Into the Garden (Wildflowers 5)

"You really don't have to stay with me," I told

her. "I was all right last night. I'll be all right tonight." "We decided and that's it," she insisted. "I'll be

fine and so will you. We can talk and talk until we

pass out," she said. "We'll be fine."

"I'm afraid I don't have anything really nice for

you to sleep in," I said. "Just cotton pajamas." "That'll do, although I'll probably look like I'm

floating in them. I don't know why I don't grow," she

complained. "I think my hormones went on vacation

right after I turned twelve."

"You're perfect," I said, laughing. "You're ..." "Don't you dare say 'cute,'" she warned me, her

right forefinger jabbing the air.

"Petite," I risked. She turned over the word in

her mind, smirked and sighed.

"I guess I'll look twenty years younger than I

am for the rest of my life. My mother says that's a

blessing I'll first realize the day I turn thirty. But until

then," she said, "it's a curse. C'mon. Let's go hang the

curtains."

We turned off the lights and started up the

stairs.

"Maybe you'll read me one of your mother's

letters afterward," she said. "Unless you think they're

just too personal."

"I don't know what they are," I replied. Then

after thinking a moment, I added, "After the things we

told each other at Doctor Marlowe's and after what

we've pledged to each other, nothing's too personal

anymore, anyway."

She paused and looked at me on the stairs. "That's how I feel," she said, "only it's nice to

hear you say it. It's nice to know you believe it." "I do," I said.