Clark Street isn’t large. It isn’t super busy, either, and it’s been closed off to vehicles for festival setups. One would think all these factors would make it easy to spot a Claire look-alike in the small crowd, yet I’ve been scanning the street for ten minutes without any luck. I even stopped by Claire’s desk before heading here to make sure Lydia, her mom, would be here.

I decide to do another quick survey of the area before texting Claire. There’s a pair of burly men to my right, unloading equipment from a truck. A trio of girls around my age chattering as they hang up banners and the likes. Several other people are setting up booths. Directly across from me, on the opposite sidewalk, stands a tall, African-American woman with a clipboard attached to her arm. She’s the one everyone goes to with questions, and she also seems to be the most friendly of the group. Her smile is big and bright, and her eyes are warm.

If I don't end up finding Lydia on my own, and if Claire keeps refusing to help me, then maybe that woman is someone I can approach. Surely the person running the show would know everyone helping to put on the event, right?

I pull out my phone and start texting.

Me: You sure she’s here?

Claire: Positive!

Me: Been standing here for ten minutes, and I don’t see her.

Claire: Look harder ;)

Me: Can’t you just send me her number so I can call her?

Claire: Oh, but this is so much more fun.

Me: Careful, your evil side is showing.

Claire: Hahaha, think you’ll live!

I laugh as I slide the phone into my back pocket. All right, time to get this over with. I’m not exactly looking forward to digging around for info on Mr. Blackwood, but it has to be better than doing nothing and discovering too late that he needs help of some kind. I wait a second while the woman with the clipboard finishes wrapping up a conversation, then stroll toward her.

“Excuse me,” I call, before someone else can steal her from me. “Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if by chance you’ve seen a Lydia Birch around here?”

Her painted lips curve up warmly as she extends her free hand toward me. “That would be me. And you must be Claire’s friend, Lou.”

“Oh! I’m—yes, I’m Lou.”

Lydia chuckles as we release hands. “Honey, it’s okay. Claire’s adopted, but she’s been a part of our family since before she was born. She told me to expect you this morning, but with all the set ups and such I didn’t notice you standing there. Have you been here long?”

“No, no,” I lie. “Well, not really.”

Seeing right through me, she wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. There’s not much in the way of entertainment around here, so I allow myself to get caught up in all this.” She waves a hand in the air, gesturing to the set ups, then wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me across the street, away from the watchful eyes surrounding us. “Anyhow, Claire said you wanted to see me in regards to Mr. Blackwood?”

I nod, not quite sure how to begin. “I just . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to overstep, but I’m a little worried about him.”

“Here, honey. Take a seat.” We’ve reached a small outdoor seating area, and we’re both silent as we get settled across the table from each other. “Mr. Blackwood . . . well, he certainly is a private man.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

She laughs. “I can see why Claire likes you. You two must get along pretty well.”

“She’s easy to get along with.”

“That she is.” Her smile widens, and my heart swells.

They’re such simple, general words, but the way she says them . . . it’s impossible not to feel the love she holds for her daughter. The woman is so motherly in this moment that the constant longing I have for my own mother bubbles back up to the surface.

“Lucky for you,” Lydia continues, returning to the topic of Mr. Blackwood, “I just so happen to have a knack for learning about the residents in my town. Unlucky for both of us, however, that man is about as hardheaded as a mule, so I’m afraid I haven’t discovered much.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” I chew on the inside of my lip, my already minimal hope deflating. “Anything could be helpful, though, if it sheds more light on who he is. How I might be able to connect with him better.”

She nods as though she understands, and I think she really does. I remember that, back when I first got the job, Claire said something to suggest her mother was one of the town folk urging Mr. Blackwood to get a caretaker. “Right,” Lydia says, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back against the seat. “Well, you’re aware he’s an author?”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen any of his work.”

“Oh, you should. It’s perhaps a bit far-fetched for some, but remarkable work regardless.”

“Far-fetched? How’s that?”

“We carry them in our library. You should check them out and see for yourself.”

The library. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “I think I will. Thanks.”

“Other than that, I know he moved here about twenty years ago from Colorado. He’s been the same way he is now ever since I’ve known him—closed off, and a little too friendly with his liquor.”

“And his leg? Do you know what happened to him?” I ask, thinking back to the steel I’ve glimpsed multiple times now.

“Ah, yes. His leg. Some kind of car accident, I believe. It happened before he moved here.”

I frown. Going through any accident like that is traumatic enough, but to have no one you love to lean on afterward? To have no support to get you through the inevitable rough times? Poor Mr. Blackwood. “No kids? Siblings? Any visitors at all?”

She shakes her head, a sad expression washing over her elegant features. “I wish I could say yes. For years when he’d first arrived, many of the locals tried involving him in activities, clubs . . . anything, really. But he wasn’t having any of it. Always said he was busy working on his research. That was a little while before his latest book was ever published, though, and I really thought he’d become more available after that. As far as I know, he has no plans on publishing anything else, so I can’t imagine that he’s still spending all his time cooped up in his house over some research.”

I almost snort aloud. The man rarely does anything but research.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s all I know,” she continues. “As I’m sure you’ve come to notice, he doesn’t make many appearances in town.”

I chuckle, trying to picture Mr. Blackwood standing in the middle of the winter festival as happy families surround him, his flask in one hand and the bird in the other. “Yeah, I have.”

A moment of silence passes between us, my chest becoming heavy as I realize I truly might not be able to do much for this man. Lydia’s gentle voice eventually interrupts my thoughts. “You know, it’s been awhile since I’ve really tried reaching out to the gentleman. In fact, I’ve hardly spoken to him at all lately.” She glances down briefly in guilt, pressing her lips together. “I can see how much you care about him, Lou. I’d be happy to try speaking to him again, to see if maybe—”

“Oh, no. Please.” Now it’s my turn to look away, to feel the guilt rise. “I shouldn’t even be butting into his life like this. He wouldn’t appreciate it. And I’m sure he wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him either, so I should . . . I should probably go.” I stand, the metal chair scraping against the sidewalk as I do. “Thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me, Mrs. Birch. Really, it was so nice to meet you.”

She smiles as she rises from her seat. “It was no trouble, honey. Hopefully I’ll get to see more of you soon.”

“Yeah, definitely.” I’m about to give her an awkward wave when she reaches her arms around me in a tight embrace. It reminds me of the way Claire hugged me after putting up the New Year banner, and I instantly lean into it. Everyone could use a good hug in their life.

Just as I turn to walk away, I hear Lydia’s voice behind me.

“Hey, Lou?”

“Yes?”

“The Hawkins family.”

My eyebrows pucker together. “Sorry?”

“The Hawkins Family,” she repeats, taking a step toward me. “They used to live here a while back. Ended in tragedy, I’m afraid. But I know that Mr. Blackwood had some sort of connection with them. Not sure if it helps, but it’s the only other thing I know about him.”