Page 34 of Five Stolen Rings

“And I love them dearly. But I can’t have that conversation with them. Not when—” She breaks off.

“Ah,” I say. “Gonna finish that sentence?”

“Of course,” she says after a second of silence. “We’re friends. There’s nothing weird about it.”

“We are friends,” I agree. “I guess. If friends call each otherthieves?—”

“Because youbroke into the house?—”

“And if friends treat each other the way you treated me in high school,” I go on. “Do they know about that?”

“No,” she says quietly, and I suddenly feel like a jerk for bringing it up, mostly because I think she regrets it. “And they would be very disappointed in me.”

“I turned out all right,” I say, trying to infuse lightness into my tone. “Besides, I could show them where I got to put a bunch of staples into your head after you fell out of that tree?—”

“I haven’t told them yet, so don’t. You. Dare,” she says, and I can picture the exact way she’s narrowing her eyes.

A little huff of laughter escapes me, but I play it off by coughing. “Temper, temper,” I say, my grin wider than ever. “But have it your way. I’ll be to you in about half an hour.”

I hang up before she can respond, feeling significantly more energized than I did before I called her. I turnthe radio on and crank the music up, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the beat, and by the time I reach her parents’ house, I’m not the least bit tired anymore.

She’s better than caffeine.

I shoot her a text, telling her that I’m outside, and a minute or two later, she hurries out from the back of the house, bundled up in a puffy marshmallow coat. She must use the sliding door in the basement as her main entry, and I have to admit, it seems like a decent setup her family has going on—I think she’s living pretty independently, even though she’s in their basement.

The doctor in me comes out when she slides into the passenger seat, slightly out of breath; I almost reach for her chin to tilt her head so I can see how her cut is doing, but I resist the urge.

“How’s your head?” I ask instead.

“The gaping head wound is fine,” she says. “But my hair is greasy and gross.”

“Good,” I say, pulling away from the house. “Make sure it stays greasy and gross for another twenty-four.”

“Mean,” she mutters.

“Medical school,” I counter.

In my peripheral vision, I see her look over at me. “I had a question about that, actually. You’re young, aren’t you? To be a doctor, I mean?”

I shrug. “Not really. Four years of college, four years of medical school, a few years of residency.”

“And residency is…?” she says.

A faint smile tugs at my lips as the memories rush in. “Basically on-the-job training where they fed us with a fire hose and turned us into sleep-deprived zombies,” I say. “Miserable but also awesome. Some of my fondest memories.”

And it’s too personal, what I’ve told her, I realize a split second later. She doesn’t get to see those parts of me. So I clear my throat and change the subject.

“You just need to grab your car?” I say, the elevation climbing as we make our way into the foothills. “Do you need to do anything else over here?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “I need to feed the animals and water the plants and air out the rooms.”

“Skip the airing out,” I say. “Just for today. It’s late.”

“I could probably do that,” she says, sounding both relieved and resigned. “Just the animals and plants, then.”

I nod, and neither of us speak again until we reach Maude’s house, where Stella’s car is still in the driveway, covered with a faint dusting of snow.

“All right,” I say, killing the engine once I’ve parked on the street. “Let’s get this done. Don’t make eye contact with the naked portraits; they’ll know you’re skipping out on opening the windows.”

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