Chapter 15: The Treasure Map

Rosetta turned seven on a cold Saturday, and she wanted a treasure hunt.

Sullivan built it.

He spent four evenings at my kitchen table with butcher paper and markers.

He drew a map of my backyard so exact that the neighbor's dog was on it.

Rosetta found it taped to the fridge on the morning of her party.

She studied it for a long minute.

"You put Biscuit by the fence," she said.

"He's by the fence."

"He's imaginary."

"He's on the map," Sullivan said gravely. "I check my sources."

She hugged his leg and ran off to tell her octopus.

I stood at the sink with my coffee and watched him look at his own leg.

"Don't," I said.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're about to cry at a hug."

"I'm being very manly about it."

By two o'clock the yard held eleven first-graders and a table of juice boxes.

A line of parents stood on my back porch, and all of them knew exactly who he was.

Whitney's post had been up for nine days.

I had counted the looks.

Nobody said anything for the first hour.

Then a mother from Rosetta's class took a deep breath and came over to me with a paper plate.

"I saw what that woman put online," she said quietly. "I just wanted you to know that nobody in this class believes it."

"Thank you."

"My husband says the man in the yard spent an hour on his knees helping a boy find a plastic sword."

She shrugged.

"He didn't look like anyone's villain."

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