By now, some boys admitted that Magnolia unsettled them. Malik muttered, “She’s too calm. My nana would flip.” Connor brushed him off, but even he wasn’t immune. His chest tightened sometimes when he saw her rocking chair sway without wind. He told himself it was nothing— only an old woman’s creaky furniture.
The chorus of neighbors turned bitter. “She’s just letting them,” muttered Mrs. Phelps. “That’s why they’re getting worse.” Yet behind their whispers also lurked confusion, because the more charitable of them also admired the old woman’s patience.