It was barely big enough for the two of them, so whenever Gin tagged along, they ended up sitting on each other in order to squeeze in. Jordan was usually the one who got sat on, because he was bigger than the girls.

  Holly pushed aside the towel that hung over the opening and yelped as something skittered out. Jordan jumped so high he almost landed in the nearest tree.

  A raccoon raced across the damp leaves and pine needles with a plastic package of Twinkies in his front paws.

  “Hey!” Jordan shouted. “Those are ours!”

  Holly laughed as the furry thief disappeared behind a tree. “I guess we’re not the only ones who like Twinkies.”

  “They’ll eat anything. They’re scavengers. They get into the trash cans behind the diner and drag stuff out all the time. Mom hates them ’cause of the mess they make.”

  “We’re scavengers too.” Holly held up the dirt-crusted box they had found and grinned before ducking into the fort.

  Jordan followed, plopping onto the damp ground beside her. When they made their fort, they forgot to cut out windows, and it was dark inside. Holly might not be afraid of the dark—she wasn’t scared of much—but it felt like a dungeon to Jordan. He grabbed the flashlight from his bag and clicked it on.

  Holly settled the box on her crossed legs. “Did you know they call flashlights torches in Britain? Dad read about it in an article.”

  Jordan bounced the beam around the small space. “I think that sounds a lot cooler than flashlight. Like you’re about to step into a castle.”

  “That would be awesome. We should build a moat around our fort and hang a flag. Gin and I could paint it.”

  “Gin would glue sprinkles to it.”

  They both laughed at that. Gin was convinced sprinkles were a form of fairy dust, and she would sprinkle them on everything if she could get away with it. She once dusted a turtle with sprinkles to see if he could fly. Thankfully, when his fairy wings failed him, he landed in a pile of hay.

  “I could be a knight,” Holly said.

  “You can’t be a knight. You’re a girl.”

  Holly straightened her back, the same way she had when he called her pretty. “So?”

  “Girls are always the princess trapped in the tower, and men are the knights riding in to fight the dragon and rescue them.”

  “I don’t like that story, and no bully’s locking me up in a tower. Girls can be heroes too.” She stared at him with narrowed eyes, silently daring him to disagree.

  He had the sense not to. “Okay.”

  A spider swung down from the ceiling into the beam of light in front of his face, and he sucked in a breath, leaning back.

  When he moved to swat it away, Holly grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hurt him. He’s probably scared too.”

  Jordan jerked his wrist from her fingers. “Too? I’m not scared.”

  “You’re always scared.”

  “I can be brave if there’s a good reason.”

  “Like what?”

  He leaned farther away from the twitching bundle of legs. “I don’t know, but I could be brave if I had to. If it was important.”

  “I think saving a life is a good reason to be brave, even if it’s just a spider.” Holly picked up a leaf and held it under the little creature, encouraging him to crawl back up the strand of web.

  Jordan stared up at the spider on the ceiling as he thought about that. Holly always made him think about things in a new way, and she made him want to be as brave as she was. If he practiced being brave, like he practiced tossing a football, it might get easier. Maybe then Dad would be proud of him.

  Holly resettled the box on her lap and brushed the hair from her face. “What do you think is in it?”

  Jordan angled the beam of light toward her lap. “I don’t know. Money?”

  “That’s boring. I think it’s something amazing. Like . . . dreams.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You can’t put dreams in a box, Holly.”

  “Says who?”

  “I don’t know. Someone. Dreams are in your head. They can’t come out.”

  “Yes they can. I dreamed of having a friend other than my sister and . . .” She waved her hands toward him. “Poof.”

  The start of their friendship had been more of a whack than a poof. He’d been teasing her about her bright orange pigtails, so she whacked him in the face with the tree branch she’d been pretending was a walking stick. Even though she broke his nose, Dad made him walk to her house and apologize for teasing her. The next school day, she plopped down at his lonely corner of the lunch table, offered him one of her Swiss rolls, and decided they were going to be friends.

  That was three years ago.

  Having a friend had been one of his dreams, too, and even though Holly scared him at first, he accepted her offer of friendship. Not many people wanted to hang out with the sheriff’s son. If not for Holly and Gin, he would still be sitting alone at lunch, tossing rocks over the playground fence at recess.

  “I think it’s pirate treasure,” Holly said, the contents of the box rattling as she turned it upside down and sideways.

  “Why would pirates bury their treasure in Kansas?”

  “Maybe they got lost.”

  “They got really lost then, ’cause there’s no ocean near Kansas.”

  Holly frowned. “What about the specific ocean?”

  “Pacific, and it’s really far away.”

  “Oh.”

  Holly loved reading, but she still wasn’t very book smart. She was always getting in trouble for daydreaming during class instead of paying attention to history and geography. Ms. Carter, their teacher, told her she needed focus if she was ever going to learn anything useful in life.

  But Jordan didn’t mind that Holly didn’t understand everything he did. She was fun, she liked spending time with him, and she never made him feel like he wasn’t good enough.

  “I think you should open it.” She took his flashlight and passed him the box.

  “Why me?”

  “Because it’ll make you happy.”

  Holly was always trying to cheer him up when he had a bad day. This morning hadn’t started out so well with Dad, but it was getting better.

  Excited to see what was inside the box, Jordan tried to pop open the lid, but it didn’t move. He tugged at the latch with no luck, then ran his fingers all around the seam, trying to find a lock. There was nothing that should be keeping it shut.

  He frowned. “It’s stuck.”

  “Here, try this.” Holly handed him a stick.

  Jordan stared at it doubtfully. A stick wasn’t going to be stronger than metal. But he tried to wiggle the sharp end into the seam. The stick snapped.

  “It could be crusted shut, like the ketchup bottle in the fridge,” Holly said. “We could use one of the garden shovels to open it.”

  “Not crusted shut. Rusted shut,” Jordan said, realizing what she meant. That was what the orangey-looking stuff was on the outside of the box. It was all over his hands now.

  He grabbed one of the spades from his bag, set the box on the ground, and tried to wiggle the sharp tip of the tool into position, but it was too thick.

  He sat up with a sigh. “It won’t work.”

  “Oma probably has something that can open it, and I’m ready for cookies anyway. Come on.” Holly snagged the box and crawled out of the fort.

  Jordan zipped up his backpack and shifted onto his knees to follow, but the spider swung back down in front of his face. He almost swatted it without thinking, but caught himself.

  Saving a life is brave.

  Grabbing a leaf from the ground, he nudged the spider back up the silky string to its web on the ceiling the way Holly had.

  “Don’t jump on my head when I crawl out,” he told it, and then he scrambled out of the fort after his best friend.

  Chapter Three

  Stony Brooke was a small town surrounded by farms, fields, and trees. Everything important was in the center—the school, the bookstore, the diner. Oma’s Inn was only one street over from Main Street.

  The three-story mansion with a wraparound porch sat on a corner. It was painted in several shades of pink, with lace curtains hanging in every window.

  The colors were too girly, in Jordan’s opinion—blue would be better—but this place was his home away from home. Oma never made him feel like he was in the way or unimportant. Even if she did usually put him to work cleaning or pulling weeds from the flower bed, it was better than being alone.

  A rocking chair creaked on the porch as Jordan and Holly climbed the steps, and they found a man gliding back and forth in one of the wooden chairs.

  His feathery gray hair was windblown from the storm rolling in, and his jaw was speckled with dark hair.

  “Hi, Mr. Potter,” Jordan said.

  The man dragged his tear-filled eyes from something in the distance, sadness pulling at his lined face. He stared in their direction blankly, almost as if they weren’t there, before lifting his empty mug in greeting. “Hello.”

  Jordan stepped forward. “Do you want some more coffee? I can get you some.”

  Oma made sure every guest knew they were welcome to the kitchen, but some people who stayed here were so heartbroken it seemed hard for them to breathe. Getting up to refill their own drink wasn’t something they thought about. Jordan hoped he would never have to feel that sad.

  Mr. Potter blinked into his mug, as if surprised by its emptiness. “I suppose . . . I would appreciate a refill.”

  Jordan took the mug from him and followed Holly into the Inn. The grandfather clock in the front room donged the hour as they made their way to the kitchen.

  Why was it called a grandfather clock and not a grandmother clock? Jordan wondered. Would that make all the littler, newer clocks grandchild clocks?

  Holly set the treasure box on the oval table that had been squeezed into the center of the small kitchen. “Why do you think that man was crying?”

  The heavy coffee pot wobbled as Jordan lifted it from the burner and tipped it to refill the mug. “Oma said his daughter died, and he’s here for the funeral and to pack up her stuff.”

  Holly’s eyes widened. “Died?”

  “Yeah.”

  Holly had never lost any members of her small family, so it was hard for her to understand. It had been hard for him, too, before Aunt Mae died. He always liked Aunt Mae and the silly way she turned normal things into songs. She’d been a real-life musical.

  “We should give him marshmallow hot chocolate instead of coffee. That always makes me feel better,” Holly said.

  “He’s an old person, Holly. They like boring stuff like coffee and plain bagels. They don’t like marshmallows or hot chocolate.”

  “Well, when I’m an old person, I’ll still like them.” She quirked her lips to one side in thought and then reached for the jar on the counter. “We should give him a cookie.”

  “You gotta wash your hands before you touch the cookies.”

  “Oh.” Holly studied her dirt-caked nails, then climbed onto the step stool Oma kept tucked under the kitchen table for little guests. Jordan was big enough now that he only needed it for the upper cabinets, but Holly and Gin were small for their age. They needed it for everything.

  When Holly rinsed her hands and turned the faucet off, Jordan sighed. “You gotta use soap if you’re gonna touch someone else’s food.”

  Holly scowled and then turned the faucet back on.

  She didn’t know much about being clean around food, but Jordan spent a lot of time in kitchens. At the diner with his mom and here with Oma. He even had his own apron with his name on it.

  “Do you think that man will be sad forever?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  She dried her hands on a towel by the sink and then grabbed a plate and cookie. “Maybe he just needs some cheer.” She untwisted the tie on the bag of marshmallows and placed one marshmallow on top of the cookie.

  “He’s not gonna want the marshmallow, Holly.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  They filed out of the kitchen, and Holly opened the door for him before following him out onto the porch.

  “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Potter,” Jordan said, holding it out to the man handle-first, even though the mug was hot against his fingers.

  The old man drew in a surprised breath and looked at them, as though he hadn’t heard their voices or the tap of the wooden screen door as it closed behind them. “Oh, that’s . . .” He blinked wet eyelashes as he took the mug. “Thank you.”

  He set the coffee on the side table and settled back into silence. Jordan tried to think of something to say to make him feel better, but he didn’t know what would help.

  Holly hopped into the rocking chair next to Mr. Potter, feet sticking off the end, and held the plate out to him. “Marshmallows make me feel better when I’m sad. You should try one.”

  The older man’s eyebrows pressed closer together. “Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Chocolate helps, too, but marshmallows are the best.” She nudged the plate toward him.

  He took the marshmallow and popped it into his mouth, chewing. “You’re right, that does help.”

  “The cookie’s for you too.”

  “And what is the cookie supposed to help with?”

  “Making your tongue taste better after you drink coffee, which smells really bad. I don’t understand why grown-ups drink it.”

  Mr. Potter smiled for the first time since Jordan met him two days ago. “My daughter thought the same thing, but then she discovered cappuccinos.”

  Holly tilted her head, curious. “Cup-a-Cheetos? I like Cheetos.”

  Mr. Potter’s smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle like bird feet. “No, not a cup of Cheetos. Cappuccinos. It’s a type of coffee.” He picked up the chocolate chip cookie. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Holly.”

  “I appreciate you being a friend to me this afternoon, Holly. You’ve made this miserable day a little brighter.”

  Jordan folded his arms and scowled. Holly was his friend, not Mr. Potter’s, and he thought about telling the man so, but the phone on the kitchen wall began to ring.

  By the third ring, he realized Oma must be busy or too far away to hear it. Glancing at Holly and Mr. Potter one last time, he went inside to answer it. Oma didn’t mind, as long as he took good notes so she could call the person back.

  Oma rounded the corner and shuffled into the kitchen before he could reach the phone. A cobweb stuck to the gray and brown hair on top of her head, waving with her movements. She must’ve been in the storm cellar out back. That meant really bad weather was coming.

  The ringing cut off, and Oma’s warm voice announced, “Rosie’s Inn.” A pause. “Oh, hi, Emily.”

  Mrs. Emily Cross was Holly and Gin’s mom. She was probably wondering if Holly ended up here after running out of the house.

  “I haven’t seen her, but I’ve been in the cellar preparing for the storm. Let me check.” Oma stepped into the hall, the crinkly phone cord wrapping around her arm like a snake. She smiled at Jordan and then looked past him to the front door.

  Mr. Potter’s and Holly’s voices drifted through the screen. Oma turned back into the kitchen.

  “She’s here, trying to cheer up one of my guests. That sweet girl can’t stand to see a person sad, can she?” Another pause. “No, I don’t mind at all. Bring Ginevieve over. We’ll make dinner together this evening, and the kids can play games in the den. I’ll see you when you get here.” Oma hung up the phone and stepped out of the kitchen, offering Jordan a warm smile. “How are you, my sweet boy?”

  Jordan looked down at his feet. “Okay.”

  “I think we should try that again, with a truthful answer this time. How are you?”

  Oma never let him skate by with “fine” or “okay.” He looked up. “Not too good, I guess. Mom’s at work ’cause Saturday evenings at the diner are usually busy, Dad said I would be in the way if I tried to help him build the shed, and Holly’s on the porch making new friends.”

  Oma’s face softened. “And you’re feeling left out and overlooked.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I know your father can be a difficult man, liebling, but he loves you, even if he’s not good at showing it. And Holly is comforting a hurting man who will be returning to Florida in three days. You’re not being replaced.”

  Jordan wrapped his arms around her apron-covered waist and hugged her. She always knew the words to say to make him feel better.

  The screen door opened, and Holly bounced in like she was crossing invisible hopscotch squares. Her eyes widened, and she grinned before dashing forward and throwing one arm around Oma’s waist and the other around Jordan.

  Oma laughed. “Now this is a hug. It’s only missing one of my precious little ones.”

  Holly released her and stepped back. “Gin’s at home with Mom, playing dress-up for pictures.”

  “So naturally, you ran off to play in the dirt.”

  “I don’t like taking pictures.”

  “That may be, but those pictures aren’t for you, liebling. They’re for the people who love you. As we get older, we start to forget things, but that one picture, a moment frozen in time, can bring it all back. If your mom wants pictures of her children to help her remember what time tries to make her forget, you let her have them.”

  Holly squinted as she thought about that. “I guess I can do that. But not in a dress. I don’t like dresses.”

  “You work that out with your momma. I need a picture of all three of you kids for my hallway wall. I have the perfect spot,” Oma said, pointing to an open patch of wall surrounded by frames. The entire top half of the hallway was covered in pictures, some black and white, some sort of yellowish, and some colored. They went back generations. “But we’ll save that for another day when everyone is here and clean. For now, the two of you need to wash up. I can’t send either of you home looking like pups that rolled in the mud.”

 

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