Page 93 of Her Wicker Guardian

He chews again as if testing the explanation. “Crunch.”

“Yes.”

He swallows and immediately looks down at the bowl.

“Well?”

Locke takes another piece.

“I’m going to assume that means you like it.”

“Yes.”

“What does it taste like?”

He pauses with the second piece halfway to his mouth.

I realize almost immediately that I’ve asked a ridiculous question. He has nothing to compare it to. No sweet or salty, no buttery or bitter, no catalog of flavors accumulated over a lifetime.

Locke seems to arrive at the same problem from the other direction.

“Popcorn.”

“Excellent answer. Butter and salt.” I point to the bowl. “That’s what you’re tasting.”

He eats the second piece, considering it. “Butter. Salt.”

“Exactly.”

By the fourth piece, he has stopped examining each one before putting it in his mouth.

I hand him the remote. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Press the triangle.”

He does, and the movie starts again.

For a while, the popcorn serves exactly the purpose I intended. It sits between us, occupying the cushion where I’d been getting progressively closer to Locke, and every few minutes one of us reaches into the bowl.

The difference is that Locke has discovered food.

He keeps watching the movie, but his hand returns to the popcorn with increasing frequency. Once, he gets three pieces at once and puts all of them into his mouth.

I glance over.

He looks back at me while chewing.

“Getting ambitious.”

He swallows. “Three is better.”

“That’s how it starts.”

“What starts?”

I look at the handful he’s already reaching for. “Never mind.”