Trey said, her hands folded in front of her, her back plumb-straight. We were back in the classroom set, facing each other over the teacher’s desk, and she was the image of the strict third-grade teacher who’s just found a bad word on the chalkboard. I suppose I was expected to feel chastened, but it was hard for me to look at her without seeing Thistle’s extraordinary impersonation. “Is there anything in particular you’d like explained? I’m reasonably well-informed on a relatively broad spectrum of subjects.” “Let’s begin with what’s going on between Thistle and you.” “That’s easy. There’s nothing going on between Thistle and me.” “She looks at you every time I ask her a question. She consults with you. I’m paying her, and she’s turning to you for advice. I want to know why.” “She’s got nobody in the world,” I said. “I made her laugh this morning. I dragged her through that pack of parasites when we arrived. I’m the temporary hero. She’s not exactly aces in the self-confidence department, and she needs to turn to somebody.
