Wendell shook his head. He couldn't sleep. Not until they had stopped Samantha and Joseph and put an end to this whole nasty business. Then he might be able to sleep without worrying he might wake up as a girl or possibly not at all. He didn't have the strength to fight Prudence, though, as she sat him down on the sofa. Sitting down for a few minutes wouldn't hurt.
She picked up her knitting, the metal needles clicking together as she worked. "I thought I'd make Mr. Pryde some new pillows. Doesn't that seem silly?"
"No, of course not. I'm sure he'd like new pillows. He could take one out to his boat-" Wendell stopped as the pieces came together in his mind. "I'm such an idiot!"
"What? What is it?" she asked as he leapt off the couch and raced towards the door. She followed him out to Mr. Pryde's truck, where he picked up a corner of fishing net. She understood at once what he was thinking. "That's a great idea," she said. She frowned then at a glaring flaw in the plan. "How are we going to get there to stop them?" she asked.
"I should think that would be obvious," Wendell said. He patted the cab of the truck. "We drive. Or, to put it more accurately, you drive and I navigate."
"Me? I can't drive."
"You already did, more or less." He took her hands and smiled. "This time you'll be able to use your hands to steer."
"That was a dream, Wendell. It wasn't real. I could get us both killed." She shook her head and turned her back on the truck. "I can't do it."
"Prudence, we don't have time to find someone else to drive us and even then, how could we explain this? We can't tell a complete stranger we need a ride to Pinecrest to stop our friend from robbing a bank."
"It's too dangerous," she said. She turned back to him with tears in her eyes. "I don't want to risk losing you so soon. I couldn't live with myself if something happened."
"We have to do this. For Samantha and Mr. Pryde and Mrs. Schulman and all the others back in Eternity. Please, I know you can do it. I believe in you."
Prudence looked down at the ground, realizing she'd carried the knitting with her. Back in the living room she had wished she could do something to help, to feel useful. This was her chance. "I'll do it," she said.
The interior of Mr. Pryde's truck looked different from the driver's seat. She touched the shifting knob, the steering wheel, and the pedals to familiarize herself with the controls. It's just like in the dream, she thought. Except I'm not a pig and I don't have Wendell hitting the pedals for me.