouldn’t prove to be a problem. But the twenty-day cycle had obviously come around again. She would have to be allowed to change.
But what would the elements in the soil of this world do to her body systems?
He didn’t like to think about it. It made him feel helpless. They were trapped here now, trapped until he found Abernathy and retrieved his medallion.
He took a deep breath, gripped Willow’s gloved hand tightly in his own, and leaned back in his seat. Just one more day, he promised silently. By tonight, he would be on Davis Whitsell’s doorstep, and his search would be over.
* * *
The phone rang in the living room, and Davis Whitsell pushed back his bowl of Wheaties, got up from the breakfast table, and hurried to answer it. Abernathy watched him through a crack in the bedroom door. They were alone in the house. Alice Whitsell had gone to visit her mother three days ago. Show dogs were one thing, she had said on leaving—talking dogs were something else. She would be back when the dog—if that’s what it really was in the first place—was gone.
Probably just as well, Davis had insisted afterward. It was easier to concentrate on things when Alice wasn’t running the TV or her mouth.
Abernathy didn’t know what he meant. What he did know was that as far as he could determine he was no closer to reaching Virginia than before. Despite his host’s repeated assurances that everything would be fine, he was beginning to grow suspicious.
He listened as Davis picked up the receiver. “Davis Whitsell.” There was a pause. “Yes, Mr. Stern, how are you? Uh, huh. Sure thing.” He sounded very eager. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there!”
Davis placed the receiver back on its cradle, rubbed his hands together briskly, cast a quick look down the hall in the direction of Abernathy’s bedroom, then picked up the phone again and dialed. Abernathy continued to stand at the door and listen.
“Blanche?” Whitsell said into the receiver. His voice was hushed. “Let me talk to Alice. Yeah.” He waited. “Alice? Listen, I only got a moment. I just got a call from the Hollywood Eye! Yeah, how about that? The Hollywood Eye! You thought I was nuts, didn’t you? One hundred thousand dollars for the interview, a few pictures, and out the door! When it’s done, I put the dog on the plane, wish him luck, and we get on with our lives—a hell of a lot richer and a hell of a lot better known. The Eye will have the exclusive, but the other magazines will pick up the story afterward. I’ll have more business than I know what to do with. We’re gonna be in the big bucks, girl! No more scratching and scrimping for us!” There was a brief pause. “Sure, it’s safe! Look, I gotta go. See you in a few days, okay?”