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This time neither of us laughs.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rachel

By early afternoon, Locke is standing at the kitchen counter with his phone in one hand, scrolling through pictures of tools he wants, when he says, “I still haven’t seen Hollis Springs.”

I stop halfway through putting a plate in the cabinet.

He doesn’t sound accusing, which makes it worse.

Every conversation about town has turned into another reason he shouldn’t go yet. First, nobody knew he existed. Then everybody knew. In between, there were teenagers, photographs, deputies, people parked on the road, drones, reporters, and enough legal advice to make Blair consider charging us by the vowel.

Meanwhile, Locke has learned how to use a phone, negotiate an interview, build a six-foot wicker bear, and repair things around my house. But he still hasn’t walked down Main Street.

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

I give him a look, then put the plate away harder than necessary, which only makes him smile.

The truth is, I’ve been thinking about taking him into town ever since he first asked to go. I just haven’t admitted it because thinking about something and driving Locke directly into the center of Hollis Springs are two different levels of courage.

“What do you want to see?”

“Calhoun’s.”

That surprises me. “The hardware store?”

“Yes.”

“Not the courthouse? The town square? Civilization?”

“I want to see the tools.”

With Hollis Springs finally within reach, his highest aspiration is Calhoun’s Home & Hardware. I lean back against the counter. “Anything else?”

He considers that. “Everything.”

It’s so completely Locke that I have to smile. His entire world used to be my yard and whatever he could see from it. Then the road became the thing he wanted. After that, town. Now he’s standing in my kitchen asking for everything. “Okay.”

His attention sharpens. “Okay?”

“We’ll go.”

He puts the phone down immediately and is already moving toward the door before I can reach for my purse.

“You know, the fact that you’re suddenly hovering by the door like a Labrador who heard somebody say walk is not why I said yes.”

“I don’t know Labrador.”

“Another educational failure.”

“I’ll learn it later.”

I grab my purse.

The drive into Hollis Springs takes less than fifteen minutes, which makes the fact that Locke has never been here feel even more ridiculous. He sits beside me wearing jeans, one of Tom’s better T-shirts, and the shoes we ordered online after Aaron Pike pointed out that walking barefoot into town might create problems nobody needed.