"Sometimes I wonder if maybe in, oh, I don't know, ten years or so, we'll be in such a different place in our lives that we can look back at now and what we're going through won't seem so bad anymore."

Stephanie craned her head upward from her spot on the grass when she heard Stingy say this. He was lying about two feet away from her, his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the bluish-grey clouds gathering in the sky. They had come to the lakeside and were lying on the grass near the water. Stephanie was starting to feel cold, but noticed that when she was horizontal, she felt warmer. So she quickly replied, "Maybe. I hope so," and lay back down.

"Is this where you thought you'd be ten years ago?" Stingy asked her.

"Ten years ago," Stephanie repeated, then shut her eyes, trying to imagine herself then. Ten year old Stephanie Meanswell: cheery, peppy, and, true to her name, always with the best of intentions for everyone and everything that came her way. She loved to dance, loved to sing, and loved playing with her friends. She thought there was absolutely nothing better than living in Lazytown, and couldn't imagine ever going anywhere else for the rest of her life. Everything she planned to do as an adult was just an extension of her childhood. She'd still swim in the lake and camp in the woods, but once she was grown up, she could stay out as late as she wanted, and no one could make her go home. She'd be able to dance all day by opening a studio in the shopping district and teach little girls to be ballerinas. And, best of all, she'd get to spend every day with Sportacus because she'd marry him. She wouldn't have to say goodbye when he went back to his airship. No, she'd live there with him.

Stephanie couldn't help but chuckle at these thoughts. "No, definitely not," she told Stingy. "What about you?"

"Me? Well, ten years ago, I was sure that I'd become king of some lush island, with a big, beautiful castle and plenty of gold and silver, and all the things I loved to eat and all the toys I wanted—and I never had to share! But uh…life didn't quite turn out that way for me. And now I'm glad I didn't. I don't want to be some greedy jerk who's completely out of touch with real life."

Stephanie smiled at this. It was the evening on the second night she'd spent at Stingy's house, after the fire at the docks the night before. The two friends had spent the whole day together, and overall, it had been a good time for Stephanie, helping her to start healing from everything that had happened.

Careworn had brought breakfast to her room at 8 o'clock sharp that morning. Fortunately Stingy had warned her that it was a custom in their house that everyone was served individually, in their rooms, at that precise, appointed hour. Stephanie was already fully dressed and presentable when Careworn brought her a plate with freshly baked, buttery croissants, a poached egg, and slices of pancetta layered with cantaloupe, along with her choice of tea, grapefruit juice, and milk.

"Oh Careworn, this looks marvelous! It's almost too lovely to eat!" Stephanie told the butler.

"Thank you, Miss Stephanie. I shall pass your compliments to our chef," he told her. "You are enjoying your stay with us, I hope?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you, you're very kind."

Careworn didn't smile per se, but his blue eyes seemed to brighten a bit when Stephanie said this to him. Stephanie wondered if he didn't receive too many compliments from the Worthmore family for his efforts. "It's my pleasure, Miss."

After breakfast, Stephanie found Stingy and they decided to make that day a "stroll n' shmy" kind of day, borrowing the term from Trixie's mother. They wandered about the town, checking out the shops. Stingy took Stephanie to a boutique in town and insisted on buying her an outfit for dinner that night. Stephanie tried to tell him that it wasn't necessary, but Stingy insisted. "Let me do something nice for you, hon. To make up for all the times I was such a rotten little kid before," he argued.

There was some good-natured debate back and forth, but Stephanie finally consented to allow Stingy to buy her a black sleeveless jumpsuit that tied at the right hip and had silver rivets at the neck. Stephanie admitted she'd never had an outfit like that before, and that Stingy had chosen well.

They went into the Paisley's General Mercantile that stood next to Mr. Peevey's toy store. It had a little bit of everything: books, toys, cosmetics, tools—you name it. The owner, Randall Paisley, they'd known since they were children. He was standing at the counter that afternoon, in fact, and his wide, kind, swarthy face lit up into a smile when he saw them. "Well, hey!" he beamed. "I was wondering when I was going to run into you, Steph. Come here and give me a hug!"

Stephanie stepped into his arms and smiled into his shoulder. "Hi Randy. How have you been?"

"Oh, I'm great! How about you? It's about time you came back to visit."

Stephanie smirked and looked over at Stingy, who smirked back and cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry it took me so long to get back."

"Well, the most important thing is, you're back. Hey, did you hear? My oldest, Liddey, is marrying Doxie Druthers!"

"Wow, really?" Stingy said.

"Oh wow. They were a couple even back when I was living here!" Stephanie exclaimed. "Well, that's great. I had a feeling it was going to happen someday."

"Oh yeah. Poor Doxie was a complete wreck when he came over to the house to propose. He almost lost the ring, you know! Sportacus and Ziggy helped him get it back."

"Our heroes," Stephanie cooed. "When's the wedding?"

"Next summer, most likely. They're still working everything out."

"Oh, well, hopefully I can come! Congrats to them. So, do you have anything extra special for us to check out?"

"Everything I have is special—you know that! But check out good ol' aisle 10. There are some Rivus and Riler issues that are amazing!"

So Stingy and Stephanie followed Randall's instructions and went to aisle 10—the book and magazine section—to check out the Rivus and Riler stories. They were one of their favorite comics to follow when they were in middle school: safe on the surface, but fun and dangerous on the inside. The main characters, Charlie Rivus and Melissa Riler, were a married couple who had both been kidnapped by a horrifying inter-dimensional entity as children, and as a result, wound up with psychic powers. Charlie could see past events unfold and communicate with ghosts, while Melissa could predict the future and determine if someone was telling the truth or lying. The outside cover would have some wholesome family scene unfolding, with Charlie sitting in his easy chair reading a book while Melissa was knitting, but the plot would have them traveling to a far off mansion to exorcise demons that were tormenting a family, or foiling a mad scientist's plot to take over the world. The kids loved to read the stories because their parents only looked at the covers and didn't give it a second thought. Even Bessie approved of the comics—although she was a little aggrieved that Melissa kept her maiden name instead of changing it to her husband's to keep with tradition.

"Oh wow, I heard about this plotline. I never got around to reading it," Stephanie commented as she flipped through Issue Number 229. She frowned as she turned the page. "Hey wait…Melissa's talking about being nauseous. She's not pregnant, is she?"

"Oh yeah! Issue 225. They thought Dr. Devastato had infected her with a parasite, but…" Stingy trailed off, realizing what he did. "Okay, so you have to read that issue. But…shoot, it's not here. Let me check with Randall. Maybe he's got it—or can order it."

"That would be great!"

After Stingy walked away, Stephanie became aware out of the corner of her eye that someone was watching her. She turned to see Teddy Fung, standing nearby, looking at a cluster of car magazines. She wasn't sure if the intensity she was reading on his face was due to concentration, or annoyance. As his eyes began to turn in her direction, she quickly looked away. She knew it was rude to stare, and really, whatever he was feeling wasn't any of her business anyway. Stephanie looked over at where Stingy was talking with Randall, and turned to meet up with them, but then heard her name being called.

She turned back to see Teddy standing behind her, a question written on his face. She smiled the best she could at him. "Teddy, hi."

The boy looked away for a moment, as though he were trying to make a momentous decision in that short amount of time. He shut his eyes and shook his head, and said, "I know we don't know each other all that well, but I'm not sure if I can ask anyone else. I…was hoping to get your advice on something."

"Oh! Um…sure."

"I'm thinking of leaving Lazytown. You know, when high school is over. My parents wouldn't want me to, but I really want to go out on my own. Like, how do I go about doing it?"

Stephanie tried not to make a face when she heard this. She felt like the last person who should be giving anyone advice on the subject. She tried to find a kind way to answer him. "Teddy, you should probably talk to your parents about this."

"Oh, they don't understand. I don't know how to talk to them."

Stephanie looked yearningly at Stingy, who was just a few feet away, still obliviously chatting with Randall. She didn't want to stay there. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Oh, Stephanie, please! I need some advice from someone!"

She sighed, knowing she could never deny anyone who asked for her help. And so, the words spilled out of her. "Teddy, you have to do what's best for you. You know your happiness better than anyone else. You know what you can live with and what you can't."

"So I should leave Lazytown and my family? That's what I should do?"

"I can't tell you what you should do. I'm telling you that you have to decide what's right. And if leaving Lazytown is what's right for you, then you should do it."

"Even if it hurts my parents?"

Stephanie looked back again at Stingy, who by this point was looking in her direction and made eye contact. He saw she looked distressed and instantly started walking back to her.

"Stephanie?"

She took a breath in and held up her hands. "Teddy…just talk to your parents about what you want to do. Tell them it's important to you."

"But what if they don't want me to go? Should I just stay here and be miserable? I mean, what did you do? Didn't you just leave?"

"I left because it was the right thing for me. I had a chance to leave Lazytown and do something else, and I took it. But that's me. Again, you have to decide what's right for you."

"Is everything okay over here?" Stingy asked, coming to stand next to Stephanie.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Teddy said flatly. Without a word, he turned and walked off, returning to the shelf with the car magazines he'd been looking at.

"Weirdo," Stingy muttered quietly, then held up a comic book. "Issue 225! Turns out Randy had it in the backroom. I went ahead and bought it for you."

"Wow, thanks, Stinge!"

"No problem. Come on, we can head back to my place so you can look at it."

"That sounds great."

As they were walking out of the store, Stingy asked, "What was that all about with Teddy Fung? Was he bothering you?"

"Oh, he's just confused, I guess. Don't worry about it."

A few minutes after Stephanie and Stingy left Paisley's Mercantile, Teddy Fung also made his way to the exit. The teenager gave a curt nod to Randall as he stepped out—just as Robbie Rotten was coming in. The two males glared at each other tensely for a brief moment, Randall noticed. Then Robbie stepped aside and allowed Teddy to pass by. The town villain went directly to the counter. Randall put on the best smile he could muster and said, "Well, hello there, Mr. Rotten! What can I do for you?"

The dark-haired man didn't smile or reply, but merely slapped a piece of paper down on the counter and pushed it towards Randall. The clerk picked up the paper and read its contents. His bushy brown eyebrows raised at least half an inch from their resting spot in response to it. "Mr. Rotten…wow….this is quite a list of um…tools! What are you going to do with all of this?"

"That's my business," Robbie snapped. "Now do you have these things or don't you?"

Dinner with Stingy and his parents that evening had been interesting, to say the least. After an afternoon of reading Rivus and Riler, chain-feeding Alfred Hitchcock movies, and discovering they both loved Kurt Vonnegut novels, Stephanie and Stingy got cleaned up for their meal. Stephanie took the opportunity to call her aunt and uncle. This time she called her aunt's cell phone. The phone rang four times, and then Stephanie decided to leave a voicemail. "Hi Aunt Bessie, it's Stephanie. I know I said I'd be back tomorrow night, but Ziggy asked me to stay over. I'm sorry. I'm really and truly not trying to avoid you; I just didn't want to hurt his feelings. I promise, I'll be back the day after tomorrow. I hope you and Uncle Milford are well. I….I love you, and I miss you. I'd love it if you'd call me back. Thanks."

Stephanie hoped that the older lady would call her right back, but she didn't. So Stephanie changed into the black jumper that Stingy had bought her earlier in the day, and joined the Worthmores in their dining room for dinner.

Mrs. Worthmore had made Careworn bring out their finest china for dinner, and lit a number of Roman candles and decorated the table with blue and purple orchids to create atmosphere. Their cook, Sheladia, had made a lovely meal of Chilean sea bass, duck fat roasted potatoes with rosemary, and sautéed brocolini in a white wine lemon sauce.

"Wow, Mrs. Worthmore, this is a lovely setting!" Stephanie told her.

The lady beamed. Adana Worthmore herself looked like a lovely centerpiece in a white satin shift with a blue and silver scarf draped over her shoulders. "We so rarely have dinner guests, I do like to make it an occasion! Come Steven darling, you can sit here, and Stephanie shall sit to your right—make sure to pull out her chair, dear." Stingy sighed and rolled his eyes.

A minute or two later, Stingy's father, Mr. Worthmore, strolled into the dining room, announcing himself with a nasally, "Well, I'm here!" as though he were a Broadway entertainer making a grand entrance to the stage. He removed his hat and jacket, threw them at Careworn, then carelessly kissed his wife, pulling himself out of her arms before she barely had time to react. It was interesting: from behind, it would have been easy to mistake him for Stingy. Both had close-cropped brown hair that sat upon similarly shaped heads. Their body builds were identical, and their height, walk, and stance were nearly the same.

From the front, however, the resemblance abruptly ended. Fortunately for Stingy, he'd inherited his mother's beauty, which softened and ennobled his features. Everything on Trevor Worthmore's face, in contrast, was exaggerated to a point of obnoxiousness: wide, bulging eyes, a sharp, pointed nose, and huge teeth that cut into loose, flappy red lips. In spite of this, it was obvious that Trevor thought the world of himself, as he took a good five minutes to outline his entire day without ever bothering to determine if he'd interrupted an ongoing conversation or to ask how anyone else was.

When he was done with his monologue, Mr. Worthmore then turned to Stephanie, pointed, and asked, "Which one are you? Trixie? Or is it Pixie?"

"Actually, it's Stephanie, Mr. Worthmore," she corrected him, holding out her hand. However, Mr. Worthmore had already turned away and started on a new subject. "So did you hear that AECOM is acquiring URS, Steven?"

"Yes, $6 billion merger. I read it in the New York Times online this morning. As if AECOM wasn't big enough and greedy enough already."

"Now, now. You never know—you might end up working for them—whether by choice or by acquisition."

"Ha! Never. I'm never selling my soul to that corporate machine. My market is going to be small, local, and niche."

"And there's good money to be made there, of course, but it would also do you good to work for a larger firm for a couple of years before you start your own venture, if only to get some ideas on successful business practices. There's one client I remember from a few years back…"

And the conversation continued on in this thread, with Mr. Worthmore dominating it, and really only allowing Stingy an invitation to join it from time to time. Stephanie merely sat back and listened, bemused, while Mrs. Worthmore tried to look engaged and even attempted to enter the conversation once or twice. When she did, however, Mr. Worthmore spoke right over her so that there was never an opportunity for her words to be heard.

Only after dinner was over and the dishes were being cleared did Mrs. Worthmore get a chance to sneak in a sentence. "Dear, Stephanie is our guest until tomorrow."

"Oh? You know Steven from school, do you?"

"Yeah, dad. Stephanie's Mr. Meanswell's niece," Stingy told him.

"Oh, I see. Well, I have some work to take care of before my flight to London tomorrow. Good evening." With that, Mr. Worthmore left the dining room and ascended the staircase.

Mrs. Worthmore turned back to her son and his friend and smiled tensely. "He's got such important work to do—he travels a great deal, you know."

"Of course," Stephanie said graciously, taking the older lady's hand. "Dinner was wonderful, Mrs. Worthmore. Thank you so much."

Stingy took Stephanie by the elbow. "Come on, Steph. There's something I want to show you."

"Oh! Do you two have plans for the rest of the evening?" Mrs. Worthmore asked hopefully.

"Uh…yeah. Sort of. Just something small…and fun…to pass the time," Stingy said in a voice so strained it was almost painful. "Come on, Steph."

"Sure! Um, goodnight, Mrs. Worthmore!"

"Goodnight, dear! Take good care of her, Steven!"

Once they were out the door and Stingy had locked it behind them, he groaned. "Argh! I wish my mother would give it up!"

"Stinge, you have to be blunt with her. Tell her the truth!" Because that worked so well with Aunt Bessie, Stephanie thought bitterly.

Stingy lowered his head as he led Stephanie to the back of the house. "I just feel bad talking to her like that. It's bad enough that my dad completely ignores her…"

"Oh—yeah. That um—that was something. Sorry, if it's harsh, but um…your dad doesn't really seem interested in anything beyond his work."

Stingy shrugged. "I know. I've learned that it's really the only way to have a relationship with him, is to talk about the stuff that interests him. I can pull it off, but my mom can't. I feel bad, but that's just who he is. She's always known that about him."

Suddenly Stephanie felt depressed. She despondently followed Stingy into the small gathering of bushes on the very edge of his parents' property, and when they came out on the other side, what she saw sitting there instantly erased her feelings of sadness. It was Stingy's bright blue wagon from when he was a kid.

"Oh my God!" she cried, cupping her cheeks. "It's your wagon! And it looks as new as the day you got it!"

"Yep, I had Careworn maintain it for me. You remember the thing you used to joke about? The thing I never let you do because the wagon was mine and no one else could touch it?"

Stephanie thought for a second, and then it came to her. "Oh gosh—I used to joke about riding it down the big hill near the lake!"

Stingy smiled a wide, handsome smile. "Yep, you did." He leaned down and pulled out two adult-sized helmets from the bed of the wagon. "The lake is just a few minutes' walk from here. Wanna go for it?"

"Uh…" Stephanie hesitated.

"Aw, what's wrong, Meanswell? You scared?" Stingy teased.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Okay, Worthmore. You're on."

They got to the top of the hill, and fortunately, it didn't look at big and scary as Stephanie had remembered. Stingy gallantly offered to get in first, so in case they hit hard, he'd absorb more of the impact. So they pushed it just to the precipice of the hill—one sharp shove and it would go flying. After donning the helmets, Stingy kneeled in the front of the bed and Stephanie got in behind him, wrapping her arms around him. He stuck his arm out, turned back at his friend, and grinned like a fool. "Ready?" he asked.

Stephanie took a deep breath and grinned back. "Yeah."

Stingy pushed on the ground to the side of the wagon; they started to move, slowly at first, then the wagon turned down sharply, and down they went! The two friends screamed and hooted as they flew down the hill, hitting little bumps here and there. Stephanie pressed her face into Stingy's back as the wind whipped over her ears and made a whistling noise. Faster and faster they went, until finally they got to the very bottom of the hill. The front wheels of the wagon stuck into the soft sand by the lake, and Stingy and Stephanie were thrown forward onto the shore, Stephanie on top of Stingy. They laughed, groaned, moaned, then laughed again as they rolled over and rested on the pillowy grains of sand.

"Oh my God," Stephanie laughed. "Oh, that was fun, but let's never do that again!"

"Ohhhh ha ha ha," Stingy laughed and groaned at the same time. "Yes, deal!"

So that's how they got to lying on the sand by the lake like two beached whales. They lay there for hours, talking about everything—from parents, to school, to marriage, to sex. Regarding the latter subject, Stingy reluctantly admitted that he thought Robbie Rotten would be interesting in the sack.

"Ugh, really?" Stephanie groaned.

"Well, yeah! But I'm a bit of a weirdo."

She considered this. "Maybe he'd be all right. He's not a bad slow dancer."

"Oh yeah? How would you know?"

"Well…remember when I left my welcome home party for a while?"

"Yeah…"

"I, uh…ended up at Robbie Rotten's house, and um…I slow danced with him."

Stingy sat bolt upright. "You are lying to me!"

"No, I swear! We danced to an Aretha Franklin song."

"Holy crap."

"What?"

"Well, I didn't think he had it in him. Or you, for that matter."

It was nearly two in the morning when they got back to Stingy's house, but both of them were too wound up to sleep. So they'd cleaned off the sand, dressed in their pajamas and robes, and ended up in the entertainment room in the basement, sitting on the plush black sofa together and talking some more, about everything else under heaven. Stephanie checked her cell phone again at this time, but there were no messages from anyone.

Stingy fell asleep pretty quickly and easily once the sun started to rise. Stephanie wished it could have been as easily for her. Her body was exhausted; in fact, she was so tired she could barely move. But her mind felt painfully cold, clear, and sharp. It almost felt like standing naked in a snowstorm.

So she covered Stingy with a blanket, went to the kitchen, and was relieved to see that Sheladia hadn't arrived yet that morning. She made herself a cup of tea, padded to the sitting room, and watched the sun begin to burn the day into the sky. She had hoped that Uncle Milford or Aunt Bessie would have called her back by now, but there still had been no calls. Stephanie sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Stephanie?"

She jumped slightly at the sound of her name. She turned to find Mrs. Worthmore standing behind her, once again perfectly arrayed and styled in a peach shift, black sweater, and pearl colored espadrilles, in spite of the early hour.

Stephanie smiled uneasily. "Good morning, Mrs. Worthmore."

Stingy's mother turned her sharp eyes to the cup in Stephanie's hands. "I wasn't aware Sheladia had started making breakfast already. She usually doesn't arrive for another hour."

"Oh! No, I made it for myself."

Mrs. Worthmore looked down at the floor, a confused look on her face, as though she couldn't understand why Stephanie would do that. "I see."

Sensing the older woman was trying to strike up a conversation with her, Stephanie said, "Would you like to join me, Mrs. Worthmore?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

Once she was settled on the chair opposite from Stephanie, Mrs. Worthmore began, "You and Steven had been spending a great deal of time together. You two seem to get along very well."

"Yes, we do," Stephanie answered with a smile.

"You have a good deal in common."

"That's true. We both grew up here."

"You understand each other."

Stephanie was unsure of where this was going, but she answered, "Yes, a good deal." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "We've both experienced some…emotional pain recently. Talking to each other about it has helped."

Mrs. Worthmore smiled, and folded her hands in her lap. She looked triumphant. "I'm glad Steven took my advice and invited you here, Stephanie. You're just what he needed."

Stephanie knew what Adana Worthmore was getting at. All of Stingy's uncomfortable looks, his nervous smiles, his avoidance of his mother over the past two days—it was leading to this. Biting her lip, she carefully replied, "Um…Mrs. Worthmore…you know that Steven and I are just friends, right?"

"Oh, well, I know you're friends, my dear! All good relationships start that way."

"No, no. We're not in a relationship, and we never will be. I know…I know that you would like him to be a certain…way. But he's not. He can't."

The lady's smile faded, and Stephanie could see some of that imperiousness in her features begin to slowly melt as sadness flowed in. Mrs. Worthmore closed her eyes, and took a deep breath in. "I know he's not. But…I guess I'll never stop hoping that one day he'll wake up…and be different."

The two women didn't talk for a few moments. Then, suddenly Mrs. Worthmore said, "You know what Steven loved to carry around with him as a child? A button from an old dressing gown of mine. It was pink—cherry pink—and smooth. Steven said it was loveliest shade of pink he'd ever seen—it was darker than your hair. He'd hold it in his hand at night when he went to sleep. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to it."

Stephanie closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Mrs. Worthmore, I hope I don't sound rude, but…is there something you want or need from me?"

The lady shook her head with a mirthless laugh. "Two hundred dollars an hour of the best therapy you can buy, and I'm still not happy. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but since you're here. Let me see if I can put this accurately into words: I came to realize something a while ago: I've led a very empty life. No real friends, very little family. A mere wisp of a marriage. No career. I have a degree in art that I have no use for; I did it for my parents. But I did one thing that was worth my time, that I'm proud of: I had Steven. When he was a child, he was my world. I'd lavish him with toys and shiny gold things, and we'd sit for hours talking about them. I was his playmate. Then…he found you, and Sportacus. And those others—who are they, again? That fat, hillbilly child, I think, and the little Jew, and the colored boy? Is that right?"

When Adana looked up and saw the horrified look on Stephanie's face, she shook her head again. "I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry. When you're raised to think about people a certain way, it's hard to stop. I know I need to, though. But, what I was saying was, suddenly he had all these new friends to play with, and he didn't need me anymore. He was spending all his time with you all."

"Oh, Mrs. Worthmore, Steven didn't mean to—"

"No. Don't make excuses. That's how it should be. I'm glad that his world got bigger. The problem is, he left me behind when he started to grow up. I've watched the two of you together these last few days, and he's opened up to you. He laughs so easily when he's with you. I just—I just wish I could have that with him. I know he's a grown man and he's not going to live here with me for the rest of his life, but…I just wish he could be happy spending the little bit of time he has with me when it happens."

Stephanie smiled sadly, thinking about this. Adana Worthmore had her faults, to be sure, but it was poignant that she wanted so much to be a part of Stingy's life. "Mrs. Worthmore, the only advice I can give you is to talk to him. Tell him how you feel."

"Oh, I can't do that! I'd look desperate and clingy. I wouldn't even know where to begin." The older lady sighed. "Please just forget what I said. I'm sorry to have burdened you with this." She got up and turned to leave.

"He loves the Beatles," Stephanie murmured, stopping Adana in her tracks. Slowly she turned around to face the younger girl. "Bob Dylan too. Simon and Garfunkel is his absolute favorite, though. I think if he could listen to Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme for the rest of his life, he'd be happy. Kurt Vonnegut is his favorite writer. He's read Timequake three times. He's seen every movie Hitchcock ever directed. One day he wants to design a hotel that rotates very gently, a full 360 degrees, so that every time you look out a window, there's something new to see. He always hated that about hotels, because…"

"Because his father always chose the room without a view to save money," Adana cut in softly.

"Yes," Stephanie confirmed. "What I'm trying to tell you is, just spend time with Stingy—sorry, I mean Steven. Talk to him about the music he likes, the books he reads, the movies he's watched. He'll tell you. He'll bring you into his world, I promise, if you show him that you want to be there."

"But—but—how do I start?"

"Just…be there, I guess? Ask him questions. Show an interest. It doesn't have to be big actions. Just little ones that pile up, piece by piece."

"And you think that would work?"

Stephanie smiled kindly. "I think so. But there's only one way to know for sure."

It was late into the afternoon when Stingy finally awakened. He realized, as he got himself up from the sofa, that Stephanie had been with him, talking with him, and he must have fallen asleep mid-conversation. Stephanie had covered him with a blanket and left him to sleep. Feeling a little guilty, he left the basement, walked to the room his friend was staying in, and raised his hand to knock on the door. To his surprise, the door opened before his knuckles could make contact with it. Stephanie appeared in the doorway, dressed for the day, her bag in her hand. "Hi, Stinge," she greeted him with a smile.

"Steph. Hey. Sorry for falling asleep like that." Eyeing her fully packed bag, he said, "You're leaving?"

"Yeah," she replied, somewhat remorsefully. "Ziggy seemed a little disappointed I hadn't come to see him yet, so I'm going to head there for a while. Spend some time with him and his folks. And then…"

"And then…it's time to go home to your aunt and uncle," Stingy finished for her.

Stephanie took a deep breath, smiled, and nodded. Just then, Careworn came up the stairs and stood at the top of them, at attention. "Miss Stephanie, I've taken the liberty of bringing the towncar to the front of the house. Shall I drive you to your next destination?"

"That, um…that would be lovely, Careworn. Thank you." Truthfully, Ziggy's house wasn't a terribly long walk, but Stephanie hadn't really slept at all the entire night before and was physically exhausted. She was grateful to not have to do any walking.

"Very well. I shall be waiting in the driveway at your convenience." Before Stephanie could blink, the butler had retrieved her bag from her hands and was ferrying it down the stairs.

Stephanie and Stingy took their time walking down the stairs. When they finally got to the bottom floor and walked outside, Stingy pulled Stephanie against him for a hug. "Thank you," he told her. "The last two days really helped me."

"Are you kidding? I should be thanking you. I've been treated like a princess," Stephanie laughed against his shoulder. When they pulled away, she smoothed a lock of his hair and said, "I'm glad that we got to connect again, as adults. You're a wonderful friend, Stingy."

Stingy smiled. "And so are you. Call me in a couple days, okay? Let me know how everything goes."

"I will." Stephanie glanced up at the second floor, at the window of the large master bedroom with the balcony. "Please thank your mom for her generosity and tell her I hope to see her soon, won't you?"

"Um, sure."

"Are you ready, Miss Stephanie?" Careworn asked. Stephanie said she was, and was helped into the towncar. Stingy smiled and waved as the car pulled away, and he knew that Stephanie wasn't going far and he'd have the whole rest of the summer to see her, but he still felt that same sort of emptiness he felt whenever something fun had ended. Slowly he turned and made his way back into the house.

He went up to his room, flipped through his CDs, and smirked at the one his fingers first stumbled upon: The Carpenters' Greatest Hits. He set it to play, grabbed his copy of Timequake off his shelf, and lay on his bed to read it. A few minutes into the first song, there was a soft knock on his door.

"It's open!" he called. Slowly the door opened to reveal his mother, standing nervously in the threshold.

"May I come in?" she asked quietly.

Stingy frowned, confused by her apparent shyness. "Sure, Mom. Is something wrong?"

"No…I…I was just wondering if, uh…if Stephanie Meanswell left already."

"Yes, a few minutes ago. Careworn is dropping her off at the house of another friend of ours."

"I see. Well, she's a very lovely girl. I'm glad you two spent time together."

"Mom, I told you before—Steph and I are—"

"I know, Steven. I just meant that she seemed to lift your spirits when you needed it. I'm grateful to her. That's all."

Stingy stared into his mother's eyes, seeing that old, familiar, critical look replace the nervous anxiety, and it was strangely a relief. "All right." He looked down at his book for a second or two, then looked up to see his mother was still standing in the exact same spot. "Is there something else you want to tell me?"

Mrs. Worthmore clasped her hands together. "No, I…um…" she trailed off, then turned in the direction of the music. "Is that the Carpenters?"

"Oh! Yeah, sometimes I like to listen to them when I'm in a certain mood."

She smiled. "May I sit here….and listen to them for a while? With you?"

"Well…yeah. Sure, Mom. Go ahead." Stingy sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed so his mother could sit.

They were sitting for a while, not talking, both feeling a bit awkward and lost, when "I know I need to be in Love" started playing. "This song is my favorite," Mrs. Worthmore commented.

"Really? It's mine too," Stingy told her.

"And you know, this was Karen Carpenter's favorite song, out of all the ones they recorded."

"I didn't know that," Stingy told his mother.

Adana smiled at her son. "Well, now you do."

Careworn pulled up to the Rumbaugh's house, carefully avoiding the clusters of old lawn mowers, cars, and tools that were piled in small hills in and around the driveway. He put the car in park and looked behind him at where Stephanie sat. "We have arrived, Miss Stephanie. Shall I take your bag to the door?"

"Oh, thank you, but I'll be all right, Careworn. I appreciate the lift."

"It was no trouble, Miss. Your visit made Mr. Steven—as well as Madam—quite happy. Escorting you to your next destination was the least I could do."

Stephanie smiled, leaning forward. "You're very kind."

"As are you." Then, as an afterthought, the silver-haired man turned back to look at her with a twinkle in his eye, and added, "Just like your father."

Stephanie gaped. "You…knew my father?"

"Yes. You see, my father was also a butler, and he'd worked for a family called the Sweetwires. Their daughter, Mildred Sweetwire, married a man named…"

"Morton Meanswell," Stephanie finished. "My grandmother and grandfather!"

"Yes, Miss. I also worked for the Sweetwires when I was younger, assisting my father. I remember your father and your uncle, coming to visit their grandparents. They were two of the sweetest, most decent youths I'd ever seen. Your father was an adorable little boy."

Stephanie started feeling tears come to her eyes. Seeing this, Careworn pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Thank you. I'm sorry," she told him.

"Please, Miss. Do not apologize for something which requires no apology."

"It's just—I have trouble remembering him a lot of the time, but I know I've lost something really wonderful. You'd think it would be easier not having a lot of memories to hold on to, but I think it's harder." She dabbed her eyes.

"He would have been truly proud of who you've become, Miss Stephanie. I'm sure of it."

Stephanie smiled at this. "Thank you, Careworn. Well! I should get going." She stepped out of the car and walked around to meet the butler, who stepped out as well. "Take care of yourself," she said, holding out her hand.

Careworn took her hand in his and kissed it. "And you as well, my dear."

After Stephanie had walked up the Rumbaugh's path to their house, Careworn stepped back into the town car and turned it around to head back in the direction he'd gone. Once he was turned around, he noticed a red mustang, further down the road, parked illegally by the fire hydrant. Careworn frowned, annoyed at this violation, then drove swiftly down the road towards the car. Just as he was about to reach the mustang and be able to look in and see who the driver was, the car sped quickly down the road, out of Careworn's line of vision. The butler grimaced. This was the car Master Steven had warned him about; he was sure of it. He'd have to make sure to let his young employer know when he returned.