13 Little Blue Envelopes(20)

As soon as she was on the sidewalk in front of Richard’s house, she said her goodbyes and got out as quickly as she could.

Her heart was going to explode. It was going to blast itself out of her chest and land on the sidewalk like a heaving, desperate fish. It would keep beating as long as it could, bouncing along the discarded wrappers and cigarette butts until it had calmed itself down. Then she’d go and get it and reinstall it. She saw the whole thing very clearly. Much more clearly than she could picture what had just happened to her.

Why . . . why in the middle of what was possibly her first real romantic moment . . . had she decided that the correct response was to throw a handful of money on the table? Sweaty, balled-up money and coins? And then ask to leave?

Miriam was going to kill her. Either that or she was going to 87

haul her off to the home for the incurably stupid and romantically hopeless and leave her there forever. And that was fine. That was where she belonged. She could live with her own kind there.

She looked up at Richard’s windows. The lights were off. He had gone to bed early. If he had been awake, she might have even talked this over with him. Maybe he could reassure her, explain a way to undo what she had just done. But he was asleep.

She dug the keys out of the crack in the step, wrestled with the locks, and let herself inside. She went to her room and, without switching on any lights, dug the packet of envelopes out of the front of her bag and pulled out the top one. She held it up to the streetlight’s glow coming in through the window. This next letter was covered in a pen-and-ink drawing of a castle high on a hill and the small figure of a girl on a path at its base.

“Okay,” Ginny said softly. “Forget it. Moving on. What’s next?”

88





#4



#4

Dear Gin,

Ever see one of those kung fu movies where the

student travels to the remote outpost where the

Master lives?

Maybe not. I only have because my sophomore-year

roommate was kung fu obsessed. But you get the

idea—Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts, Luke

Skywalker goes to Yoda. That’s what I’m talking

about. The student goes off to get schooled.

I did it myself. After a few months in London, I

decided to go and meet my idol, the painter Mari

Adams. I’d wanted to meet her my entire life. My

dorm room in college was covered in pictures of her

work. (And pictures of her. She’s very . . .

distinctive.)

I don’t know exactly what made me do it. I

knew I needed help with my art, and I suddenly

realized that she wasn’t that far away. Mari

lives in Edinburgh, which is grand and spooky.

Edinburgh Castle is a thousand years old or so

and sits high up smack in the middle of the city

on a big rock called The Mound. The entire city is

ancient and strange, full of twisted little

alleys called wynds. Murders, ghosts, political

intrigue . . . these things permeate Edinburgh.



So I got on a train and went there. And she let

me in. She even let me stay for a few days.

I want you to meet her too.

That’s the entire task. I don’t need to be more

specific. You don’t need to ask her anything. Mari

is the Master, Gin, and she’ll know what you need

even if you don’t. Her kung fu is that powerful.

Trust me on this one. School is in session!

Love,

Your Runaway Aunt





The Runner

Some people believe that they are guided by forces, that the universe cuts paths for them through the dense forest of life, showing them where to go. Ginny did not believe for a second that the whole universe was bending itself to her will. She did, however, entertain a slightly more specific and far-fetched idea—Aunt Peg had done this. She had known the unknowable. She was sending Ginny to the very place that

Keith had to go to anyway to work out some details for his show.

This sometimes happened with Aunt Peg. She had a weird

way of knowing things, an uncanny sense of timing. When

Ginny was a kid, Aunt Peg had always managed to call

whenever Ginny needed her: when she had a fight with her

parents, whenever she was sick, when she needed advice. So, it wasn’t a complete shock that she would have somehow plotted for Ginny to go to Edinburgh, that she would have known that 93

Ginny would somehow blow the whole thing with the money and give her a second chance.

But did this really mean anything? Sure, in a purely hypothetical sense, she could even ask him if he wanted to go with her. If she were someone other than herself, that was.

Miriam would do it. Lots of people would do it. She wouldn’t.

She wanted to, more than anything, but she wouldn’t.

For a start, the mysterious benefactor task was done. She had no possible excuse for seeing Keith. Plus, she’d already made things weird with the money. And besides . . . how did you just invite someone to go to another country with you? (Even if it wasn’t really that much of another country. It sounded like going to Canada. Not that big of a deal. Not like David and Fiona and the whole Spain thing.) She spent the entire day at the house, debating the issue with herself. First, she watched TV. British television seemed to consist mostly of makeover shows. Garden makeovers. Fashion makeovers. House makeovers. Everything relating to change. It seemed like a hint. Change something. Make a move.