‘But we’re on a time schedule,’ I told her, for about the fiftieth time that hour. ‘You have Cheveyo at one tomorrow. I don’t want to be late.’
Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe this should just be a sightseeing trip instead.’
I gave her a pleading look. She gave me a sulking one back. ‘I’m not sure I want to smoke grass anymore,’ she said.
‘He’s not going to make you smoke grass. I promise.’
‘He lives in a log cabin,’ she whispered, leaning forward so I could see the fine, pale hairs that grew above her upper lip. ‘There probably isn’t any plumbing.’
‘I’m sure there’s plumbing.’
‘But the jackalope is a feat of nature!’ Stella cried, the lines around her mouth pronounced. ‘You’ll be amazed when you see it. It’s…it’s miraculous, is what it is. And they have a nice display of the various animals that live in this part of Pennsylvania.’
‘How about this?’ I took a sip of water. ‘We’ll go after Cheveyo.’
‘What kind of name is Cheveyo, anyway?’ She narrowed her eyes.
‘Native American.’
Stella made a noise through her nose.
I dug my nails into my palms. ‘He was featured on Oprah a few months ago, don’t you remember? We watched it together. His patients came on the show to show everyone how much better they felt.’
Stella leaned forward. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that Oprah woman is black.’
‘What’s bothering you?’ I demanded. ‘Are you upset because of Samantha?’ Yesterday, when Stella emerged from the den after her nap and found Samantha gone, there was a very obvious look of disappointment on her face. She wiped it off quickly, saying nothing, asking what I was going to have for dinner. She liked the routine of dinner, even if she didn’t eat. I wanted to scream at her, Get upset! You can, you know! You have the right to be pissed off at Samantha!
Stella shook her head quickly, taking the smallest sip of her water. ‘No, no. Samantha was lovely. She’s so pretty, isn’t she? So driven.’
I poked my pinkie finger into a small tear in the middle of the vinyl booth. ‘But don’t you think it was weird that she left while you were sleeping?’
‘Well, she’s a busy girl. She’s got a busy life.’
I pictured Samantha at her real-estate conference, glancing at her cell phone discreetly while someone gave a presentation. ‘Remember when we saw that conference at Mr H’s?’ I asked. ‘I wonder what Samantha would say if you did a somersault at her realtor thing.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Stella snapped, astonishment in her voice. ‘That would embarrass her.’ She leaned over the table. ‘And honestly, Summer, you could’ve been a little nicer to her.’
I blinked quickly. ‘Me? Nicer to her?’
But Stella’s attention had wandered elsewhere. The waitress led a group of young men in military uniforms past us. They had freshly shaved heads and wide, blue, scared eyes. Unlike the waitress’s, their boots were polished to a high shine, one that matched the mischief in Stella’s eyes. Stella scooted forward in her seat.
‘Hello, boys!’ she cried, waving at them.
The army boys glanced at her and smiled. ‘Ma’am,’ one of them said.
‘Keep up the good work,’ Stella trilled, as if there were a war on. She gave them a salute. By now, everyone was staring at us. The army boys saluted back.
Stella’s satin-gloved fingers wrapped around mine, as though we were on a date. ‘They’re adorable,’ she whispered. ‘Why don’t you go talk to them?’
‘I don’t want to talk to them.’
‘You’re not committed, you know. Loosen up. Chill.’
My face flushed. I would kill myself if I ever heard the word chill again. ‘I’m sorry I’m not as fun as Samantha is, okay?’ I shook my head slowly. ‘And I can’t believe you said I should’ve been nicer to her!’
‘Well, you should have. You weren’t friendly at all. You were very…cold.’
I stared out at the red and white Bob Evans sign, too stunned to think. ‘Samantha doesn’t need me to be nice to her.’
‘Of course she does. Everyone needs people to be nice to them. She’s probably more afraid of you than you were of her. And anyway, life’s too short to be nasty.’
I clutched my water glass so hard, I thought it might shatter in my hands. The muzak groaned on, a dirge. An old woman across the aisle gaped at us, her mouth full of eggs.