They walked in silence. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. The Night-Cellar. . “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. You are aware that Martin Chen has a crush on me; I think the whole school is painfully aware, but he’s harmless.
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