The proprietor picked up the bills, counted them out, and said, “You’re short ten dollars.”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

The man said nothing.

Desmond reached for the bills. “Take it or leave it. I’m going to the hardware store next to make them an offer.”

The man let out a ragged smoker’s cough. “If you were a grown man, I’d tell you to piss off. But I like you, kid. Take it. Damn thing’s been in the window a year now anyway.”

It was Desmond’s first taste of freedom, the first thing he had ever saved up for and bought on his own. He treasured it more than any gift he’d ever been given.

He also hid it from his uncle. That lasted six months. It was the best period of his entire childhood.

With the bike’s added range, he was able to visit the next town over, Noble, which had shops along the main street, a post office, a small cinema, and a library. Inside the library, he wandered the stacks, searching for the books Charlotte had read to him. He just wanted to see the covers again to remind him of those weeks they’d spent together.

A woman with gray hair was taking books from a cart and placing them back on the shelves. “Can I help you find something?”

Desmond shook his head.

“You can check out anything you like,” she said. She studied him for a long second. “It’s free. You bring them back whenever you’re done.”

It wouldn’t do him any good; he still couldn’t read.

“Is there a… time when someone reads?”

The woman hesitated. “Uh, yes, there is.”

“When?”

“There’s… several times. When would be convenient?”

He told her, and she said that would be fine. Her name was Agnes. Desmond liked her voice. It was soothing and neutral, like other people in Oklahoma. It didn’t carry the meanness his uncle’s did.

As he was leaving, Desmond realized he hadn’t asked about the book. It could be one he hated or one about people falling in love for all he knew.

Trying not to sound rude, he asked Agnes what book would be read.

“There’s several to choose from,” she said. “What sort of books do you like?”

“Adventure books,” he answered without hesitation. “Where the hero gets away.”

“Then you won’t be disappointed.”

And he wasn’t. The next day, he returned to find Agnes knitting behind the counter. She set down her work and held up a book.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded. As he had suspected, he was the only one at the storytelling session. That was fine by him.