Page 76 of Smoke Signals

“Maybe.”

We stand there quietly for a long moment before he bumps my shoulder again.

“Well,” he says, forcing a small smile. “If you move out to the suburbs I guess I’ll have to drive farther to see you.”

I reach over and take his hand. He squeezes back automatically.

28

HARTLEY

The park feels quieter when we leave than it did when we arrived, though I know that’s probably just my head trying to make space for everything Stellan said. The path curves away from the lake and back toward the parking lot. Gravel crunches under our shoes. The wind skims the water behind us and carries the sound of someone laughing across the field.

Stellan walks beside me. His stride stays steady, shoulders loose, hands swinging lightly at his sides. I watch the movement out of the corner of my eye while I try to match his pace. Every few seconds my brain circles back to the same sentence.

I’ve been looking at houses.

Stellan glances over when he catches me staring. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer automatically, forcing my voice to sound normal.

The parking lot comes into view through the trees. Cars sit scattered across the asphalt, sunlight reflecting off windshields in bright flashes. Stellan unlocks his truck with a quick click of the key fob and the lights blink once.

Since I walked here, I slide into the passenger seat while he walks around the front of the truck. My hands rest in my lap while I watch him through the windshield. The sleeves of his shirt pull tight across his arms when he opens the driver’s door.

He climbs in and starts the engine. The truck idles for a second before he pulls out of the lot.

Neither of us says anything right away.

I watch his hands on the steering wheel. Strong fingers, short nails, a small scar near his thumb that I noticed weeks ago when he helped Alaska with a puzzle. His grip stays loose, confident, the same way he drives every time we go somewhere together.

My brain keeps replaying the conversation anyway.

Closer to my parents.

Maybe a yard.

Stellan reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, his touch is warm, casual, familiar.

I force myself to relax against the seat.

“School pickup is in fifteen minutes,” he says. “We should make it.”

“Yeah,” I reply.

The drive takes less than ten minutes. The building comes into view at the end of the street, bright murals painted across the brick walls, cartoon animals smiling across the windows.

Kids run across the playground behind the fence. Stellan parks along the curb and shuts off the engine.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

We walk up the path together and push through the front doors. Alaska spots us before we even make it halfway across the room. Her whole face lights up. She drops the plastic dinosaur she was holding and runs toward us with fox trailing behind her like a small red shadow.

I crouch down just in time for her to crash into me. Her arms wrap around my neck. Stellan kneels beside us and she reaches for him too, grabbing his sleeve and waving in quick excited movements.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly.