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The pants are not interesting. Laura in them is.

It also means waiting for Locke. Rachel said they would come after lunch. I know lunch. I know after. The problem is that after contains too much time.

“Soon?” I ask when Laura comes downstairs with an empty laundry basket.

She leaves it beside the stairs. “You asked me that twelve minutes ago.”

“Twelve minutes is long.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It is when waiting.”

Laura laughs. “Fair point.”

Learning the names for time has not made it move any faster. The painting kit is still on the dining table where I left it yesterday. I have opened the box twice this morning because I like the little pots of color. Both times I closed it again. Janet explained what the numbers mean, and I understand enough to begin, but Locke is coming and nothing on the table is as interesting as that.

Laura goes into the kitchen for water. By the time she fills her glass, I am standing on the other side of the counter.

“Soon?”

She points the glass at me. “If I tell you Rachel is bringing him at one and teach you how to read a clock, are you going to spend the next forty minutes staring at it?”

I consider this. “Yes.”

“I appreciate the honesty.”

She pours another glass and slides it toward me. I drink while she leans against the counter with her own glass.

“You’ve been waiting for Locke since you woke up. What are you hoping he can tell you?”

I gesture toward my chest. “This.”

Laura turns her glass once between both hands before answering. The pause is longer than I want it to be. Finally, she says, “He may know more than we do.”

“He is a Wicker Man.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean he understands everything about what he is.”

I think about that. “He knows himself.”

“He does,” she says. “That’s different.”

I do not see why it would be different. He has been alive for more than a year. That’s a long time. Yesterday lasted long enough for me to learn breakfast, toast, coffee, several shirts, four women, a paint kit, and the fact that Laura has strong opinions about cabinet doors. Locke has had an entire year.

“He knows more,” I say.

“That I’ll give you.”

The doorbell finally rings while I am at the dining table turning one of the paint pots between my fingers. I put it down so quickly that it nearly rolls off the table.

Laura comes out of the kitchen. “That should be them.”

I reach the front door first and put my hand near the knob, then stop. I know what the bell means. Someone is outside. Someone inside opens the door. What I do not know is whether I am supposed to open a door that belongs to Laura. She comes up beside me.

“You can answer it.”

I open the door. Rachel stands on the porch with a man, and everything I planned to say leaves me. He is made like me.