Page 9 of Everything You Hate
“I did know that, actually.”
“But Noodle has teeth in his heart.” She says this with the absolute conviction of a five-year-old who has made up her mind about something. “That’s why he’s mean. His heart-teeth hurt.”
I blink at her. “His heart-teeth.”
“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly. “Aunt Piper told me. She says sometimes people’s hearts have teeth too, and that’s why they’re mean sometimes. But it’s not their fault. The teeth just grow there, and they can’t help it.”
I look at Colter, who shrugs like“Don’t ask me; I’m just the dad.”
“Piper’s pretty smart,” I say carefully.
“She’s the smartest.” Hazel wriggles, and I set her down. She immediately grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the sheep paddock around the back of the house. “Come on. I’ll show you Dot’s new sweater. It’s purple.”
“I actually need to?—”
“Nope.” She tugs harder. “You have to see it first. It’s important.”
Colter’s laughing behind me. “She’s got you, Uncle Dean.”
“Don’t call me?—”
“GreatUncle Dean!” Hazel corrects him. “Because he’s the greatest uncle!”
“Don’t let Uncle Knox hear you say that,” Colter calls after us. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“Uncle Knox is a good uncle,” she confides to me in a stage whisper. “But he’s not here like you are, so that makes you greater.”
Ask me, the kid’s logic is airtight.
And I’m glad nobody has ever corrected her assumption that I’m her great-uncle because I’m awesome and not because my brother is her grandfather.
I end up spending half an hour with Hazel, admiring Dot’s hand-knit purple sweater and listening to her explain why the sheep prefers purple to the blue one Mimi made her last month. I only manage to extract myself when Henry rescues me.
“Come on, kiddo.” He scoops Hazel up and settles her on his hip with the ease of a man who’s been doing it for decades. “Let Great-Uncle Dean go talk to Uncle Bodhi. He’s got grown-up stuff to do.”
“Is it about the lady?” Hazel asks.
I freeze mid-step.
Henry’s eyes cut to me, and I see the question there—the same one Colter had. The island’s already talking. Of course it is.
“What lady?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“The one who fell in the water.” Hazel tugs on Henry’s flannel collar. “Patty Sue told Mimi at the diner, and Mimi told Grandpa, and Grandpa told me.”
Patty Sue Okafor. I should’ve known. The Driftwood Diner is the island’s central nervous system, and Patty Sue runs the information exchange from behind her order pad like a five-star general.
“She didn’t fall in,” I say. “Her suitcase did.”
“I hope you saved it.”
I feel like I’ve been graded by a five-year-old and found slightly wanting. “I did.”
“Good.”
Henry sets her down. “Go find your dad, kiddo. I heard him say something about lollipops earlier.”
She squeals, and then she’s gone in a streak of pigtails and bare feet.
