Free What Changes Everything by Masha Hamilton

narrowed that in hiding the paper, she‟d only served to draw attention to it. Yvette stared as she took a loud sip of the coffee, but she let it sit for the moment. "Anything new for me?" she asked.
           "A Mikhail Shemyakin book. Came in yesterday, and in mint condition." Stela pushed to her feet—she‟d put on more weight than she wanted lately, and she wasn‟t even sure how. It seemed only yesterday she was the lithe girl who loved dancing, and then the young mother sprinting after her sons. She moved to the third aisle, finding immediately the volume she wanted, bypassing the new volume on Russian icons, which she knew Yvette wouldn‟t like.
           Yvette took the book eagerly and flipped through the pages. "What a carnival
    Shemyakin‟s work is."
           "I know you love him. Too ghoulish for me."
           "You have to look at the work without the laughter drained from your soul," Yvette scolded. She turned to the inside cover and read aloud. "„To Grandfather Georgi, Merry Christmas with love from Sasha, December 2003.‟ Oh, Stela. Another estate sale? Georgi who? Do I know the family?"
           Stela shook her head. "He lived in St. Louis. His nephew brought it to me."
           Yvette looked at Stela skeptically. Then she returned to the book. "I hate the way you get your books; that‟s what‟s ghoulish. But this is a beauty. How much?"
           "Eight dollars for you."
           "Stela. How are you going to stay in business that way?"
    "Let me worry about that."
           Shaking her head, Yvette rummaged in her purse and pulled out a ten. She rose, placed the bill on the desk and then gestured toward Stela‟s cellphone.
           "Any calls?"
           "I‟ll let you know if there is." Stela found cellphones ridiculous. She kept a cell for one reason only.
           Yvette leaned forward and tapped the two stacked books. "So?"
           "What?" Stela reached into a lower drawer on the desk and pulled out a green metal box. From inside, she selected two one-dollar bills.
           "Who‟re you writing to now? The president? Another author? The head of the Veteran‟s Association? Who?"
           Stela held out the money to Yvette, who shook her head. Stela sighed and put the dollars on the table. "Every time we have to argue over the change," she said. "You‟d think it was two hundred dollars instead of two."
           "Someone I‟ve heard of?" Yvette persisted. "Or someone obscure this time?"
           "Not that it‟s your business."
           "Oh no. Not your son again?"
           "Yvette, please."
           Yvette raised a hand skyward. "I‟m taking that as a no, Stela. And I‟m hoping not, because I don‟t want to see you suffer more."
           "Okay," Stela said. "Thanks."
           "How much can one mother‟s heart take? Besides, haven‟t I known him since he reached here?" She put her hand on her waist. "I know what I‟m saying. He‟s our haroshi malchik. He‟ll come around in time, so you don‟t need to take years off your life fretting over it."
    "Okay," Stela said.
    "Water flows, but the rock remains. You are his rock."
    "Hmm."
           Suddenly Yvette jumped; Bulgakov had rubbed himself against her legs. Stela couldn‟t help herself; she chuckled. "My sharpest cat," she said.
           "Not so sharp if she thinks I want to pet her."
           "I think she specifically realizes you don‟t."
           "Wish you‟d thin out some of these cats." Yvette settled back into the armchair. "So. If it‟s not Danil, who is it?"
           "Who says it‟s a letter? I‟m practicing my Mandarin."
           Yvette laughed. "You could just say you don‟t want to tell me."
           "I don‟t want to tell you."
           Yvette sighed. "But then I‟d be forced to remind you that I am not for nothing your closest friend. Here for