“What aretassels? Sorry, I know nothing about farming, but I’m interested.”
“They’re the flowers that sprout from the top of the stalks.” He points at the field of maize in the distance. “The pollen falls onto the ears of corn and pollinates the silks. Without tassels there’d be no corn kernels. Luckily, hail’s highly localized, so it skipped the other fields.”
“So what will you do? Will you take it out and plant something else?”
He shakes his head. “It’s too late in the season for that now. We’ll leave it and harvest it with the rest of the fields.”
“You could create a maize maze!” I exclaim.
He glances down at me, his heavy brow furrowing. His eyes are a very dark blue. “A what? Amaze amaze?”
“Amaizemaze,” I repeat with a grin, swinging my trainers in my hands and hoping they’ll dry out a bit.
I’m enjoying the feel of the ground beneath my feet. It’s been so long since I’ve walked anywhere without shoes and socks on.
“Oh,maize.” He gets what I’m saying. “That’s what you call corn in the UK.”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah, I can just see my dad going for that.”
His tone is as arid as the desert sands in Phoenix, but I’m undeterred.
“Think about it. People could come to Wetherill to pick our pumpkins and then visit your maize maze afterward. Or corn maze—whatever you want to call it.”
He humphs. A moment later he says, “I’m going to run ahead and grab the Gator.”
I guess he didn’t like that idea very much.
Pulling on afluffy white robe after showering, I return to the bedroom with my phone and perch on the end of the bed. I’m all fidgety and nervous.
Anders answers on the second ring. “Hi, Wren.”
At the sound of his quiet, deep voice, my nerves seem to settle.
“Hi.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Did Jonas walk you?”
“He drove me in the Gator. Why?”
“Just wondering.” His tone is softer than earlier and suddenly I can see him, clear as day, inside my mind, raking his hand through his hair and staring after me as I walked away through his parents’ gate. “Thanks for calling,” he says. “I was worried.”
I hug my free arm around my waist. “He seemed okay.”
“What was he doing down by the river?” he wonders aloud. “Did he have anything with him?”
“Not that I saw.” He’s already asked that. “What sort of thing were you thinking?”
“I don’t know, a rope...”
The jittery, light feeling that’s been building inside my chest is slammed out by a block of ice.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
