“But why are you leaving so suddenly? I thought we were going to finish Bambi this week.” It’s the only normal thing I can think of to say.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is strained.
“What about movie night? Will you be here for that?” It’s at the end of September.
Pain flits across his features and he appears conflicted as he stares down at me. He gives me a single slow nod, before asking, “Will you?”
“I think so.”
His shoulders drop a little.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I say quietly.
“Nothing is happening,” he replies, and he sounds so tortured that I hear the double meaning in those words.
Nothingishappening—canhappen—betweenus.
“I’ve got to get on,” he says, and he feels so far away, so unreachable. He’s at the top of the stairs and I’m at the bottom, his uninvited guest, and the staircase between us feels like a boundary I can’t cross.
My heart fractures right there in front of him. It’s fully broken by the time I reach Wetherill.
31
I’m out on the veranda, sitting in the swing chair, my music playing in my ears as I stare across the fields. The corn is golden now from top to bottom. Jonas says harvest is imminent. He’s hired a young farmhand called Zack to help him. There’s still no sign of his dad returning, nor any word from Anders.
It’s been ten days since he left and I’ve been so sad. I’d barely even acknowledged the depth of my feelings for him, but now I feel almost as though I’ve gone through another breakup.
Jonas came to see me the Monday after he went. He was worried he’d pushed Anders too hard, too soon. I didn’t know what to say. For all I know, he could be wrong about his brother’s feelings. But the seed he planted during our heart-to-heart in his cabin has taken root in me and shot up into something that I can’t ignore.
I’ve been listening to unrequited-love songs, which is a little melodramatic of me, but Kate Nash’s “Nicest Thing” has come on now and the lyrics speak to me.
“Hey, Little Bird!” Dad exclaims with dismay as he comes out of the front door. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head at him, but he sits down beside me and opens up his arm. I put my feet down and lean against the soft flannel of his shirt, breathing in the soap-and-laundry-detergent smell of him as tears roll down my cheeks.
“I’ll help you finish the Airstream,” he murmurs.
“That’s not why I’m sad,” I reply.
“I know,” he says. “But I’m going to help you anyway.”
The next day,I wander down to the Fredrickson farm to ask if Jonas will tow Bambi back up to ours.
“Weren’t you going to do some sort of water test first?” he asks. “Come on, let’s do it now,” he adds before I can answer.
“Have you heard from Anders?” I ask as we walk into the shed.
“I called him Thursday,” he replies. “He’s staying out on the West Coast for the next race.”
It’s this weekend at Laguna Seca, near Monterey—the last race of the season. The weekend before that he was in Portland, Oregon. I know because Dad did his usual thing of calling me through when Anders was on-screen. I think he realized his mistake when he saw my face. My dad has put two and two together, it seems.
“How about your parents?” I ask. “Any news of when they’re coming back?”
“Just in time for movie night,” he replies wryly. “Pa knows about it now.”
I gasp. “What has he said?”
“I haven’t spoken to him, but no doubt he’s his usual skeptical self. Ma heard about it from a friend in town who wasexcited about coming. She says she wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
