Page 30 of In a Word, Yes

For some reason, his eyes hold a mischievous twinkle. “You don’t remember me, do you? Not that you should. Judson Middle School? Much as it pains me to remember it, you annihilated me in the seventh-grade spelling bee.”

“I ... really?”

“Head on a platter.”

“I mean, I do remember a Wyatt. But he was...”Don’t say small and super scrawny.“He wore glasses.”

A corner of Lieutenant Hayes’s mouth quirks. “In my line of work, contact lenses are a better choice.”

“No way. You’re him?” I’m having a hard time fusing the squeaky-voiced kid I remember with this, um,man. But okay, I can kind of see it. “Wow. And you figured this out right away?”

“Not quite. Not until Sam Peabody mentioned your name. It’shard to forget someone named after a famous author, even with theadditionof glasses.”

After a pause, I say, “I’m impressed. There aren’t a lot of men who could tell you who wroteAnne of Green Gables.”

“I have three sisters. And then, of course, Mrs. Tapiz brought you and your literary namesake to the whole class’s attention.”

I haven’t thought about my beloved English teacher in forever. “Mrs. Tapiz was the best!” Even if she did shine attention on me too often for my introverted heart. “Actually, though, I was named after my grandmother on my mom’s side. Lucia Maria. She was first-generation Italian.”

“Oh, man. I always secretly wished I’d been born into an Italian family. The food!”

“Right?” My eyes can’t help but go dreamy. “Nana was such a great cook. For my birthday she always made this decadent three-layer tiramisu cake.” At least, up until I skipped town, a thought that turns the memory of creamy mascarpone and chocolate bitter on my tongue.

If I have one serious regret—and let’s face it, I have several—it’s that when I erected a literal mountain range between me and Devin, I also put all those high-elevation miles between me and my grandmother.

“Anyway,” I say, “that’s how I became L.M. Montgomery—the obscure one.”

For a moment I stare blankly at my notebook, letting this small-world coincidence settle. “Huh. Judson Middle School,” I muse aloud with a slow shake of my head. “We must have gone to different high schools?”

“Oh, I...” The lieutenant drops his eyes. “No. We moved.” Something tells me there’s a story there. Possibly not a happy one. Too soon to say.

I lift my pen high. “We should probably get back to the interview.”

“Right.”

I do some fast note-taking as Lieutenant Hayes explains howhe came to be in this kind of work. “My father was in law enforcement, and his father before him,” he says.

We cover his time as a reserve officer while finishing up his degree at U-Dub, the University of Washington, and his move from deputy to detective and eventually to lieutenant.

Meanwhile, genuine curiosity kicks in. “May I ask, what made your family leave Oregon?”

Lieutenant Hayes rubs the back of his neck. “That’s a little complicated. I’m not sure if—”

“It’s alright. We don’t need to go there.”

“Guess I’d rather talk about why I moved to Charity Falls.”

I smile. “Works for me.”

“Thank you. The opportunity came to move closer to family. My mom’s been living here in town for quite a few years—well, ever since my dad passed. My oldest sister lives nearby, and when she started popping out grandkids, Mom followed. So, for me, that was a definite draw. Also, the chance to live and work in a place like this is...” He makes a sweeping gesture toward his window, where an opening between the evergreens offers a peekaboo view of Black Butte, its wide, sloping shoulders darkly treed. It’s such a clear day that, squinting, even I can make out the timber lookout tower on the butte’s rounded peak. From this distance it appears to be fashioned out of toothpicks.

Fun fact—according to my son, the beloved landmark is an extinct stratovolcano. A cinder cone. Also, a popular hike rewarded by 360-degree views of our sumptuous slice of creation.

So I hear, anyway. But maybe someday ...

“Well, it’s not a bad place to settle,” Lieutenant Hayes finishes.

“‘A recreational paradise.’” It’s a struggle not to say this dryly due to the knot of resentment forming in my belly. There must be something the matter with me, forever cloistered indoors while people come from all over to enjoy the glories of this place.