“I want to thank you for giving me a copy of The Bubblegum Reaper,” Sandra says. “Just as soon as I finished it, I looked up Nigel in the phone book, and after a very long phone conversation that allowed us both to reminisce, well, we started seeing each other. I can’t really explain what happened other than to say we fell head over heels in love!”
“Really?” Nanette says.
“It’s like I’m a schoolgirl again!”
“So he wrote the book for you?” Oliver says. “You were the twin he was referring to in the novel? Wrigley was in love with Stella and not Lena?”
“Well,” Sandra says, “it’s not quite that simple. If you’re trying to find out the real-life circumstances that led to Nigel’s writing The Bubblegum Reaper, I’m afraid the whole twins business is merely a red herring. Albeit a weird tribute. Unless Booker is just flattering me, those characters are indeed inspired by my late sister, Louise, and me. He admitted it. Although neither my sister nor I talked to turtles in the woods, and by his own admission, Booker never asked either of us to the prom.”
Oliver says, “You didn’t confess all your problems to a turtle by the creek? Booker really didn’t ask you to go to the prom?”
“No,” Sandra says. “Those things never happened.”
“How do you know for certain that it wasn’t your sister who did those things?”
“Booker told me,” Sandra says. “And I knew my sister better than anyone. She was much less likely to fall for a boy like Nigel. Believe me. She went to the prom with the captain of the football team. The quarterback. She was the quintessential popular girl until the day she died. If one of us were going to talk to turtles in the woods, it would have definitely been me. I wish it were me and that Nigel had found me back then. I was desperate to have some sort of real, meaningful conversation with a boy when I was in high school.”
“So for whom was the book written?” Nanette says. “And why was it dedicated to the archery pit?”
“I don’t know,” Sandra answers.
“How can you not know?” Oliver says.
“Because I never spoke with Nigel even once when we were in high school. My twin didn’t, either. And Booker won’t tell me now. He doesn’t want to talk about all that, because the person he wrote it for has been gone for decades and he needs to move on. So I’m going to respect his wishes. He says that now that he and I are friends, we can never talk about The Bubblegum Reaper ever again. Apparently, he doesn’t talk to his friends about the book. And I think friends are more important than literary discussions anyway. Don’t you agree?”
“How can you just accept not knowing?” Nanette says. “Don’t you want to know? Especially now that Booker and you are dating? How can you just let a big part of his life remain a mystery?”
“One of the more pleasant things about getting older is that you stop wanting to know everything. When my sister and then my husband died, I think that’s when it really sank in—we don’t have a lot of time here on this planet. When your time has almost run out, you just try to enjoy whatever you can. To the world, he presents himself as such a grumpy old fool, but really Nigel’s a big softie. A true teddy bear. I haven’t had this much fun since I was a girl. Who would have ever believed that I’d end up dating the kid who didn’t talk to anyone in high school? Think of the most unlikely person in your class now, and then picture dating them almost fifty years later. Uncanny. And it’s all because you kids dreamed up some cockamamie theory and brought me a photocopy of The Bubblegum Reaper.”
“Is Booker ever going to speak with Nanette again?” Nanette asks.
Sandra pours more tea. “May I ask why you’re speaking in third person?”
“Her therapist is making her,” Oliver explains.
“Actually, Nanette chooses to speak in third person. Her therapist merely recommended it.”
“Yeah, that,” Oliver says.
“So will Booker ever forgive Nanette?” Nanette asks.
“Oh, you let your aunt Sandra handle all that.”
Nanette finds Sandra’s quick use of the word aunt creepy, but she must admit that it thrills her a little bit, thinking about talking with Booker again, and having another family in addition to the one she inherited—almost like a backup family.
As they pedal home, Oliver says, “So we didn’t learn jack crap.”
“The lemon-drop cookies were good, though,” Nanette says.
“Who knew that I liked orange tea with cream?” Oliver says.
“Oliver?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to be Nanette’s friend?”
“Weren’t we already friends?”
“Yes. Nanette just wants to make it official.”
“Okay, then.”
“So Nanette and Oliver are official friends. Starting . . . now!”
“I considered you an official friend the moment you climbed through my window.”
The kid’s words stun Nanette, mostly because he means them. Is that what the pretty boys were trying to kill in Oliver? His ability to be indiscriminately kind to everyone he meets?
“Don’t ever change, Oliver, because you’re going to be an amazing boyfriend for someone someday when you grow up. Whoever ends up with you is going to be very lucky and loved and content.”
“What?” the kid says.
“Do you think Nanette will ever hear from Alex again?”