"It's caled determination," I murmured as I looked one last time at the shelf in front of me.

"It's caled stubborn as hel and refusing to admit it. I'l be

outside."

I barely glanced up as she left. I'd known Kira's attention

span wouldn't make her the best companion for this trip,

but I'd put off buying Stela's gift for too long. I hadn't seen

much of Kira since I'd moved away from our hometown to

Harrisburg. Actualy, I hadn't seen much of her even

before that. When she'd caled to see if I wanted to get

together I hadn't been able to think of a reason to say no

that wouldn't make me sound like a total douche. She'd be

content outside smoking a cigarette or two, so I turned my

attention back to the search, determined to find just the

right thing.

Over the years I'd discovered it wasn't necessarily the gift

itself that won Stela's approval, but something even less

tangible than the price. My father gave her everything she

wanted, and what she didn't get from him she bought for

herself, so buying her something she wanted or needed

was impossible. Gretchen and Steve, my dad's kids with

his first wife, Tara, took the lazy route of having their kids

make her something like a finger-painted card. Stela's

own two boys were stil young enough not to care. My half

siblings got off the gift-giving hook with their haphazard

siblings got off the gift-giving hook with their haphazard

efforts when I'd be held to a higher standard.

There is always something to be gained from being held to

the higher standard.

Now I looked, hard, thinking about what would be just

right. Don't get me wrong. She's not a bad person, my

father's wife. She never went out of her way to make me

part of their family the way she had with Gretchen and

Steven, and I surely didn't rank as high in her sight as her

sons Jeremy and Tyler. But my half siblings had al lived

with my dad. I never had.

Then I saw it. The perfect gift. I took the box from the

shelf and opened the top. Inside, nestled on deep blue

tissue paper, lay a package of pale blue note cards. In the

lower right corner of each glittered a stylized S surrounded by a design of subtly sparkling stars. The envelopes had

the same starry design, the paper woven with silver

threads to make it shine. A pen rested inside the box, too.

I took it out. It was too light and the tiny tassel at the end

made it too casual, but this wasn't for me. It was the

perfect pen for salon-manicured fingers writing thank- you

cards in which al the i's were dotted by tiny hearts. It was the perfect pen for Stela.

the perfect pen for Stela.

"Ah, so you found something." Miriam took the box from

me and carefuly peeled away the price sticker from

beneath. "Very nice choice. I'm sure she'l love it."

"I hope so." I thought she would, too, but didn't want to

jinx myself.

"You always know exactly what someone needs, don't

you?" Miriam smiled as she slipped the box into a pretty

bag and added a ribbon, no extra charge.

I laughed. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"You do," she said firmly. "I remember my customers, you know. I pay attention. There are many who come in here

looking for something and don't find it. You always do."

"That doesn't mean it's the right thing," I told her, paying for the cards with a pair of crisp bils fresh out of the

ATM.

Miriam gave me a look over her glasses. "Isn't it?"

I didn't answer. How does anyone know if they know

what they're doing is right? Until it's too late to change

what they're doing is right? Until it's too late to change

things, anyway.

"Sometimes, Paige, we think we know very wel what

someone wants, or needs. But then—" she sighed, holding

out a package of pretty stationery in a box with a clear

plastic lid "—we discover we are wrong. I'd put this aside

for one of my regular customers, but he didn't care for it,

after al."

"Too bad. I'm sure someone else wil." I wasn't surprised a man didn't want the paper. Embossed with gilt-edged

flowers, it seemed a little too feminine for a dude.

Miriam's gaze sharpened. "You, perhaps?"

I waved the flowered paper aside and shoved my hands in

my back pockets as I looked around the shop. "Not realy

my style."

She laughed and set the box aside. She'd painted her nails

scarlet to match her lipstick. I hoped when I was her age

I'd be half as stylish. Hel. I hoped to be half as stylish

tomorrow.

"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some

"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some

new notebooks right here. Suede finish. Gilt-edged pages.

Tied closed with a ribbon," she wheedled, pointing to the

end-cap display. "Come and see."

I groaned good-naturedly. "You're heartless, you know

that? You know al you have to do is show me…oh.

Ohhh."

"Pretty, yes?"

"Yes." I wasn't looking at notebooks, but at a red,

lacquered box with a ribbon-hinged lid. A purple-and-blue

dragonfly design etched the polished wood. "What's this?"

I stroked the smooth lid and opened it. Inside, nestled on

black satin, rested a smal clay dish, a smal container of

red ink and a set of wood-handled brushes.

"Oh, that's a caligraphy set." Miriam came around the

counter to look at it with me. "Chinese. But this one is

special. It comes with paper and a set of pens, not just

brushes and ink."

She showed me by lifting the box's bottom to reveal a

sheaf of paper crisscrossed with a crimson ribbon and a

set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a

set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a

drawstring.

"It's gorgeous." I took my hands away, though I wanted to

touch the pens, the ink, the paper.

"Just what you need, yes?" Miriam went around the

counter to sit on her stool. "Perfect for you."

I checked the price and closed the box's lid firmly. "Yes.

But not today."

"No?" Miriam tutted. "Why is it you know so wel what

everyone else needs, but not yourself? Such a shame,

Paige. You should buy it."

I could pay my cel phone bil for the price of that box. I

shook my head, then cocked it to look at her. "Why are

you so convinced I know what everyone else needs?

That's a pretty broad statement."

Miriam tore the wrapper off a package of mints and put

one into her mouth. She sucked gently for a moment

before answering. "You've been a good customer. I've

seen you buy gifts, and sometimes things for yourself. I like

to think I know people. What they need and like. Why do

you think I have such atrocities on my shelves? Because

people want them."

I folowed her gaze to the shelf holding more porcelain

clowns. "Just because you want something doesn't mean

you should have it."

"Just because you want something doesn't mean you

should deny yourself the pleasure," Miriam said serenely.

"Buy yourself that box. You deserve it."

"I have nothing to write with it!"

"Letters to a sweetheart," she suggested.

"I don't have a sweetheart." I shook my head again.

"Sorry, Miriam. Can't do it now. Maybe some other time."

She sighed. "Fine, fine. Deny yourself the pleasure of

something pretty. You think that's what you need?"

"I think I need to pay my bils before I can buy luxuries,

that's what I think."

"Ah. Sensible." She inclined her head. "Practical. Not very romantic. That's you."

romantic. That's you."

"You can tel al that from the kind of paper I buy?" I put

my hands on my hips to stare at her. "C'mon."

Miriam shrugged, and it was easy to see how she must

have been as a young woman. Stubborn, graceful,

beautiful. "I can tel it by the paper you don't buy. When you're an old lady, you'l be wise like me, too."

"I hope so." I laughed.

"I hope you'l come back and buy yourself that box. It's

meant for you, Paige."

"I'l definitely think about it. Okay? Is that good enough?"

"If you buy the paper," Miriam told me, "I guarantee you'l find something worth writing in it."

Chapter 02

Shal we begin?

This is your first list.

You wil folow each instruction perfectly. There is no

margin for error. The penalty for failure is dismissal.

Your reward wil be my attention and command.

You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.

Deliver them promptly to the address below.

The square envelope in my hand bore the faint ridges of

realy expensive paper and no glue on the flap, like the

reply envelope included with an invitation. I turned the

heavy, cream-colored card that had been inside it over

and over in my fingers. It felt like high-grade linen. Also

expensive. I fingered the slightly rough edge along one

side. Custom cut, maybe, from a larger sheet. Not quite

heavy enough to be a note card, but too thick to use in a

computer printer.

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,