During the same holiday Rick was there, the Lones’ four sons visited. Mr. Lone briefly introduced them to Livia, and they all reacted to her with varying degrees of curiosity, discomfort, and pity. Ordinarily, Livia preferred to eat alone in her room, using homework as an excuse, but while the sons and Rick were in the house, Mr. Lone insisted on taking everyone out to restaurants. These dinners were painful affairs, during which Livia could feel acutely that everyone wished she wasn’t there—everyone but Mr. Lone, who seemed to enjoy showing her off in public, and Rick, who was the only one who talked to her, even though her responses were awkward and uncertain.
One morning, Mrs. Lone came to Livia’s room and told her Mr. Lone was taking everyone to brunch. Livia understood this wasn’t an invitation, and that Mr. Lone was insisting. But she thought she couldn’t stand another meal with these people. So she said, “My stomach hurts. I think I’m going to stay in bed.”
Actually, her stomach did hurt. A few months earlier, she had started to bleed, and it was happening now. She knew what the bleeding was—it had to do with making babies, and in the village, the women used rags during the days when it happened. Here, they didn’t use rags; there were special pads that absorbed better. Mr. Lone had told her to ask for anything she needed, but she didn’t want him to know about the bleeding. Her body was beginning to change, with hair between her legs and bumps on her chest where before there had been only skin and muscle, and his bathroom visits had become more frequent, his staring while he touched himself more intense. So she used some of the spending money he gave her to buy the pads in a store, hiding them under her bed when she didn’t need them, and putting the ones she’d used at the bottom of the kitchen garbage when no one was around.
Mrs. Lone stood in the doorway, her pinched face looking like someone was squeezing it from both sides. “Your stomach? Nothing contagious, I hope?”
Livia wondered why the woman was asking—she’d never given any indication before that she was concerned about Livia’s health, or anything else about her. Was she really afraid someone might catch something from Livia? Or did she suspect Livia was bleeding, with the question a way to try to confirm?
Not knowing what was the right course, Livia decided on ambiguity. “I’m not sure.”
“All right. I’ll tell Mr. Lone.” She closed the door, her footfalls fading as she walked down the hallway.
Livia understood the “I’ll tell Mr. Lone” was Mrs. Lone’s way of indicating that if it were up to her, Livia wouldn’t even be allowed in the house, let alone receive invitations to brunch. But she was used to Mrs. Lone’s little indications, and they bothered her less now than they had at first. The main thing was, she didn’t have to suffer through another meal with all of them.
She went back to her books. The echoes of conversation downstairs became more animated, then were cut off by the slam of the front door. She heard car doors opening and closing, engines starting, tires on gravel . . . and then, finally, the house was mercifully quiet.
Five minutes later, she heard one of the guest room doors open. She frowned—someone must have stayed behind. She heard a cough, and thought it sounded like Rick. She heard his footsteps moving down the corridor, then the buzz of coffee being ground in the kitchen.
The whole time Rick was staying with the Lones, Livia had been thinking about Portland and Nason. And trying to weigh the risks of asking for his help. It felt dangerous, and she knew Mr. Lone would be furious if he found out. But in the end, she decided she had to try.
She went to the kitchen. Rick was sitting at the table, sipping coffee from a mug stamped “Llewellyn Lions”—the name of the high school football team—and reading the newspaper. He smiled when he saw her and put down the paper.
“Livia—I thought you went with them to brunch. Sleeping late?”
“Studying.”
“You’re a hard worker.”
She nodded.
“But don’t you ever . . .”
She waited for him to go on, but it seemed he had thought better of it. He poured some coffee from a carafe into the mug. “You want some?”
She was surprised. “Coffee? I never had it. Have never had it.”
“How old are you?”
She was going to say thirteen, but then changed her mind. “Almost fourteen.”
“Well, I’d say that’s old enough for just a taste. Though you might not want to mention it to my sister.” He smiled. “Unless you want to get me in trouble.”
Livia couldn’t help smiling back. “No, I won’t tell her.”
“Okay, then.” He walked over to the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk, then pulled a box from a cabinet. “Turbinado sugar. That’s good. A little molasses tastes great in coffee. I generally drink mine black, but for your first time, milk and sugar’s a good idea.”
He took another mug from a cabinet, poured some coffee in along with a big serving of milk, added two spoonfuls of sugar, stirred it all together, and gave the mug to Livia. She smelled it suspiciously, then took a little sip—and then a bigger one. It was delicious. She’d never tasted anything like it.
He must have seen her expression, because he smiled and said, “Not bad, huh?”
She nodded, happy to have discovered something so tasty, and liking that it was a secret from Mrs. Lone. “It’s really good.”