Lenore tapped her on the shoulder and Stella jumped back.
“Oh, sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. Why don’t we go down to the kitchen and have a piece of banana bread, Stella. A few of our residents made it this morning. We do a lot of home cooking here. Everyone has chores. It’s quite independent. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
In the kitchen, Eugene took a piece of banana bread. Stella shook her head.
A thin man came in and he patted his hands together. His head was balding on the top and his pants were pulled up very high, right up to his ribs, and held there with a tightly cinched thin black belt with a silver buckle. He was wearing a green bow tie.
“This is Charlie. He’s lived here for ten years. He dresses up every day.” Charlie paid no attention to Stella. He wanted some banana bread. A worker came in behind him.
“This is Stella. Stella, this is David Jessome. He just started here last week. He’s a brand-new volunteer. He’s working with Charlie mostly in the evenings, on literacy. Charlie goes out most mornings to work at the wood shop in the community.”
David was older and short, with watery blue eyes. He put his hand out to shake Stella’s but she looked down at her banana bread, her feet cold and tingling.
“Nice to meet you, Stella. We’ve all been looking forward to meeting you. I hear you appreciate nature.”
She wondered who had told him this. Jessome. She knew this name. From Seabury. Her eyes shut, and then opened. David Jessome still there, holding out his hand. She closed and opened her eyes again. He was still there. “Stella, are you okay.” David looked concerned. “Would you like a drink? Some fruit juice?”
Eugene assumed Stella needed a washroom. “Lenore, where’s the washroom?”
Lenore pointed down the hall.
An automatic fan screeched on in the bathroom with the light. A framed mandatory hand-washing sign hung by the mirror. Stella sat on the toilet. Her stomach was hard. She needed to eat prunes. To eat broccoli. Some blood on her panties. Stella balled up toilet paper and put it in her underwear, washing her bloody hands in the sink.
Laughter from the kitchen. Stella walked the other way, to the exit sign at the side door. In the back garden, which sprawled into the woods, she found only one person in a gazebo, a withered woman with wiry carmel hair. She smiled at Stella. “Hello, dear. Ruth’s roommate passed away. One day she was up and then the next day she was down for good. It was the coronavirus, that’s what I think. I’m Delores. Have a seat. Lots of cardinals this year.”
A bird shrilled out. Stella jumped.
“I used to be at the centre. They put me here so I wouldn’t run away. David Jessome just started. He doesn’t seem to have much experience. Says he wants to work at the Jericho Centre. He’s from California. Listen to the birds.”
The woman almost seemed normal, except that her conversation just looped around and around. Dianne would be so worried. Maybe they could go live with Sorcha. But Sorcha was not at home. That’s right, she was in the hospital, Stella remembered. She decided to call Isaiah when she got home but she couldn’t even talk to him on the phone. He would know from the silence who it was. She could tap.
Stella hurried down the gazebo steps and her sandal caught. She fell down and the bloody toilet paper squished out from her underpants. Stella lay there weeping in the sweet-smelling grass dense with late-summer clover.
The Fellowship.
Inscrutable Houses.
The Last of the Bohemians.
Then
When Cynthia bounces in the door in the morning, Stella is shocked to see her father hurry out from his study. He is all smiles as he greets Cynthia. “Cynthia, so good to see you. Stella’s so happy to have you here.”
Stella knows her father is the happy one. Her fingers curl into fists. She doesn’t want to share Cynthia with her father, and she doesn’t want to share her father with Cynthia. She needs them both. But separately.
As they ride their bikes towards Cedar Grove, Stella thinks about how Cynthia must be used to people, including her friends’ fathers, fawning over her. She doesn’t blush or giggle. At thirteen Cynthia looks more like sixteen, with breasts. Even her teased goth hair shimmers, the opposite of Stella’s short dull wisps. It would be easy to believe Cynthia is trying to diminish her, but Stella knows this isn’t true. Stella’s spirit just ebbs so quickly — it is her natural state of being now.
They stop because Cynthia says she’s out of breath but she’s not winded at all. She’s being kind. Stella is the winded one. Stella hates Cynthia for being kind. She wants her to be mean so she can feel justified in hating her. Stella’s hip burns and her elbow stings. The face cloth between her legs is heavy now, her crotch itchy. Stella sees Cynthia watching her wiggling, shifting from foot to foot, blushing. Stella heaves out her words: “It’s the bike seat. I’m not used to this sort of bike seat. And my mother and I mostly walked.”
“Well, we can walk, if you want to. It doesn’t matter to me, Stella. We have all the time in the world.” It’s true — she doesn’t mind either way. She’s always so accommodating. And they do have all the time in the world. Home-schooling will start with
