Still, one evening, when he climbed onto a low rock and stared over the enclosure wall as if planning a patrol, she said, “Scout,” under her breath.

Joseph heard it.

Emma saw his expression. “It’s not an official name.”

“Of course not.”

“It’s a note in my head. That’s all.”

“Your head is getting soft.”

“My head is exhausted,” she said, but she was smiling continue reading …