Page 22 of Howl Will I Know

Alice catches me looking, and a smile curves her mouth. “People surprise you here.”

I think of a scarred hand catching my coffee before it fell. “I’ve noticed.”

I buy two more novels despite Alice attempting to give me one of those for free as well, and tuck them into my bag.

When I step back onto Witchhazel Way, the street feels different somehow. More familiar. Not home yet, but maybe beginning to be.

I start toward the hardware store, then stop after three steps. Hewit is standing across the street outside the Cartographorium. He’s talking to the gray-haired man in the doorway, which appears to involve one nod from each of them and no visible enthusiasm.

Then Hewit turns, and his eyes find mine. For a second, we just look at each other through the flow of people between us. His gaze drops to the book sticking out of my bag, where the wolf on the cover is clearly visible.

Oops.

Hewit closes his eyes briefly, as if asking some higher power for patience. When he opens them again, I’m still there.

And judging by the look he gives me, this is a problem.

Chapter 7

Hewit

I leave the house at six-forty every morning, reach the diner before seven, eat breakfast, and head toward whatever job is waiting for me. I’ve done some version of the same thing for years.

But this morning, I slow down outside number fourteen.

Nora’s kitchen light is on, and I catch the brief movement of her crossing behind the window before I force myself to climb into my truck. She’s been here for a week, and somehow, I’m now measuring the morning by whether her light is on.

Leaving the diner, I grab my toolkit from the truck, deciding to walk to today’s job. I glance through Lucky Bean’s window without thinking as I pass, seeing Melinda behind the counter serving two customers. The table by the front window is empty.

I keep walking.

Three steps later, I realize I was looking for Nora.

The repair job is at the old community hall this morning. Two window frames have swollen after several days of rain, one of the exterior doors isn’t closing properly, and somebody has managed to crack a section of trim high enough up the wall that nobody will admit how it happened.

It takes me most of the morning. By midday, I’ve planed the door, reset one hinge, repaired the trim, and discovered that the second window doesn’t stick because of damp. It sticks because someone painted it shut.

I’m standing on a ladder with a scraper in one hand when my phone buzzes. I ignore it, but it buzzes again. Then a third time.

I climb down because only three people in town text me repeatedly, and two of them usually want me to repair something.

Melinda: Your neighbor just went into the market. She bought a plant the size of a toddler.

I stare at the message.

Me: Why are you telling me?

Three dots appear immediately.

Melinda: No reason. Absolutely none. She also has 4 large grocery bags. Oops, make that 3. RIP tomatoes.

I put the phone back in my pocket. Not my problem. The town is infested with helpful people. It’s its worst quality.

I return to the window. The scraper slips under a line of old paint. I work for another two minutes before realizing I’ve stripped twice as much paint as necessary and force myself to stop.

The wolf is alert. Present in a way he wasn’t a week ago, as if part of him has been permanently tuned to a frequency only Nora uses.

“She has groceries and two functioning arms,” I say to no one. “She moved here by herself. Presumably she can get groceries and a plant into a house.”