The Body Finder

those women who had a youthful quality about her that made it hard to pinpoint her age just by looking at her.

“How do I look?” she asked Violet.

“Why are you asking her?” Stephen Ambrose complained when his wife ignored that he was standing right beside his niece.

Kat rolled her eyes at him like he was a slow-witted child. “Because all you care about is whether I’m done changing or not. You would say I looked good in a flannel nightgown if it meant we could leave.”

He smiled at her. “You would look good in a flannel nightgown.”

Kat shot Violet an apologetic look. “See what I have to live with?”

“I think you look great,” Violet told her aunt and meant it. Then she added, “But lose the necklace, it’s a little too much.”

Her aunt nodded, as though she’d been thinking the same thing, and pulled the long chain over her head. “See? That’s why I ask her.”

“Good God, woman, we’re just going to the movies,” he teased her.

“No, no, no. Dinner and a movie. This is date night, my friend, and don’t you forget it.” She poked him in the chest as she spoke. “Besides, I don’t get out enough. I want to look good.”

Uncle Stephen snaked his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her up against him. “You do look good. Are you sure we have to go out?”

Her aunt shook her head and ignored him, giving Violet last-minute instructions for cleaning up after dinner, putting the kids to bed, and emergency contact information, all of which Violet already knew.

“Kathryn Ambrose…” her uncle announced, trying to get her attention. “Let’s go. She’ll be fine.”

They left in a flurry of good-bye kisses and “be goods,” aimed both at the kids and at their niece. When the door was finally closed, Violet went to where her cousins sat and began cleaning up their dinner mess.

Joshua didn’t really make a mess, his plate was tidy, and there were hardly any crumbs to wipe away from his spot at the table. Like Violet’s dad, he was neat and meticulous.

It was little Cassidy’s high chair that looked like a bomb had gone off. The two- year-old had ketchup on her hands and her face and even in her hair, and it took Violet about fifteen minutes to clean her up.

At least bedtime was relatively painless.

Cassidy was exhausted, and fell asleep in Violet’s arms as she rocked the toddler.

Once it was all over with, Violet flopped down on the couch, grateful for a moment’s peace. Until the doorbell rang.

She was torn between wanting to be cautious about who was on the other side of the door and not wanting the noise of the doorbell to wake the sleeping children…especially a cranky two-year- old.

“Who is it?” she called out in a loud whisper from the inside.

“It’s Jay!” she heard him quietly call back.

She smiled and unbolted the door.

The sight of him standing there made her pulse burst. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, coming inside without waiting to be invited. Violet knew that her aunt and uncle wouldn’t mind; she and Jay had been kind of a package deal for as long as she could remember. Everyone was used to the two of them being together.

“Your mom told me where you were, so I thought I’d come hang out.” He made himself at home, sitting down on the couch where she’d just been. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She didn’t bother replying; she just sat down. She was cold, so she leaned against the side of the couch and shoved her feet beneath his legs, letting his body heat warm them. He surfed through the channels until they found a movie they both agreed on, even though it was already more than halfway over.

This was how it was with the two of them-the effortlessness they had.

She made a bowl of microwave popcorn, and they watched the rest of the movie while they joked around, and while Violet tried to forget how close he was sitting…and how warm he was beside her…and how good he smelled.

Even before the credits were rolling they were already talking about other things, the movie forgotten. They discussed their new teachers, and what they had heard about them from other students who had gone before them. And they gossiped about rumors going around at school, like who was dating who, and who had broken up over the summer.

Violet was purposely avoiding discussions about all the girls who had suddenly noticed Jay, but he didn’t seem to have the same aversion to the topic, and eventually he asked, “So, what about that note from Elisabeth Adams?”

Lissie Adams was the last person Violet wanted to talk about right now, but she couldn’t just ignore his comment. This time the teacher wasn’t there to cut him off.

“Weird, huh?” And then the question that Violet was almost afraid to ask came tumbling from between her cursedly loose lips. “So, are you gonna call her?”

She tried not to care about the answer, and she concentrated on keeping an indifferent look on her face.

“Nah. I’m not really interested.”

Violet was stunned and a little afraid that her mouth might actually be hanging open. “Why? Why wouldn’t you want to go out with Lissie Adams?” She was amazed that she sounded like she was trying to talk him into calling the popular senior, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She couldn’t understand why any boy wouldn’t want to date Lissie.

He just shrugged. “I’m just not.” And then he asked the question that Violet was most afraid of. “Why do you care if I call her?”

“I don’t,” she lied. “I’m just surprised. I thought you would’ve called her already.”

“Hey, did you hear about Brad Miller?” he asked, already forgetting about the Lissie conversation. “He got his car taken away for getting another speeding ticket. Of course he tried to tell his parents that it was a setup.”

Violet laughed. “Yeah, because the police have nothing better to do than to plan a sting operation targeting eleventh-grade idiots.” She was more than willing to go along with this diversion from conversations about Jay and his many admirers.

Jay laughed too, shaking his head. “You’re so cold-hearted,” he said to Violet, shoving her a little but playing along. “How’s he supposed to go cruising for unsuspecting freshmen and sophomores without a car? What willing girl is going to ride on the handlebars of his ten-speed?”

“I don’t see you driving anything but your mom’s car yet. At least he has a bike,” she said, turning on him now.

He pushed her again. “Hey!” he tried to defend himself. “I’m still saving! Not all of us are born with a silver spoon in our mouths.”

They were both laughing, hard now. The silver spoon joke had been used