Page 32 of A Vicious Rumor

Lily looked back at me, and I wasn't sure whether or not to smile. So, I just stood there.

"Yeah," Lily finally said. "I'll be right back down," she said, running up to her room.

"She's been acting different since you showed back up," her mother said to me.

I ran my tongue across my teeth as I thought about how to respond to something like that. "Okay," was what I came up with.

"I told you this afternoon that I'm not sure I like it."

I nodded. "I understand," I replied.

"Mom," Lily said in a scolding voice as she came back down the stairs.

Her mother stood and made her way to the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle. "I'm making us some tea, dear," she replied, ignoring the chiding tone her daughter took with her, and opting not to finish the conversation she started with me.

That was fine by me. I really didn't want to get in a fight with a woman over her daughter who I myself couldn't figure out.

"Come outside?" Lily asked me.

I nodded and followed her through the sliding glass door. Walking into her backyard was a little surreal. It looked the same as it had when I'd first visited her house all those years ago. The swing set was even still set up.

She walked forward and sat down on one of the swings. She pulled on the chain of the one next to her. "Sit with me?"

I stood rooted to the spot. "I'm almost eighteen years old, Lily," I said.

"What's that got to do with sitting on a swing?"

I sighed. There was no use arguing with her. I walked forward, and my heavy boots sank slightly in the soft grass with each step. I stood in front of the swing and she looked up at me with those clear blue eyes of hers. I hated how she had such hope in them. I hated that it made me feel so different.

But, I also loved it. I loved her light and her joy. It was selfish, but I wanted to be around it, because, at least if I couldn't have something like that on my own, I could have it through her.

"Please?" she asked again.

"Fine," I said, taking a seat in the swing next to her. Sitting on a swing made me feel like a kid, and I'd always felt like my childhood had been mostly stolen from me, so it wasn't something I was all too happy about.

She pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to me. "Here," she said.

I looked first at what she was holding in her hand and then at her. She was blushing deeply, which was easy to tell given her pale complexion. Her eyes were cast down, as if she was nervous.

I picked up my bracelet from her hand and examined the bead. Where there used to be a crack, it was now smooth, but the crack had been outlined with what looked to be metallic gold paint.

"What did you do?" I asked her.

She reached forward and wrapped the leather band around my wrist, before pulling back and tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"Have you ever heard of kintsugi?" she asked.

"Kint-what?"

"Kintsugi," she repeated. "It means 'golden seams.' It's a Japanese tradition of mending cracks with gold."

I examined the little bead closer. "This is gold?" I asked her.

She looked down and shook her head. "Well no. I couldn't afford to melt down gold. But, the idea still holds."

"And what's that?" I asked her.

"That the history of an object should be embraced, not covered up, and that flaws should be celebrated."

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