Page 31 of It's a Wonderful Knife

My pulse fluttered, and I gave a self-conscious laugh. To distract myself from the warm, fuzzy feelings, I looked away, just in time to see Richard coming out of the trees, brushing leaves from his hair. “What is it with that guy and skulking around in the bushes?” I asked softly.

Royce gazed past me. “Maybe we should follow him next time and see what he’s up to.”

“I’m kind of afraid of what we might stumble upon.”

Royce grinned. “Good point. Maybe he’s taking nude nature selfies.”

“Yikes.” I inhaled the fresh air. “Let’s not worry about Richard. We have an exciting day of crafting ahead of us.”

Royce’s cheek curved in a smile. “I appreciate you having a good attitude. I know this isn’t your kind of activity.”

“I actually enjoyed this sort of thing when I was a kid.”

“Did you?”

“Not that my parents encouraged my artistic side, such as it was.”

Royce frowned. “That’s too bad.”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t really any good at the school art projects, but I enjoyed using the glitter and glue. What kid doesn’t?”

“I’ll bet you looked cute covered in glitter.”

“Not sure about that, but I was really into the Christmas ornament thing. I was thinking about this on the way here.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah. I remember naming my ornament. I think all the kids did.”

His lips twitched. “You named it?”

“Yes.” I gave an embarrassed laugh. “I named it Sparkles. It wasn’t a good name, but what can you expect from a seven-year-old?”

He grinned. “Where is this work of art? Do you still have it?”

“Oh, heavens no. My mother threw it in the trash when I brought it home.”

He stopped walking, and he widened his eyes. “Excuse me?”

My face warmed. “Well, in her defense, glitter was flying off of it like a supernova. My mother liked things neat and tidy.”

“Your mother threw your handmade ornament… in thetrash?”

I winced. “It’s no big deal. I mean, what would I have done with it all these years? Moved it from house to house? She saved me the trouble of throwing it away myself.”

“Uh, yeah, what a nice mother to do that for you.”

“Are you telling me you have every silly thing you made as a kid?”

He laughed. “My mom does. She treasured those monstrosities. Mothers are supposed to treasure them. God.” He put his arm around my neck. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Max.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Of course, it had been at the time. I’d been hugely wounded that my mother hadn’t recognized mybrilliance.

“No mother should do that to her child.”

“I should have known better than to bring it home. My teacher was so complimentary; I was dumb enough to think my mom would think it was pretty too. I was swayed by my teacher’s enthusiasm. In hindsight, I now realize teachers are paid to build up their students’ self-esteem. My mother’s reaction was a far more honest one than my teachers’.”

A muscle worked in his cheek. “I try really hard not to say bad things about your parents, Max, but I’m struggling right now.”