Page 132 of Lovebug
“Oh, good!” I say with some of that sarcasm still clinging to me because “alive and on the premises” is a pretty low bar for not worrying about a six-year-old. “And how do we know this?”
“He swiped my walkie before hauling ass away from me. He communicated with Laurel.”
“What did he say?” I ask, getting more exasperated by the minute.
“This is Holden. I’m alive and on the premises.” She does a somewhat accurate impersonation of my little buddy.
I start racking my brain on where he might be.
Chloe continues, “He also said something about wanting to see some Jerries die? I thought that was creepy and strange and totally unlike sweet little Holden to want to seeanythingdie, but—”
“Gerridae!” I shout. “Water striders! He’s by the lake!”
I immediately toss off my heels and tear down the hill barefoot toward the lake since I can’t think of many things more frightening than a child who can barely swim being unattended near a body of water. “Ow. Ow! Ow, geez, YOW!” Stones and roots and pebbles stab into my feet as I go, but I don’t let them slow me down.
I reach the lake in record time and don’t see Holden anywhere.
“Holden! Holden, where are you?”
No answer.
“Holden?!”
Nothing.
I turn in a full circle, scanning every which way I can when my eyes land on Wally’s shack. I have to stop calling it a shack. I run up to Wally’shomeand immediately start pounding on the door.
“Wally!” The door rattles under my fist. “Wally, are you here? I’m sorry I ran out on you last night. I thought I needed to be alone, that I needed space, but I actually don’t need that. Not from you. Never from you!” I pound some more.
“That’s great to hear, baby,” that deep warm voice I’ve come to love so much says from just a few feet away. I turn, and Wally is standing by the edge of the house, his arms opening up for me.
I run straight to him and start talking a mile a minute as he wraps me up in a hug. “Wally, I’m freaking out. Holden is lost. He apparently got really upset by something and took off. I thought he was by the lake looking for water strider bugs, but I don’t see him anywhere and—”
“Mabes?” he cuts me off.
“Yeah?” I quiet and look directly up at him.
Without a word, he points at the huge weeping willow tree, which I know from our discussion the other night is exactly fifty feet from his house.
My eyes trace up the trunk to a thick, low branch where a small boy sits, partially obscured by willow sprays, reading a book.
“Holden!” I say, relief spilling out of my lungs. My body jolts, and I’m about to sprint right over to him when Wally touches my arm to halt me.
“He’s fine. I’m sorry we didn’t answer right away when you were calling his name. I’d just gotten him settled and didn’t want to shout and get him all riled up again.” We both turn to look at him. “Found him down here by the lake crying a few minutes ago. Gave him a sip of water, a quick climbing lesson and a book, and he’s good as new. Was just about to call up to the main office.”
“Oh my God, thank you,” I say.
“Of course,” he says and threads his fingers through mine.
We start walking toward the tree, hand in hand.
“Did he say what was upsetting him?” I ask.
“Couldn’t get that outta him, no.”
I squint a bit. “What’s he reading?”
“A little present I picked up for you actually,” Wally says. “Sorry. Didn’t think you’d mind if a fellow bug lover took it for a spin first. Somehow, I knew it would make him smile.”
