could she have been so stupid? So careless?
“Open it,” Bill urged. “You know you’re curious.”
She was curious. She loved to hear that a reader enjoyed one of her stories. It was satisfying in a way nothing else in her life was. But a part of her was repelled, too, by this physical connection to strangers, by the knowledge that through her work strangers had an opening into her head and heart.
Her work provided them a way into her life.
She eased the envelope open, slid out the letter and began to read. Bill and Dalton read with her, each peering over a shoulder.
Dear Miss North,
I was so excited when I received your letter! You’re my very favorite author in the whole world—honest! My Kitty thinks you’re the best, too. She’s gold and white with blue eyes. She’s my best friend.
Our favorite foods are pizza and Chee-tos, but he doesn’t let us have them very often. Once, I sneaked a bag and me and Tabitha ate the whole thing. My favorite group is the Backstreet Boys and when he lets me out, I watch Dawson’s Creek.
I’m so glad you’re going to be my friend. It gets lonely here sometimes. I felt bad though, about what you said about me being too young to read your books. I suppose you’re right. And if you don’t want me to read them, I won’t. I promise. He doesn’t know I read them anyway and would be very angry if he found out. He frightens me sometimes.
Your friend and pen pal, Minnie
Anna reread the last lines three times, a chill moving over her. He frightened her. He didn’t allow her to eat pizza or Chee-tos often.
“Who do you think ‘He’ is?” Dalton asked. “Her dad?”
“I don’t know,” Anna murmured, frowning. “He could be her grandfather or an uncle. It’s obvious she lives with him.”
“It’s kind of creepy, if you ask me.” Bill made a face. “And what does she mean by ‘when he lets her out, she watches Dawson’s Creek?’ It makes her sound like a prisoner, or something.”
The three looked at each other. One moment became several; Anna cleared her throat, forcing a laugh. “Come on, guys, I’m the fiction writer here. You two are supposed to be my reality check.”
“That’s right.” Dalton smiled wanly. “What kid ever thinks they get enough junk food? In fact, at thirteen, I thought my parents were a couple of ogres. I felt so abused.”
“Dalton’s right,” Bill agreed. “Besides, if this guy was as bad as we’re making him out to be, he wouldn’t allow Minnie to correspond with you.”
“Right.” Anna made a sound of relief, folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “It’s 2:00 a.m. and we’re overreacting. I think we all need to get some sleep.”
“I agree.” Bill stood. “But still, Anna, I wish you hadn’t answered her on Perfect Rose stationery. Given the types of books you write, who knows what kind of wackos might try to track you down?”
“It’s okay,” she murmured, rubbing at the goose bumps that crawled up her arms. “What harm could it be for an eleven-year-old girl to know where I work?”
2
Thursday, January 11 The French Quarter
“What are you saying, Anna?” Jaye Arcenaux asked, slurping the last of her Mochasippi up through her straw. “That you think this kid’s some sort of stalker or something? That would be so cool.”
Jaye, Anna’s “little sister,” had turned fifteen a couple of weeks ago and now everything was either so “cool,” or “totally out there.”
Anna arched an eyebrow, amused. “Cool? I hardly think so.”
“You know what I mean.” She leaned closer. “So, is that what you think?”
“Of course not. All I’m saying is, there was something strange about her letter and I’m not sure I should answer it.”
“What do you mean, strange?” Jaye reached across the table to snitch a piece of Anna’s chocolate-chip cookie. “Dalton said all three of you got the creeps.”
“He’s exaggerating. It was late and we were all tired.
But it did seem like there was something weird about her home life. I’m a little concerned.”
“Now you’re talking my area of expertise. I’ve seen pretty much every kind of weird home life there is.”
That was true, a fact that broke Anna’s heart. She didn’t let her feelings show, however. Jaye didn’t want her pity, or anyone else’s for that matter. Jaye accepted her past for what it was; she expected no less from those around her.
“Actually, I was hoping to get your opinion.” Anna reached into her purse and drew out the letter, handing it to Jaye. “I could be reading more into it than is there. After all, concocting trouble is my stock-in-trade.”
While Jaye read the letter, Anna studied the girl. Jaye was strikingly attractive for one so young, with finely sculpted features and large, dark eyes. Until a week ago, when she had shocked Anna by showing up sporting her just-dyed, flame-red hair, she had been a brunette, her tresses a warm mocha color.
Jaye’s physical beauty was only marred by the brutal scar that ran diagonally across her mouth. A final gift from her abusive father—in a drunken rage he had thrown a beer bottle at her. It had caught her in the mouth, splitting her lips wide open. The bastard hadn’t even gotten her medical attention. By the time the school nurse had taken a look at her mouth the following Monday morning, it had been too late for stitches.
But not too late to call Social Services. Jaye had been on her way to a better life, her father to jail.
A lump formed in Anna’s throat and she shifted her gaze. She had become involved with Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America after researching the organization for an element in her second novel. She had interviewed several of the older girls in the program and had been profoundly moved by their stories, ones of need, salvation and affection.
Those girls had reminded her of herself at the same age. She, too, had been troubled and lonely, she, too, had been in desperate need of an anchor in a time of emotional turbulence.
Anna had decided to become a Big Sister herself, figuring she didn’t have anything to lose by giving the program a try.
She and Jaye had been “sisters” for two years.
In the course of those two years, they had become close. It hadn’t happened easily. At first Jaye, cynical for her age, angry and distrustful from a lifetime of being hurt and lied to, hadn’t wanted anything to do with Anna. And she had made her feelings clear.
But Anna had persevered. For two years she had followed through on every promise; she had listened instead of lectured, counseled only when asked and had stuck to her own beliefs, standing up to the girl’s every test.
