Page 111 of In a Word, Yes

Wyatt leads me to a corner where he’s grouped a trio of plants of varying heights and textures.

“This looks great,” I say.

“Really?” Wyatt looks eager to please me.

“Really. It’s so much less sterile.”

“Except, look how this spiky one is turning to mush.”

“Ah. That spiky one is a zebra. A zebracactus.”

Understanding dawns in his features. “That might be the issue.”

“You could probably get away with watering her once a month.”

“Should I, like, repot her?” He turns to face me. Stuffs his hands in his front pockets. “Or should I ... leave her alone?”

Are we still talking about plants?

I consider my answer carefully. “Maybe she only needs some time to recover.”

Wyatt swallows. “So, what you’re saying is I gave her too much attention too soon.”

“Not necessarily. I’m sure she knows you have her best interests at heart.”

“So ... you ... think eventually she’ll bounce back?”

And just like that, bright flecks reappear in his eyes. Eyes that hold all things autumnal. A spectrum of hues. The curl of chimney smoke. Storms. Spices. Sonnets.

“She probably already is.”

Wyatt’s gaze moves to my lips. A beat passes, and then—

Outside, there’s some kind of commotion building. Many voices. Wyatt straightens, resumes his professional demeanor.

The door opens, and he relaxes. Realization sets in for both of us. The Charity Falls sheriff’s substation is about to entertain another herd of guests.

This herd, entirely made up of elementary-age kids in Halloween costumes.

With every princess, martial artist, and diva who tumbles inside, Wyatt’s eyes grow wider.

“I sure hope you have a whole lot of candy hiding somewhere,” I say.

Wyatt jerks a nod at the desk behind us.

I grab the large orange plastic bowl filled with fun-sized candy bars and hand it to him.

Over the rabble a voice rings out. “Line up, kids!” It’s Mrs. De Los Santos!

“Lieutenant Mister Wyatt!” Out of the promenade bursts my son. He marches straight up to Wyatt, looking exceptionally smart in tweed jacket and pine-green tie, if you ask me.

His teacher rushes forward. “Excuse us, Officer.” She turns to address my son in a honeyed voice. “Show me your patience, Chase. I know it’s in there.”

“It’s all good,” Wyatt says. “Chase and I are well acquainted. Great to see you’re feeling better, buddy. Or, wait, no. You must be ... let me see ... forestry expert H.J. Andrews?” He offers Chase his hand to shake. “And who have you brought with you today?”

“Hey!” from the back of the class a half-pint WWE fighter, complete with muscle shirt and wild yellow wig, yells at Wyatt. “Do you actuallyknowhim?”

“Do I know Chase Montgomery? Are you kidding? Chase and I are good buds. In fact, he’s one of my favorite people in the whole world.” Wyatt pats Chase on the shoulder.