Page 105

Currently, I was sitting on a bench swing suspended from the giant, gnarled branch of an ancient oak tree that had to predate the US government. It was at the far back edge of the expansive, rolling backyard. The trees ended a few yards from the swing, becoming a sloped drop-off to the waters of the Inside Passage. There was a dock farther down, and there was a small swarm of kids ranging from eight or ten to teenagers jumping off the dock, pushing each other off, splashing in the water, throwing water balloons—while in the water?—and firing Super Soakers. I watched as a behemoth young man who had to be one of Baxter's sons launched himself off the dock, did a somersault into a swan dive bellyflop, nearly crushing a much younger, smaller cousin in the process.

"KIERAN BADD!" I heard a male voice shout—Baxter, judging by the sheer volume. "LOOK WHERE YOU'RE LEAPING, Y'BIG DUMB OAF!"

Jesus. He saw that from across the property? Nothing gets past anyone around here, huh?

Kieran was the one who'd been spotted in company with my sister. I watched as he swam back to the dock, pausing to check in on the much younger and far smaller cousin he'd nearly flattened, a girl of maybe thirteen or so. She nodded, wiping water off her face with one hand, and then wrapped an arm around Kieran's waist in a side hug.

All was well there, apparently.

And the next time Kieran threw himself off the dock in a shockingly athletic leap—especially for a guy who had to clear two hundred pounds on a light day—he made sure to do so well away from anyone else.

I felt a stare on me and turned my attention to the owner—Harry. She was, obviously, short, being a child of…um…maybe five years old? Old enough to walk around on her own and eat solid food and speak fairly clearly, but I dunno for sure—I don't do kids. She had hair somewhere between auburn and dark blond, held back from her face by a pink headband with a round bow the size of my hand. She was wearing pink and purple polka dot leggings that were ripped and muddy at the knees, a violently yellow rain slicker—in the summer heat, on a clear, sunny day—and had a little white parasol-style umbrella that she alternately used as a magic wand, a gun, a sword, and a hey-you-adult-pick-me-up poker.

She stood just outside the range of the swing's parabola as I lazily toed myself back and forth. "I don't know you." Her voice held a note of accusation.

"I'm here with your cousin Jax."

"He got eated by a bear the size of a dinosaur. But then he punched it to death."

I blinked at her. "That's…not entirely accurate."

"Huh?"

"You've got a few details wrong."

"You talk weird. I'm just little."

"He didn’t get eaten by the bear, and he didn’t kill it. Or punch it."

"How do you know?" Definitely accusatory.

“Because I was there? The bear attacked me first. He was defending me."

"Nuh uh."

"Um." I looked around for someone who could translate this into little kid for me, but it seemed I was on my own; I saw a woman who may or may not be this little girl's mother scan the yard from the edge of the house's massive, multi-tiered deck, spot me and Harry, and then sit back down. Apparently, locating her and determining that she wasn’t in immediate danger of jumping into the water unattended was all that was required?

"I actually was there, in fact. Ask Jax."

"Jax is beating the pants off the other boys in Goldeneye. It's very serious." So, how old was she? This sounded fully adult, but seconds ago she was “just little?” My understanding of her age was more confused every time she spoke.

"Okay, well I swear to you it's true."

She stared at me, and I had the distinct impression that I was being weighed and measured, as if she were both judge and psychopomp. "You stop swinging. I gonna get up." That was very clearly a command from a little girl used to being listened to.

I dragged my heel to stop the swing, then braced both feet so it wouldn’t move around while she latched both chubby little hands onto the back of the seat bottom and hauled herself up with a remarkable show of upper-body strength. Once up on the bench, she stood up, wobbling the whole bench, took a careful, tottering step toward me, and then plopped her entire weight down on my lap without warning.

"Um." I held both arms out helplessly, unsure how to proceed with this small, strange, precocious little human perched on my lap. "Hi?"

"Story."

"I'm sorry?"

"Wha'for?"

"No, I mean…like, excuse me."

"Didja do a tootie?"