Free Silent to the Bone by E.L. Konigsburg

“Can you explain its happening a third time?”
    There was dead silence in the room.
    Vivian looked first to Margaret and then to me for an answer. We had none. She reached for her pocketbook, opened it, and took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Margaret, who refused, and started searching for something inside her pocketbook. She didn’t find what she wanted, so she turned to me and asked, “Connor, would you please get me a light?” Margaret does not smoke and does not approve of smoking, so I didn’t look at Margaret for permission to get Vivian a match. There was a packet of them on the kitchen countertop that Margaret had put there so that she could light the candles on the table.
    I started to hand Vivian the packet, but instead of taking it, she put the cigarette between her lips and leaned forward. I assumed she wanted me to light it for her. (I had seen that sort of thing in the movies.) So I tried to strike the match, but I was not successful. I had never before lit a match. We had an electric stove, and on the rare occasions when we ate by candlelight, my mother lit them, and when the charcoal grill was to be lit, my dad did that. No one in my familysmoked. Firecrackers were illegal. When would I ever have had a chance to practice lighting matches? I closed the cover before striking, but the cardboard of the matches kept bending on me. Finally, I held one close enough to the head of the match to get it to take, and Vivian leaned forward with the cigarette between her lips. She held my wrist that held the match until she had sucked in enough fire for the entire end of her cigarette to catch. Before she let go of my wrist, she looked up at me and said, “Thank you, Connor. You are a gentleman.”
    Just like in the movies.
    At that moment, I knew why no one should be allowed to play with matches. There’s no telling what besides a cigarette may catch fire.
    Vivian looked around for an ashtray but couldn’t find one. (There’s not a single one in the house. As I said, Margaret does not approve of smoking, but she believes a lot in personal choice, so she would never forbid someone from doing it.) Vivian said, “Margaret, may I use a saucer for an ashtray?”
    Margaret didn’t exactly say yes. She said, “Connor, would you please bring Vivian a saucer?” I nodded yes but forgot to move. I watched as Vivian took a long drag on her cigarette, pursed her lips as if blowingkisses, and blew out the smoke. I watched until the last faint puff of smoke disappeared.
    Vivian said, “Connor? A saucer?”
    â€œOh, yes,” I said. “Yes. Yes, of course.” If she had asked me for a flying saucer, I would have sprouted wings and searched the night sky for one.
    As I walked back toward the kitchen, I heard Vivian say, “Actually, there’s more.”
    â€œAbout Branwell?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œAbout his interests, actually.” Vivian was speaking slightly above a whisper, but Margaret’s kitchen is right next to the add-on living room, so I could hear practically everything.
    Margaret spoke in a normal voice. “Will this be something you will be saying at your deposition?”
    Vivian replied, “I’m afraid I will have to, won’t I?”
    â€œI suppose so,” Margaret said.
    Then I heard, “. . . unhealthy interest . . . nappies.”
    Nappies are what the British call diapers. The word had amused Branwell. He told me that it came from napkins. “When you think about it, Con,” he had said, “diapers do the same thing that napkins do. They catch a mess.” After Vivian arrived on Tower Hill Road,Branwell had also started calling the toilet the loo. He did that with me, but not with other kids. He knew exactly where they drew the line between different and weird, and he never crossed it.
    â€œActually,” Vivian said,