Page 47 of The Mystery Guest

And then it comes to me. I know just what to do. I take a tissue from the box on the kitchen table. “Tissue for your issue?” I say.

She takes the tissue from my hand. “Thanks,” she replies. “Molly, the last time I saw you, you didn’t speak at all. Your gran was worried. She was worried that maybe you’d turn out…” She pauses like she can’t find the word.

“Different?” I offer.

“Yeah. That.”

“Iamdifferent,” I say. “But I can speak just fine. In fact, it’s hard for me to follow the rule of ‘children should be seen and not heard.’ Or ‘not seen and not heard.’ Or whatever the rule is. I enjoy words. Do you? I like the word ‘loquacious.’ What word do you like?”

She blows her nose into the tissue. “I like simpler words. Right now, I like the word ‘home.’ ” She starts to cry again, but then her eyes spy the envelope on the table. Her tears turn off instantly, the same way the washroom tap does when I twist the knob right after rinsing my hands.

“Jesus. First of the month,” she says shaking her head. “That same slumlord still own this place? What was his name…”

“Mr. Rosso,” I say. “He’s still the landlord. I expected him at the door, not you.”

She starts to breathe in and out really fast. She scratches her head hard, so hard it makes me nervous.

“Molly,” she says. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”

“Oh,” I say. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your arms. Bedbugs aren’t your fault. Gran says they spread from apartment to apartment because landlords don’t spend enough on sanitation. It doesn’t mean you’re not clean.”

“I’m not clean, Molly,” she says. “That’s exactly my problem.”

I go down the hall to the washroom and open the cupboard under the sink. At the back is our first-aid kit. I remove it and takeout three of the biggest Band-Aids to offer Gran’s friend. When I leave the washroom, she’s standing by the front door putting on her dirty, old shoes. She’s wiping at her eyes with the crumpled tissue in her hand.

“Are you leaving already?” I ask.

“I gotta run,” she says.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Gran? I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

“No. This was a mistake. I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“Here are your Band-Aids.”

“Keep ’em,” she says. “Who am I kidding? Can’t hide what I am.”

She turns the knob and opens the door.

“Hold on!” I say. “What should I tell Gran?”

She stops for a moment. “Tell her…tell her she’s taking really good care of you. And that I miss her.” She starts to cry again, and I feel a hurt in my belly and my heart, a heavy pain I don’t understand.

“Wait!” I say. “I don’t even know your name.”

“My name?” she says, pausing for a moment to look at me. “It’s Maggie.”

“It was nice to meet you, Maggie,” I say. I reach out a hand, but instead of shaking it, she squeezes it in hers and kisses it before letting go.

“Come back for a visit anytime,” I say.

She puts a hand on my hair, then takes it away. “Goodbye, Molly.”

She turns away from me and pulls the door closed behind her.

I bolt it immediately.Lock the door tight, in the day and in the night.

I lean against the door for a moment. I feel off-kilter, dizzy but excited, too. I feel like a bona fide grown-up. I’ve hosted a visitor, my very own, all by myself! If this is what grown-up socializing is, maybe I can do it. It’s not like this with kids, who are horrible andmean, rude and insulting. And even though Gran’s friend was sad, I figured that out right away. And I knew how to make her feel better, too.

---