Page 123 of Her Wicker Guardian

She sets down the pricing gun. “That’s me.”

“I am Locke.”

“I know.”

He glances at me, visibly amused. “People know me.”

I grin. “You went viral before you learned how to read. Fame got a head start.”

Mrs. Calhoun comes around the counter more slowly than she normally moves. She isn’t exactly afraid, but she’s careful. Locke stays where he is and lets her decide how close she wants to come.

“I’m glad you came in,” she says.

“Rachel said you sell tools.”

Whatever tension remains in her face breaks. “Yes, Locke. Among other things, I sell tools.”

“Good.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Mrs. Calhoun catches me doing it. “You brought him here for the emotional reunion, obviously.”

“Entirely.”

Locke is already looking longingly toward the tool aisle.

Movement behind the counter draws my attention. A teenage boy pushes through the swinging stockroom door carrying a cardboard box against his chest.

Ben Calhoun sees Locke and stops cold. The color drains out of his face so quickly that even his mother notices.

“Ben,” she says softly.

His throat works once. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look fine. He looks like he might bolt again if somebody moves too fast.

The last time these two saw each other, Locke was holding an axe and Ben dropped my red lamp in the grass before running for his car hard enough to spit gravel halfway to Arkansas.

Locke turns toward him but doesn’t move closer. “You brought Rachel’s lamp.”

Ben blinks. “What?”

“The red lamp.”

His eyes dart to me, then back to Locke. “Yeah.”

“The shade wasn’t broken.”

“No. The replacement was good.”

“Rachel likes it.”

Ben looks at me for confirmation, and I nod. “Very much.”

Some of the rigid fear leaves his shoulders. Not all of it, but enough that he seems to remember the box in his arms when Locke points toward it.

“What is that?”