““He was not quite sure how to phrase it, so he finally went with, haltingly, “I don’t enjoy being at the center of attention.” Her head tilted to the side, she regarded him for a long moment before saying, “No. You don’t.” And then: “You were always a tree.” “I beg your pardon?” Her eyes grew sentimental. “When we performed our awful pantomimes as children. You were always a tree.” “I never had to say anything.” “And you always got to stand at the back.” He felt himself smile, lopsided and true. “I rather liked being a tree.” “You were a very good tree.” She smiled then, too—a radiant, wondrous thing. “The world needs more trees.””
