Down the Rabbit Hole

“Right.” She made a gruff noise, clearing her throat. Her language was full of contractions and almost completely g-less. “Judgmental. Molly told you that, didn’t she? Of course I’m judgmental.” She threw up her arms. “Everyone is judgmental. It’s how we mark people and places, things and ideas, as right or wrong, good or bad, healthy or not.

“But here’s this about that: No one ever says you’re being judgmental if you think something is right or good or healthy. Only the opposite—only if you don’t like it and only if they do like it. And there’s something else . . .” She filled her lungs with air. “If they don’t agree with what you decide is right or good, they got no problem telling you how wrong you are about it. But they’re just expressing their opinion, not being judgmental of my choices. Fact is, if that’s the way Molly wants it, then she’s being judgmental by calling me judgmental. What do you think of that?”

The tall man stared down at her thoughtfully—considering, not judging, her perspective.

“Pfft. Molly is the patient sort—everyone she meets is her best friend. She’s everybody’s pal. I love that about her. I’m more discriminating is all; private-like and choosy in my friends. We aren’t all the same.” She hesitated. “And I think you’re more like me.”

“I am.”

“She’s always saying I can’t judge a book by its cover. And maybe I can’t, but reading the first couple pages will tell me if I want to waste more of my time on it. A gooseberry pie can come out of the oven looking perfect and taste so bitter it’ll take a week for your face to unpucker. Why would I take another bite? And people—what we’re really talking about—well, people are the same. They can look as normal as me and you but it doesn’t take long to know if you want them always in your life.”

Mr. Lincoln considered this. “But people are not books and they are not pies. People are never fully cooked or completely written. What if the first time you encounter a person they are not at their best?”

Elise turned her hands palms up. “So what if they aren’t? They’ll be out of my life in two swings of a pickax—why would I care?”

“But what if it is someone you will encounter again?”

“Are they back to being their normal self?” Abe’s nod was provisional. “Then I’d say I still got at least a fifty-fifty chance of liking them. Same as the first time I met them. I can’t always be my usual charming self either. Most everyone deserves a second chance. I believe that. I do. Ask Molly.”

“And if they happen to not be at their best . . . again? What if it is a particularly bad time in their life?” One corner of Elise’s mouth tilted upward in dissent—the odds had already diminished. “But what if they are truly charming and exciting people once—”

“Once they aren’t around me?”

“No. Just . . . once you have had more time to warm up to each other.”

“Eh. I’m to keep rubbing up against people I don’t give a lick for until I can love them like my brother? To make everyone else happy? To make them stop judging me as judgmental?” She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her right foot. “In a pig’s eye! I’m not mean and I’m not uncaring. But I’m also not the type to be making friends with those I’ve got no interest in.”

Martin/Abraham sighed. “But if you do not give them all the chances they need to connect with you, how will you ever know for sure?”

“I won’t.” A Grumpy Elise bobbled her oversized head loosely on her shoulders. “Now I reckon I’m supposed to lose sleep over not knowing about all the things I don’t know about?”

His smile was kind, but not convinced and not discouraged. He opened his mouth to speak—

The muffled growling noise came again, vibrating the floorboards beneath their feet; distant and close at once. It furrowed the president’s brow and alarmed Elise nearly as much as becoming an Angry Bird had.

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s time. We must hurry.”





CHAPTER THREE