Page 59 of In a Word, Yes

“You’re thinking of D.B. Cooper. A fair guess!”

“I feel pretty ignorant right now. H.J.... is he a rapper?”

I laugh. “Ready for it? Horace Justin Andrews was a forestry expert.”

Wyatt angles his head. His eyes hold a touch of amusement, but I sense he’s sincerely intrigued. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Chase is fascinated with trees. A while back, he and I drove over the mountain to the hot springs. Wherever we go, he begs to stop at all the historic markers. Anyway, it turns out there’s this place along the McKenzie River called the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest. Chase did some research, learned all about the guy it was named for, and wrote a paper about him for school.”

“Wait. I happen to know you’re too young to have a child in high school.”

“What? Oh, no, my son is eight. He’s in third grade.”

“They’re writing papers in third grade now?”

I shrug. “Mmm, not so much. But Chase can’t be stopped. His teacher keeps calling it extra credit.”

Wyatt laughs softly.

“So, yeah. That should tell you all you need to know about him.”

“I think I get the picture. So he’s, like,amazingamazing.”

“Now you’ve got it. And now it’s time for me to retrieve Mr. Amazing from school.”

“Ah. So you’re switching into your taxi-driver hat.”

“Exactly. Luckily my neighbor Nina and I share carpool duty, not to mention kid-sitting duty. That’s how I’m able to attend the highly esteemed Thursday night Sweet Reads word nerd society.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Hmm, I bet you’re a great mom.”

I swallow. “I pray so.” I slip my stack of books into my canvas bag. “Welp. Better go fire up the taxi.”

I’m surprised when Wyatt stands to see me off. I didn’t realize such gallantness was still alive and well this side of the Mississippi.

“Here, take the rest of the scone.” Before I can refuse, he’s wrapped up the last two inches of pastry in a napkin.

“You’re pretty good at sharing.”

“I have three sisters.”

“That’s right. Three Sisters. Like our mountains.”

Our mountains.Wyatt and I both call this place home now.

“Any chance you’ll read this time?” he says. “At writers group?”

Will I? Amy Carmichael’s words return. From a more zoomed-out perspective, reading some little bit of something I’ve written really is a silly little nothing. A test, perhaps.The tests are always unexpected things, not great things that can be written up ...WillI allow fear—of failure, of judgment, of not living up to the sparkling standard one might logically expect from the offspring of Carly Montgomery—to rule over me?

“Thinking about it,” I say.

Although, attending tomorrow night also means facing Ian. Did he space out? Or was I ghosted? Either way,ouch.

“By the way,” I say, hoisting my book bag onto my shoulder, “you’re quite the wordsmith. Sam’s always been the one to finesse the ‘Sheriff’s Calls’ and keep them entertaining. But, for the first time, now that you’re the one furnishing the content, he says they’re already fit to print. You do know that readers say that column alone is worth the price of the paper, right?”