“Why would they listen to you? You’re just a kid.”
Shedidsmile at this. “I am, aren’t I? This is why I like you, John Edward Jack Thatch. You state the obvious, yet it comes out of your mouth like the most profound of thoughts.”
“She said some nasty things to me. Did she tell you that?”
“She can sometimes be a caring, beautiful woman, and at others I’ve found her behavior toward you downright despicable, and I’ve spoken to her about it. She’s very protective of me, always has been, far more so than the others.”
“Where were you? Last year, I mean.”
It was Stella who looked at the old woman this time. Her fingers flicked unconsciously through the pages of her book. “I was somewhere other than here.”
“Why don’t I see you any other time during the year?”
“Because you see me today.”
“Who are you visiting?”
“I’m visiting you.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I groaned. “You don’t answer any of my questions.”
“Maybe you should stop asking questions.”
“Maybe I should just leave.”
“Do you want to leave?”
I let out another defeated breath. “No.”
She turned toward me. The tops of her knees poked out from under her skirt.
My face flushed. I looked away.
This seemed to amuse her. “Why is it you want to see me? Why do you come back year after year, and sometimes in between, in search of me? A girl you met a handful of times? At most, we’ve probably shared a collective hour together, yet I’d be willing to stake you have spent countless other hours lost in thoughts about me, obsessing even. The mere sight of my knee sets your heart fluttering. An innocent knee. What of a foot, or heaven forbid, a bit of my thigh?” She lowered her voice, her words but a whisper. “What if I let you kiss me, Jack? What would that simple act do to you?”
She leaned toward me slowly, she leaned so close I could feel her breath on my cheek.
“Stella.”
This was Ms. Oliver. She said the girl’s name softly, but there was a grit to it, a portent of sorts, a warning. Stella’s eyes narrowed, and she gave the woman a hateful look, then washed it away with a smile before leaning back to her side of the bench, brushing her long hair back over her shoulder.
My breath had caught in my throat, and I forced it to release, drew in another. I changed the subject. “Why are you leaving money for me?”
Stella laughed, and it was a mix of the sweetest sound I had ever heard and the most maddening. I didn’t care. As long as she let me hear it, I just didn’t care. I also knew it wasn’t the question that made her laugh, but my clumsy attempt to get her to talk about something else, anything else.
“I have no money, Jack. How could I possibly leave money for you? What purpose would that serve?”
“The envelopes all saidPipon them, like in your book. I know they came from you.”
“If you’re so certain, why are you asking the question?”
“I want to hear it from you. I want you to explain why.”
“Sounds like you want many things, Mr. Thatch. What do I get in return for addressing one or more of these wants?”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna stop coming.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
