Page 105 of Her Wicker Guardian

Locke considers the question, then says, “Nothing.”

I suddenly find the sandwich bags worth my complete attention.

A few minutes later, all six of us are crowded around my kitchen table. Shannon, Tom, Evan, Maddie, and I have sandwiches and fruit, and Locke is drinking sweet tea, which he says is delicious.

Lunch is almost normal. Shannon talks about the festival committee. Tom and Locke spend part of lunch talking about what’s left on the bear: the outer weave, paws, ears, and face. When Tom reminds him setup isn’t until Thursday afternoon, Locke looks at the unfinished bear as if waiting until Thursday is unreasonable. Nobody discusses constitutional law, federal agencies, drones, or whether statutes written decades ago can recognize a living wicker man as a person.

For forty-five minutes, Locke gets to be Locke, sitting at my table while Shannon steals pickles from Tom’s plate and Maddie argues with Evan about who finished the chips. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having an ordinary afternoon until one finally snuck through the noise.

When they leave, Tom hugs me, then tells Locke to call if he needs another pair of hands before Thursday. Evan tells Locke he’ll see him at the festival, and Maddie gives him a quick wave on her way to the truck. Shannon hugs everybody, including Locke after asking first, then climbs into the passenger seat.

Locke watches the truck until it disappears between the trees. When he turns back to me, I recognize the expression immediately. He has a question.

“What?”

“They touched their mouths together.”

“It’s called a kiss.”

“Tom touched Shannon here.” His hand moves toward his own hip.

Oh. “I saw.”

“She liked it.”

I gather the empty glasses. “It seemed so.”

“She told him to behave.”

“Yes.”

“But she liked it.”

So this conversation is happening. I set the glasses in the sink, partly because they need washing and partly because if I’m going to explain kissing and ass grabbing to a wicker man, I’d like to have a counter nearby.

“She would not like everyone kissing her mouth or touching her there,” he says.

“You’re right.”

“But Tom can.”

“Sometimes.”

His brow tightens. “Because he is her husband?”

“Not exactly.”

That gets his full attention. I turn to face him. “Being married doesn’t mean Tom gets to touch Shannon however he wants whenever he wants. She liked that because she wanted him to do it.”

Locke thinks about that. “If someone else touched Shannon there or on her lips, she might not like it.”

“Exactly. The touch isn’t what decides whether it’s welcome. Shannon does.”

“She wanted Tom.”

“Right.”

“And Tom knew.”