Page 19 of Five Stolen Rings
That’s the sort of thing that Jack sneers at. I’ve never told him I secretly want to fit in with those kids; how did he know?
“Leave me alone,” Jack says as he starts walking again. “Just leave me alone.”
He hurries off without me, and I look around, making sure there’s no one close by to see the tears welling up in my eyes.
But there isn’t. Just like Jack, I’m alone.
STELLA
The day after the glass-in-foot incident, I decide a few more precautions might be a good idea—specifically precautions that will help keep Jack out of Maude’s house.
At first I look at theHome Alonemovies for inspiration, but Kevin McCallister was trying to dodamage.That kid was brutal, and Harry and Marv should’ve died halfway through the first movie.
There’s one booby trap that holds promise, though: the plastic wrap coated with glue.
So when I finish up at Maude Ellery’s the next evening—one of the cats has finally introduced himself to me, and he’s a real jerk—I dig through Maude’s cabinets until I find what I’m looking for. I set a reminder on my phone to buy her a new roll of plastic wrap, and then I get to work.
The entire face of the window that doesn’t lock properly, blocked with cling wrap that’s taped to the window frame—that’s what I settle on. I use duct tape—I’ll have to buyMaude more of that too—and pray that it won’t strip the paint when it comes off. I get in five solid layers of plastic wrap before I run out.
I do not use any glue, because that sounds like a mess, and the logistics are more than I want to figure out. A sense of gleeful satisfaction shimmers inside as I eye my handiwork, and when I head home, it’s with a smile on my lips.
The next day when I return to feed the animals and air out the rooms, however, the plastic wrap is gone, and a sticky note containing three words is stuck to the windowsill.
I grit my teeth and crumple the note up as tiny as it will go; then I chuck it into the trash can with more force than necessary.
There’s no more cling wrap left, and I haven’t bought more yet. Should I break out the rolling pins again?
I chew on my lip for a moment as I stare at that pesky window. Jack shouldn’t be coming here, digging through Maude’s belongings—even if she took something from him.
But if I were here while he looked around…he’d get to search, I wouldn’t have to lay any more traps,andI might even get some help setting up allthese decorations.
Plus, you know—this house is kind of intimidating when I’m here by myself.
I take the night to think it through, and when I wake up the next morning, I’ve decided: I’ll leave a note for Jack with my phone number, so I can see what he thinks.
It’s a great plan; everyone wins.
Except, as it turns out, part of my great plan is rendered unnecessary later that afternoon, when the man himself walks through the doors of my parents’ market.
Jack is dressed in jeans and a button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, looking professional and mature if not a bit tired.
I’m wearing a red employee apron and restocking canned chickpeas. So. That feels good.
My pride stings enough when he appears in my line of sight, but I don’t actually feel the desire to hide until I see the two women on either side of him: Lucretia and Sophronia Willstead, identical down to the last peroxide-blonde strand of hair, expensively dressed with purses dangling from their bony elbows.
I haven’t seen the twins since we graduated from Windsor Academy, when we promised to be friends forever and then lost touch six months later and never bothered to pick back up again. It’s plain to see they’re holding Jack against his will; they’re each clutching one of his arms, dragging him along and chattering enthusiastically, and he looks utterly bewildered, like he has no clue how he got here.
Do not run,I tell myself firmly, stilling my feet as the three of them start down the canned goods aisle.This is your job now, and there’s nothing wrong with earning an hourly wage.
And I hate—Ihate—that I can tell myself those thingsand mean them, and yet part of me is still embarrassed and ashamed. Why is it so hard for the rest of me to get on board with what my brain already knows?
You know,I realize as the twins’ gazes find me still crouched in front of the canned beans,I’m not sure I ever learned how to fail.
Because it’s a skill, isn’t it? When you go ice skating, you learn how to fall down first. Then you learn how to get back up safely.
Did I ever learn how to do those things?
“Stella Partridge?” Sophronia says as the three of them approach, Jack’s eyes wary on me, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks just as embarrassed as I am to be seen like this—like he tried to fight off the twins and failed.
