He didn’t share these theories with the Misters anymore after he’d once heard Hester murmur to John, “more like she was a little slut, got herself knocked up one day.”
I think Hester's words really hurt True. Tears had welled in his big yellow eyes when he told me about it. He’d always liked the Misters, said they were pretty decent as foster parents go, treated him like a regular kid instead of a farm hand. As far as I know True didn’t hold that remark against Hester, he just didn’t ask her so many questions afterwards. Course, by then he had me for a friend and I could listen to True talk all day. I think that’s why we hit it off so well. True’s a talker with big ideas; I’m a listener with hives.
True had come to Maine as an inquisitive seven-year-old. Together we spent the remainder of our childhood exploring the wonders of small town living. Everything was such a huge deal when I looked at it through True’s eyes. To True, everything about the country was exciting. He absorbed the hills and valleys of West Ellis as though he were studying for a test or something. And questions, the questions True could come up with always floored me. I’d lived in West Ellis my whole boring life and never questioned anything about it. The town was just there. That had always been enough for me until True came along with his never-ending curiosity.
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