Page 110 of In a Word, Yes

I locate an open chair and scooch up to the table. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She beams. “Shoot’em at me. And then, of course, you absolutely must interview our friend Wyatt. I’m sure your readers would love to know whether the good lieutenant has discovered a new favorite hobby.” Billie raises her voice. “How are you doing with those knots down there now, Wyatt?”

Hoots of laughter ignite around the table.

Billie snags a neatly folded fleece blanket off the top of a stackand shakes it out. “Here’s the finished product. See, we just sandwich two squares of fleece together, cut fringe all the way around, and tie knots.”

The one she’s holding is covered inStar Warscharacters.

I click my pen. “Super cute.”

“Mind if we take it out front?” Wyatt says when I tap him for the next interview. “It’s a little hard to hear in here.” To his point, another blast of laughter explodes from the opposite end of the table.

We move to the lobby. I hold my pen and pad between us. “So ... hi.”

“Hi, Luce.”

Not fair. Why choose now to use such a term of familiarity? This is all so much harder than I expected.

“How’s Chase doing?”

Apparently I have to clear my throat before the parts of me involved in the talking thing will work. “Back to school, as of today. Thanks for asking. So, your team is making blankets for the...?”

“For Camp Eagle Cap. It’s an incredible program. Free summer camp for foster kids. They teach the kids to ride horses, then take them on a wilderness adventure in the Eagle Cap mountains, something I’m sure they’ll never forget. I’m told a lot of the kids only have light sleeping bags. They get to snuggle with these blankets around the campfire and at night in their sleeping bags, then take them home.”

I take notes. “What a great opportunity for the kids. Also, what a cool thing to be involved in. I mean like, to go with them as a volunteer.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Wyatt holds my gaze.

Is he imagining what I’m imagining? Him and me, under the stars in an alpine paradise, singing silly camp songs with the children?

Wyatt shakes his head lightly, as if he, too, could be dislodgingthe thought. “Anyway, maybe someday I’ll look into that. Meanwhile, this blanket thing isn’t particularly manly, but...”

Oh, Wyatt, if you only knew how very appealing I find this.Annoyingly so.

“You know, it isn’t super complicated—it’s not quilting,” he says. “A second grader could do it—probably better. My hot dog fingers are pretty fumbly. To be honest, it’s just a lot of cutting and tying knots.”

“It’s not like you’re in competition with the quilting forest rangers or anything...” I tease.

Wyatt guffaws. “If we were,and we’re not, I don’t think this would do the trick. Wait. This isn’t ... we’re off the record, aren’t we? Never mind. I trust you.”

“Well, all that cutting and knot-tying is going to mean something to a bunch of kids.”

“I hope so. We all hope so. Oh, and speaking of hope, that piece you wrote in the paper this week?” He shakes his head incredulously. “It’s really moving. Really ... important.”

I’m not sure what to say to this.

“We need more of that. Lucy, you have a real gift for ... whatever that’s called. Short-form essay?”

“Thank you.”

A heavy silence envelops us. That is, if you don’t count the laughter drifting from the conference room.

“I see you got plants,” I say finally, a little too brightly. “Nice!”

“I don’t know ... I think we’re slowly torturing some of them.”

“Uh-oh.”