Before I head home, I drive around the back of Book Smart and see Emmy’s car parked in its usual spot. I know she doesn’t lock the doors because she claims our city is “one hundred percent safe,” something I only half agree with. Emmy is a little naïve that way. It’s part of her charm. I pick up the flowers, step out of my truck, and walk around to the passenger side of her car. I open the door and set the flowers on the seat. I bought them for her. I want her to have them. Even if for no other reason than no reason at all.
