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His relief is immediate. He comes around the table and stands beside me, passing the phone to his mother as he moves. She takes the picture from her seat. The whole thing takes only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” he says when it’s done.

“You’re welcome.” He heads back to his table, and Laura takes another bite of her taco before speaking.

“You didn’t mind?”

“No.”

“People asking for pictures?”

“I have only been asked once.”

“You know what I mean.”

I do. “Locke doesn’t like it?”

“He’s better with it now. But no, especially at first. Too many people wanted pieces of him. Pictures, interviews, answers, proof. Sometimes without asking.” I think about the phone hanging at the boy’s side while he waited.

“He asked.”

“Yes.”

“So I could say no.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t want to.”

Laura nods and returns to her taco. She doesn’t tell me what Locke would have done or suggest that I should feel the same way he does.

I finish all three tacos, then half of one of hers. Yuliana brings something she calls a concha from the bakery case and says I cannot leave without trying it, which seems like an excellent rule.

Laura disagrees. “At this rate, I’m going to have to prune you before dinner.”

I eat it anyway. On the way home, I put The Hu back on.

Laura does not argue. The willow waits until late afternoon.

Laura changes into soft pants and a shirt that hangs off one shoulder, then settles on the sofa with a book while I spread the damp rods across the floor near the coffee table. When I pick up the piece I started at Locke’s workshop, one side is still noticeably wider than the other.

I consider leaving it crooked. It’s still a mat, even if one side is wider than the other.

Then I remember Locke saying tension. I undo most of what I made and start over.

Laura lowers her book. “That bad?”

“It was wrong.”

“I thought it was a mat.”

“It was a bad mat.”

She looks down at it. “Do mats have standards?”

“I do.”

Laura goes back to reading while I straighten the first strands and begin again. The next crossing slips when I pull too hard, dragging two others out of alignment with it. My fingers tighten around the wet willow before I make myself loosen them and undo the damage.