Crap.
“Is that why you didn’t tell anyone you were going to do it? Because you had a feeling they would be angry?”
She nodded.
Jeez. Jane.
I shared space with her nearly every day, I meant something to her, she meant something to me, but I had no idea her well ran this deep.
“The newspapers?” I pressed.
“That was me,” she said quietly. “When stuff was going down with Stella, they called here. I said no comment. Then I sent letters anonymously. The reporter who reported it doesn’t even know it’s me.”
Another mystery solved.
“These readers that write to you. Can that be traced?” I asked and she shook her head.
“They go to somebody else and they send them to me. But I’ve been assured it’s untraceable.”
“Brody’s pretty good, Jane.”
She pressed her lips together.
I studied her. She was worried.
Then I said, “Leave it to me.”
Her brows drew together. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing, until I have to. Then I’ll take care of it.”
It was her turn to stare at me before she asked, “Why are you helping me?”
I smiled and gave her hand another squeeze before I lifted it up between us and got closer.
“Because, no matter how old we get, we always need to believe in fairytales.”
It was then, Jane smiled back.
Mostly, I knew, because she agreed with me.
* * * * *
“Oh my God, Herb!”
“What?”
“My God!”
“Woman! What?”
“You might wanna leave some for the other guests.”
I took a handful of cashews (Indy’s addition to the party and part of what Herb was gobbling up) and popped a few into my mouth, watching Roxie’s Mom and Dad (and Tex’s sister and brother-in-law), Herb and Trish—in town from Indiana for the big event—fight in Blanca’s backyard.
Don’t be alarmed. I’d been around them more than once. This was what they did.
Blanca was Eddie and Hector’s Mom. I’d known her ages, and when she did something, she went all out.