Page 7 of Bone Collector’s Mate

“Okay. Let’s go find your home and your glasses. I’m sure they are close.”

He took my hand, and my skin tingled. It had been so long since I’d been touched, it felt foreign. Weird. His pudgy, sweaty fingers clung to me. “Okay. My house has a tangerine tree and a pecan tree in the front.”

“What else can you tell me about your home?”

“It’s green with white things on the side of the windows. What do you call those?”

“Shutters,” I answered. “They are called shutters. I know where you live, but let’s find your glasses on the way. Do you know where you last had them?”

“There was a goat in your backyard, and it scared me. I backed up into a tree, and they fell off, but I was scared, so I ran. Am I in trouble?”

I kneeled and squeezed his hand. The instinct to protect him was strong. “You are not in trouble. Everyone gets lost now and again, and yesterday I lost my book three times.”

He giggled and threw his head back. “Three times? That’s silly.”

“It is silly. Let’s find those ga-lasses.” The way he said it was so darned cute. “And then your papa? Your mama?”

“My papa. I got one papa, and he is the best papa ever.”

“Good. Then he should be easy to find.”