The Listeners

by Maggie Stiefvater

This was the nature of the average Avallon guest: people so high on the social ladder they had to duck for the sun to go overhead.

Now, I’d be happy to hear your thoughts on the matter, seeing as this is my business and I’m always looking to improve it, but truth is, I already know you agree with me. Because you’re standing here with our luxury instead of back in Connecticut with your wealth. That’s a fur piece to come if wealth and luxury are the same thing.

“You are making yourself one of my life’s biggest obstacles,” June told her. “Darling, if that’s true,” said 411, “your life isn’t that bad.”

How strange it was that Gilfoyle the boy had grown up into Gilfoyle the man, that she had grown up from June the girl to June the woman. The time since she had first come to the Avallon felt compressed, folded on itself like an invitation. It had been ages since she had seen him; no time had passed. How monstrous he was; how much she missed him, how much she missed them all.

Kindness was a virtue, but in evil places, empathy punished the wearer.

“They’re very good boots, Ed,” she admitted. “Good job. I ain’t easy to please.” This nearly made him twitch again; genuine compliments used to make him jerk nearly as badly as criticisms, but he’d worked hard in his college years to suppress this. Only June, who knew him so well, saw the spasm in his jaw.

He wondered what happened to her. She didn’t remember her last name, so there was no way of looking her up. Mary. Mary who? There were thousands of Marys. Who was he to her? A man in a suit. Thousands of them, too.

No one ever asked after the dead. Only the living. How’s your mother, how’s your sister, how’s your cousin. Unless someone achieved fame or infamy, their story stopped when their heart did. How was your mother, how was your sister, how was your cousin? Tell me a funny story about them. No, folks were afraid of other people’s dead.

You didn’t need theater when you had trust.

Edgar’s fingers on her wrist. I think the world of you, June. God, this wanting. “No,” June said. “I belong to the Avallon.”