Page 72 of Her Wicker Guardian

The cream glass shade is still in one piece. So is the ridiculous red base. I run my hand over it, checking for cracks. Nothing.

“It survived,” I call through the open kitchen window.

Locke looks over from the bear. “Good.”

I smile down at the lamp. “Yeah. It is.”

I go back outside, watch him work, and listen to traffic moving beyond the cottage.

No photograph exists yet.

But somewhere in Hollis Springs, people who have never met Locke are already talking about him.

Yesterday we were deciding how to introduce him to the world.

Today the world has started introducing itself.

Chapter Fourteen

Locke

The road sounds different when I know people may be coming because of me.

Before today, engines meant Rachel coming back, one of her friends arriving, or strangers passing close without knowing I existed. Now every car could contain someone who has heard tree man from someone who heard it from someone else. A person can see me without standing in front of me, and words can travel just as far. I wanted people to know I was here. I did not understand that being known could happen without me being part of it.

Rachel sits in one of the folding chairs near the bear with her phone beside her. Every few minutes, her attention drifts toward the corner of the cottage. I have been pretending not to notice.

Working on the bear is easier. I tighten a length of willow along one shoulder, test the crossing with my thumb, and move to the next. The structure is nearly complete. It still needs the outer weave across the chest and one foreleg, but the shape is right. When I touch it, I know where the pressure goes. Nothing about it changes because someone in town has said something untrue.

Wood is simpler than people.

An engine slows somewhere out front. Rachel is on her feet before we know whether it will turn into the drive. I stop working. A few seconds later the sound grows louder again, then fades down the road.

“You know they are going to keep doing that now,” I say.

She looks at me. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“I notice cars.”

“I’ve gathered.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I’m concerned.”

I know that word now. “You use concerned when you don’t want to say afraid.”

Rachel gives me a look. “You’re getting annoyingly good at English.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t praise.”

“I know.”

The almost-smile on her face tells me I understood more than the word. It disappears when another engine approaches and turns onto the gravel drive.

Rachel stands again.