Oh, will I, now? I’m not exactly sure what to make of this. His tone is officious. He’s channeling that schoolmaster persona but hard. I’m about to show him how I feel about remedial training—with a well-aimed downward dog—when Henry adds:
“I’ll send another update on Friday.” He taps the phone’s screen and tucks it away before giving me a full-on grin, one with dimples and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That should keep Botten off my back.”
“Are there really pockets of discontent and fissures in the cemetery?”
“None that I detected. However, it lets us roam King’s End and stream some innocuous data to headquarters. I’d like to break a few of your mother’s rules. I have a good sense of the housing development, so I’d like to explore other areas.”
“How did the fence look this morning?”
“Intact.”
“Huh.” I consider that. After yesterday, I was planning an all-day field trip, certain I’d find the fence shredded.
“Out of the ordinary, then?”
“I repair the fence nearly every day.”
“Even in the winter?”
I nod. Yes, there’s nothing like working with metal in sub-zero windchills.
“That sounds miserable,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “And something to look into, but for today, I thought you could show me the silo or perhaps the covered bridge.”
“Silo, yes, but I’m not sure where the bridge is.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Apparently, I wandered there when I was four and almost fell into the river. I don’t remember that part, but I have it in my head that I was looking for my father.” That’s the extent of my memories, and the Sight has declined to show me anything about that day. “I sometimes think my mother left that one on the list because it was so … so…”
“Terrifying,” Henry supplies.
I exhale and nod. Even after all these years, I hate having scared my mother like that.
“Perhaps we’ll start at the silo, then,” he says, “and figure out where the bridge might be later. Someone in King’s End must know, right?”
I give him a blank look; I know I do, because a slight frown creases his brow.
“Don’t they?” he prompts. Again, he’s curious, not accusatory. He genuinely wants to know what’s going on in King’s End. For that matter, so do I.
“I don’t know.” I feel so stupid when it comes to my own backyard. How can I not know these things? “I’m sorry. It’s just that King’s End is?—”
“Different. Yes, I’m starting to understand that. In any case, we can make a plan over breakfast. Blueberry pancakes?”
“You don’t?—”
“Blueberry pancakes it is.”
I’m about to protest, again, when Matilda’s refrain of Honey, let him whispers through my mind.
Instead, I say, “Thank you.”
He rubs his hands together as if he simply can’t wait to tackle this next chore. “Excellent.”
He takes the stairs two at a time. He’s full of boundless energy, and it strikes me that this is a much different man than the one I met on the green a mere few days ago.
It strikes me that I’m different, too. That, in some way, he’s helping me stitch my life back together. I send out a wave of gratitude and get one in return—from my umbrella. She’s been reunited with Henry’s. Now that they’re alone? She’s about to commence with some serious canoodling.
Shameless thing.
