The Probable Future

There was a faint buzzing sound inside Jenny’s head. That was the way it had all begun on the morning of her birthday. Once upon a time she had been absolutely sure of whom she was meant to love. She had seen what she wanted to see, not what was before her. She hadn’t stopped to turn around twice. Patience, that was the illegible ingredient in nine-frogs stew, that was what Jenny had missed entirely.

“Someone stole it?” Matt said to his brother. He had just realized the impact of this theft.

Will knew what his brother thought of him. It had been clear since that horrible New Year’s party, when he’d been too drunk to think straight and had gotten involved with one of his students. Well, Matt had every right to his disdain, but it was Jenny whose disappointment Will dreaded. Oh, they were over, he knew that, but she was due some consideration after all the years she’d put in. He fully expected her to be furious. She had every right to be. He had allowed a stranger into their house, he had put his needs first, selling his daughter’s safety for five hundred dollars that he had only possessed for an instant. The payoff had evaporated in his greedy hands, like smoke, leaving nothing but ashes.

Will looked at Jenny and for the first time he hid nothing from her. They’d been together so long, he owed her this at least: a single moment of honesty.

“Baby,” he said, the enormity of his failures crashing down on him as he stood beneath the laurel in his wet socks. He could see his reflection in the glass panels on the side of the door to Cake House: he appeared to be underwater, a drowning man with nothing to hold on to but a single shred of truth. “I made a mistake.”

“I understand completely,” Jenny told him. “So did I.”

THE CURE

I.

HAVING LIVED IN ONE PLACE FOR THIRTEEN years, Stella was now forced to move yet again. They had all agreed this was the best course of action; with the model house stolen and fears raised, it was decided that Stella must leave Cake House. But where would she go? An Avery cousin in New York was an option, or boarding school in Rhode Island or Connecticut. But Stella refused to leave Massachusetts. She was not about to enroll in a third school in a single year. No matter the circumstances, she planned to finish ninth grade at Unity High School. Let there be flood or famine, parental anxiety or real danger, she was staying put. For the first time in her life she was earning all A’s; she enjoyed going to the clinic and the rest home with Dr. Stewart. And there was her personal life to think of. What would Hap do without her? Who would Jimmy Elliot follow around if Stella left town, whose window would he throw pebbles at late in the evening, when darkness was falling and the warblers began to sing the last of their songs?

“I’ll be no trouble to anyone,” Stella said. “I’ll be a mouse,” she vowed.

There were few people in town the Sparrows could turn to; those who believe the best neighbors are those who don’t speak to each other have few allies to call upon in times of trouble. But Liza Hull was known for her big heart. When Jenny phoned to ask if Stella could move in with her, Liza didn’t hesitate. In a matter of hours, Stella was ensconced in the guest room above the tea house. Oh, scent of vanilla, of soapsuds, of Assam tea. Oh, room with privacy, with a lock on the door, with a view of the plane trees. If this was charity, it was fine with Stella.

Liza hadn’t even asked any questions, she’d simply made up the bed with clean sheets, then showed Stella how to regulate the water in the tub, which had a tendency to be too hot or too cold. Stella was down to a few treasured possessions—just enough to fill her backpack and a shopping bag—still, she was given an old oak dresser to use, one that had belonged to Liza’s grandmother, the one who as a girl had written down Elisabeth Sparrow’s best recipes.

“I’m going to love having you as a guest,” Liza announced after Stella was all moved in. She hugged the girl, and although Stella wasn’t much for such shows of affection, it was hard to dislike anything about Liza. As for the tea house, it was a fine place to live, except in the mornings, when a steady stream of customers began to arrive at 7:00 A.M., so that Stella could not sleep, even with the quilt over her head. There was no way to avoid the sound of dishes rattling or water running through the pipes every time the dishwasher was turned on. Perhaps it would have been impossible to sleep late anyway, all those pain-in-the-neck warblers chattering in the lilacs outside her window, the bravest coming to perch on the window ledges, tapping their beaks against the glass, drawn to the tea house in the hopes of crusts and crumbs.

Soon, there was the weekend to look forward to. Stella and Juliet Aronson had made plans, none of which Stella had mentioned to her mother, who had never approved of Juliet. True, Juliet was always surprising; she wasn’t like other people and she had no desire to be one of the crowd. The last time they’d spoken, for instance, Stella had confided she was confused about which boy in town was her heart’s desire. Did she follow her brain, her heart, her overheated pulse rate?