Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
When I got home, I put my bike away and dug around in the garage for some materials. I still had the tools I’d borrowed from Cloverleigh to fix Mrs. Gardner’s porch as well as some leftover boards, so all I needed was some rope. I couldn’t find any lying around, so I jumped back on my bike and headed to a hardware store. The one in town was already closed, so I had to go almost all the way to Traverse City. By the time I got back, it was long past dark, but I got to work anyway.
I cut and sanded a piece of wood for the seat, wishing I had time to paint it but unwilling to be that patient. I drilled holes in the plank for the ropes, then took everything into Mrs. Gardner’s yard.
There were several trees along the back fence that might have worked, but I remembered Stella had said it was a birch tree, and there was a large one over toward my yard. I glanced at the house, finding it completely dark. They were probably both asleep, since it was almost eleven. Hopefully I could stay quiet enough that I wouldn’t wake them. I didn’t want them to hear a noise and be scared.
Locating a solid branch on the tree, I secured the ropes, tugging on them to make sure it would hold, then slipped the ends through the holes in the seat and tied two simple knots so the seat hung about two feet off the ground. It hung slightly uneven, so I redid the knot on one side until it was level.
Standing back, I looked at the swing and imagined what Stella would say when she noticed it. She’d know it was me who did it, right? I wondered if maybe I should—
“Ryan?”
Startled, I turned around to find Stella standing a few feet away on the grass, wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, arms crossed over her chest. Her feet were bare, and her hair was loose around her shoulders and a little messy, like she’d already been asleep. Thinking about her in bed did things to my insides. “Hey. Did I wake you?”
“I was awake. My windows are open, and I heard something and thought I saw you through the window. What are you doing?”
“Uh, building you a swing. But it was supposed to be a surprise.” Now that she’d caught me at it, I was kind of embarrassed. What if she thought this was stupid?
“You built me a swing?” She came a little closer, and I realized she might not be able to see it in the dark. The moon was only a sliver tonight.
“Yeah.” I grabbed one of the ropes. “Right here.”
She stared at it. “Why?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Her eyes met mine, and my heart pumped harder.
“Want to try it?” I asked.
“Like right now?”
I moved behind it and held both ropes steady. “Come sit.”
She hesitated, and I thought maybe she was going to tell me to quit being weird and go home before she called the cops, but after a few silent seconds, she came toward me. Turned around. Lowered herself to the seat and closed her fingers around the ropes.
“Well?” I asked. “How does it feel? Like you’re a kid again?”
“This was very kind of you, but not necessary.” Her tone was stiffer than her posture.
“Stella.”
She didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“Last night.”
“You’re sorry about what we did?”
“I think I’m more sorry about what we didn’t do.”
Her head turned sharply, and she looked at me over one shoulder. “You sure know how to confuse a girl.”
“One of my many talents.”
She looked straight ahead again. “Tell me about some other ones. And give me a push.”
I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it, and gave her a little nudge. “I’m fast.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a little harder push.
“Track team in high school?”
“Tried. Didn’t take.”
“Why not?”
“They expected me to show up for practice.”
“Ah.” She straightened her legs and leaned back in the swing, her hair dangling behind her. “Tell me another one.”
I gave her another push. “I’m good with my hands.”
Her laugh floated back to me. “I have observed this about you already. Give me another one.”
I pushed her again, just so I could feel her hair brush against my hands. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“No? Nothing?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you analyzing me now?”
“Kind of. I mean, you can’t say something like that to a therapist and expect her not to reflect on it a little bit, right?”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Do you think I’m a liar or a fool?”
“Neither,” she answered. “I think you mean what you say. I think you only lie when you have to, and even then, you hate it. And if I dug a little deeper—which I won’t, because my sisters have told me it’s annoying and intrusive—I think I might discover that it’s because above all, you value your honor. Your word.”