“Well, you’re just a dumb boy.”
“Are you mean to me because Estella was mean to Pip in the book?”
She chuckled at this. “You, Mr. John Edward Jack Thatch, are no Pip. I’m mean to you because you are just a dumb boy deserving of nothing more.”
“Why haven’t I ever seen you at school?”
“I don’t go to school, my teachers come to me. Six in total, every subject you could possibly imagine. I’ve been told I am very smart, possibly gifted, and to go to a public school would be a disservice.”
“Are you rich?”
“I live in a grand house, nearly a castle. We employ a staff of servants around the clock, and I want for nothing. I spend my free time traveling the world, visiting one exotic place after the next, studying people, and places, and culture. Is that what you want to hear?”
I shrugged. “If it’s the truth.”
“It is.”
“Okay.”
She fidgeted with the corner of one of her gloves, tugged at it.
“Why do you wear those?”
“It’s cold.”
“Not that cold. It wasn’t cold last time, and you wore them then, too.”
“Maybe I like them.” She slipped a finger inside the one on the right and pulled it off. Her fingers were long and slender.
“Stella.” The woman with the white hair glared, stepping closer.
Stella quickly put the glove back on. “I like them, is all.” She slipped her hands under her thighs.
“Why today? Why this bench?”
“So many questions…”
“I’ve been here a bunch of times, and you weren’t. Now today, you’re back. One year from the last time. August 8. Why?”
A smile edged her lips. “Were you looking for me?”
“No. I was…I live close by. I visit my parents a lot. That’s all.”
“You sound nervous, Jack. Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I said, hoping the redness had left my face.
She looked up, her deep brown eyes meeting mine. “Your parents died on August 8?”
I nodded.
She leaned back into the bench, her eyes on the heavens. “Strange, the coincidences of the world.”
“My Auntie Jo says there are no coincidences.”
“Is she here with you, your Auntie Jo?”
Again, I nodded. “Back at my parents’ graves. We come every year.”
