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I hesitate at first, but eventually I sit cross-legged a few feet from him and pick through the bucket until I find a pale yellow stub. I test it on the edge of the pavement. The texture is gritty and dry.

I start with a curved line. Then another. A spiral, tight and even. I fill in the shapes slowly, then add leaves, trailing lines, little details that make it feel complete. I don’t speak while I work. Finn doesn’t either.

The breeze picks up. The sun feels warm on my back and I feel myself starting to relax.

When I glance up, Mae is watching me. She’s stopped near the edge of the pavement, one foot on the ground, the other resting on her pedal. She stares with those intense eyes that usually avoid mine.

I offer her a small smile. Then, finally, she speaks.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The tears are already building before I know what’s happening. My hands fall to the pavement, and I push myself up on unsteady legs. I close the space between us and kneel in the dirt at her feet. My arms go around her little body. She stiffens for a second. Then she leans forward and rests her chin on my shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

Mae doesn’t say anything. But she doesn’t pull away either.

At dinner that night, Mae barely speaks, and I’m so stuck in my head I’m not much of a conversationalist either. Finn fills most of the silence with random topics.

He talks about a neighbor who once tried to grow banana trees in a greenhouse behind his garage. He tells us about a job he had on a fishing boat and how after cleaning fish all day long he still can’t eat fish to this day. He even throws in a terrible knock-knock joke that makes Mae roll her eyes, though I catch the small smile she tries to hide behind her hand.

I try to follow. I really do. But my mind won’t stay focused.

Boone and Jonah didn’t come home. I’ve seen Finn check his phone a few times, but I know no calls have come in. And whatever updates Finn has received, he hasn’t shared.

He says not to worry, that they’re just out handling things, but that doesn’t make the guilt any easier to carry. I keep checking the clock even though neither of us knows what time they’ll be back. I look outside but see nothing out there but trees and a cloudy gray sky.

“Do you like these noodles?” Finn asks Mae as he slides another helping onto her plate. “Or should I have gone with the spiral ones?”

Mae shrugs but doesn’t look up. “These are fine.”

“Just fine?” he teases.

She chews slowly, then says, “Better than Boone’s.”

I smile at that, and Finn catches my eye and winks.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” he says to me.

“I’m eating,” I answer. I lift my fork and take another bite of the noodles I’ve been pushing around my plate. They’re buttery and well-seasoned, but I can’t taste much of anything.

Mae sits across from me, her legs swinging beneath the table. She watches both of us like she might join in on the conversation again.

She hasn’t suddenly become a chatterbox, but she is starting to talk more—not just around me, but to me. I’m trying my best to be casual about it and pretend it hasn’t lit me up from the inside. I’m worried that if she knows how happy it makes me, she’ll stop. Which I know is probably silly.

I manage to finish about half of what’s on my plate. Finn gets up once to refill our water glasses, then again to bring out a dish of apple slices he cut earlier. Mae eats those, too, dunking each one into the tiny cup of peanut butter he sets beside her.

“You want story time tonight?” Finn asks her as he clears his plate.

Mae nods. “Can I pick?”

“You always pick.”

“But you always veto.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” she says flatly. “You said no to the pirate book last time.”