13 Little Blue Envelopes(41)

“Now,” he said, “isn’t that better? Come on!”

He ran off into the shadows of the dark trees and statuary.

Ginny followed hesitantly and found him perched on a monument shaped like a giant book.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She gingerly sat down on the opposite page. Keith tucked

his feet up and looked around contentedly.

“Me and my friend Iggy went to this graveyard once . . .” he began, and then stopped.

“About that thing in Scotland, the toy,” he said. “Are you still mad about that?”

183

She wished he hadn’t mentioned it.

“Just forget it,” she said.

“No. I want to know. I know I shouldn’t have taken it. Some old habits die hard.”

“That’s not a habit. Biting your nails is a habit. Stealing things is a crime.”

“You already gave me this speech. And I already know. I just thought you’d like it.”

He shook his head, then pushed himself off the monument.

“Wait,” Ginny said. “I know, I just . . . it’s stealing. And it was Mari. And Mari was like my aunt’s guru or something.

And I don’t steal. I’m not saying you’re a bad person, or . . .”

Keith stepped over onto the next grave, which was a flat

stone on the ground. He started to jump around and flail his arms.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked.

“I’m dancing on this guy’s grave. You always hear about people dancing on your grave, but no one ever does it.”

Once he got that out of his system, he came back and stood in front of her.

“You know what you haven’t told me?” he asked. “You

haven’t told me what your aunt died of. I realize this may be a bad place to ask, but . . .”

“A brain tumor,” Ginny said quickly, burying her chin in her hands.

“Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Was she sick for a long time?”

“I don’t think so.”

184

“Don’t think so?”

“We didn’t know,” Ginny said. “We only found out afterward.”

He sat down next to her again on the other page of the

book, then swiveled around to have a better look at it.

“What do you think this is?” he asked. “Hang on.”

He leaned in close to the carved letters.

“Come have a look at this,” he said. “Turn around.”

Ginny turned herself around halfheartedly and looked down.

“What?” she said.

“It’s Shakespeare, in French. It’s bloody Romeo and Juliet.

And if I’m not mistaken . . .” He glanced over the writing for a moment. “I think this is part of the crypt scene, where they both die. I’m not sure if this is romantic or creepy.”

He picked at the carved letters with his finger.

“Why did you ask me how she died?” Ginny said.

“Don’t know,” he said, looking up. “It just seemed like a rele -

vant question. And I figured it had to be something . . . well . . .

long term. It seems like there was a lot of planning involved with the letters, the money. . . .”

“Did you only want to be around me because of the

money?”

He sat up, crossed his legs, and turned to face her directly.

“What exactly does that mean?” he asked. “Is that all you think I was interested in?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I just asked you.”

“The money was nice,” he said. “I liked you because you

were mad. And you’re pretty. And pretty sane for a mad

person.”

185

On hearing the word pretty (twice, in fact), she drilled her eyes into the carvings. Keith reached over and lifted her chin. He gave her a long look, then slowly slipped his hand behind her neck. Ginny felt her eyes closing, a kind of melting all over her body, and then the sensation of being guided down into the fold of the book next to him. But this time, unlike with Beppe, it wasn’t unwelcome or weird. It was just warm.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she noticed the light trying to seep in under her closed eyelids. A strong, tightly directed light.

“That can’t be good,” Keith said again, his mouth still

pressed against Ginny’s.

A surge of panic ran through Ginny. She sat upright and

straightened out her T-shirt. There was a figure of a man standing at the base of the monument. Because he had a flashlight trained on them, it was impossible to see who he was or what he looked like. He spoke to them quickly in French.

“No parlez.” Keith scratched at his head.

The man turned the flashlight toward the ground. Once her eyes recovered from the glare, she saw that he was uniformed.

He beckoned them down. Keith threw Ginny a grin and slid

down, seemingly delighted by the turn of events.

Ginny couldn’t move. She tried to dig her fingers into the stone, to clutch onto the shallow letters carved there. Her knees were frozen in a half bend. Maybe the policeman wouldn’t see her . . . maybe he was dumb or near blind, and he would think she was part of the sculpture.