“Make a left and turn onto Sycamore,” her mother tells her. “Go to Lewiston.”

“That’s not the way to Main Street. I thought we were looking at wigs.”

“I want to go see Helene,” Sue says. “I’m not going to argue with you about it.”

At the beginning there were often hundreds of pilgrims milling around the Boyds’ house, patiently waiting their turn in the driveway, each one hoping for their own healing encounter with Helene. TV stations sent reporters when prayer vigils were held on the front lawn. But there are new miracles and new healers and people have forgotten about Helene. Eight years have passed since the accident, and nowadays only the faithful and the desperate still appear. There is one old woman who drives out from Queens every day to say prayers on the lawn, even in the depth of winter or during rainstorms. She began visiting the family the week after the accident. Now she says she is waiting for Helene to rise from her bed, to give hope to the world. This devotee of Helene’s carries all of her earthly belongings in a paper bag. The Boyds will no longer let her into the house. Sometimes this woman calls out to Helene and begs for her to rid her of her demons, and then the police are phoned and they gently escort her to the tiny apartment where she lives with her daughter, who has never been able to speak or walk.

When Shelby parks across the street from the Boyds’ house, she’s shaking from the stress of driving. She hasn’t been behind the wheel since she was seventeen. She hasn’t seen Helene since then. “I’m not going in there with you,” she tells her mother.

“I didn’t expect you to.” Sue flips down the visor and checks to see if she needs to straighten her scarf.

“She can’t really heal people, Mom. If she could wouldn’t she have healed herself?”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Sue tells Shelby. “Wait right here.”

Shelby watches her mom cross the street and go up the path. There’s a shrine on the lawn, with pamphlets that describe the miracles Helene is said to have performed. The old lady is there kneeling on the lawn. She brings a blanket with her so she won’t get grass stains on her skirt. She is here because of the stories of drug addicts who visit Helene once and never touch the stuff again, of women who can’t get pregnant who have babies nine months after a visit, of men who can’t be faithful who renew their vows, of a blind woman who could see while she was in Helene’s bedroom and described it perfectly, down to the pink bedspread, the same one she had on her bed when she was a girl.

Shelby sinks down in the driver’s seat and lights up a joint even though Sue doesn’t allow smoking in her car. Shelby inhales once or twice, then realizes her hands are shaking even worse, so she stubs it out. From what Shelby knows, there’s no cure for what her mother has.

Shelby can’t see through the windows of Helene’s room. She thinks of crouching beside the house with Ben. That was the night she realized he loved her. She could cry if she let herself. She’s ruined everything she’s ever touched. The windshield has steamed up, and after a while the whole world outside is foggy. Shelby laughs to think her mother told her not to go anywhere. Where the hell would she go? After an hour, Sue comes back out and gets into the car.

“That took a long time. What was it like?” Shelby asks.

Sue is fussing with cleaning off the foggy windshield with her scarf, so it takes a moment before Shelby realizes her mother is crying.

“I told you she couldn’t help,” Shelby says. “This kind of thing just gives people false hope. It just exploits her, Mom, don’t you see that?”

“You’re wrong. She did help me. She made me realize how lucky I’ve been.” Sue wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “I went there wanting to know what my life has been worth, and now I know, I’ve had you all this time, Shelby. I’ve realized more than ever what a precious gift that is.”

“I wish it had been me instead of Helene,” Shelby says. “I should have died.”

Sue turns and slaps her. The slap is so hard Shelby hits her head against the window. “Mom!” she says, stunned.

“Don’t you dare say that!” Sue cries. “Don’t even think it! Do you hear me? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Shelby, don’t take that away from me. You’re my gift.”

“Okay,” Shelby says, sobered. Her mom is sobbing now. Shelby doesn’t feel stoned anymore. She’s heard that people on chemo can have their brains affected. Maybe that’s what’s happened to her mother.

“And don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” Sue tells her.

“Okay.”

“And don’t keep saying okay. It doesn’t sound like you, Shelby. Say fuck you or kiss my ass.”

“Okay, kiss my ass.” They both laugh. “So do you want to go to that wig shop?”

“Kiss my ass,” Sue says. They laugh harder. They laugh until Sue says, “Did you know your dad has a new girlfriend? This time it’s serious.”

“You’re crazy,” Shelby says. “You always think the worst. He was probably never dating that woman at Macy’s.”

“That one didn’t last long. This one is different. She’s a nurse. He told me he wanted the chance to be in love again. He has no idea that being in love is bullshit. It’s knowing someone down to their soul that matters. That’s what love is. It’s difficult and it’s real and it doesn’t change.” Sue sniffs the air. “Did you smoke pot in here?”

“A little,” Shelby admits.

Sue rolls down the window. “His girlfriend works at the hospital where I was being treated. We became friends. She invited us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Fuck him,” Shelby says. “I hate him. Fuck her, too.”

Her mom takes Shelby’s hand. “Actually, I’m glad he’ll have some happiness.”

Shelby looks at her mom, eyes shining. “You can’t be this good.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Sue says. “I hate him, too.”

“How can he do this to you?” Shelby says of her father.

“I don’t care, I have you,” Sue says.

Shelby says nothing. The fact that she’s the high point of someone’s life is pathetic. She’s probably never loved her mother more than she does at this moment. Maybe she didn’t even know what love was before today. “Where should we go?” she asks.