Mira didn’t answer and glanced at the staircase. She stepped toward Jesse, thinking she could do it, but stopped, fearing it was a mistake to continue. They needed to leave, but why? What was there to be scared of? Jesse took another step. He fiddled with his camera, snapping shot after shot.

When Mira wouldn’t follow him, he lowered his camera. “You believe the stories, don’t you?” he asked, and Mira nodded, feeling a blush of shame in the confession.

Mira braced herself for Jesse’s teasing. “I wish I could be more like you,” she said, sputtering out the words. Her eyes watered, further confirming a humiliating truth about who she was. “I wish I could, but I’m not. You were right about what you said earlier. I am a child.”

Jesse didn’t laugh like she’d expected him to. His whole demeanor changed, softening, opening himself up to her in an unexpected way. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Truth is, maybe I am scared a little,” he whispered, and the kindness of his gesture pained her with her own yearning. Gone was his usual smirking expression, his bluster, and she was able to catch a glimpse of what he hid, a vulnerability he fought against, and she was grateful he allowed her to see.

“You go on outside and I’ll meet you in a few minutes. I promise—a few more pictures and I’m done. We’ll leave and we don’t ever have to set foot inside this place again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, feeling better as she wiped the wetness from her cheeks. She calmed herself and she turned away, but Jesse called out. The flash of the camera blinded her as she looked back at him. A quick unexpected shot.

“Got you. I knew I would eventually.” Jesse’s grin kept her from yelling. Anyone else and it would have been an intrusion, but not with him. “I’m sorry, but you know I wouldn’t have gotten it any other way,” he said when he saw her flustered face. “Don’t worry, no one else will ever see it. This one—this one’s just for me.”

The summer’s heat made her dizzy, the magnolia air thick and choking. Alone, listening to the wood thrushes give their back-and-forth trills, she allowed herself a possibility she hadn’t before dared—he could feel the same. If he wanted, they could be together. In a slip of a moment she let herself believe this to be true, but just as quickly she dismissed the thought. She must have been mistaken, because how could he care for her? A knobby-kneed girl who barely even knew herself?