“Out in the barn. How was your weekend? I didn’t think we’d see you before dinnertime.”
“Have I come back too early? I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. We missed you,” she says to my delight. “Did you have fun?”
“So much fun.” My eyes dart up to the cake mixture flecking her gray bob. “You have a little...” I point north of her right temple.
“Where?” She dips her head toward me.
“There.”
“Can you get it out?” She’s a little exasperated.
“Of course, yes, sorry. I didn’t think you liked people touching your hair, or, you know, invading your personal space.”
“Idon’tlike people invading my personal space,” she replies, her brown eyes meeting mine. “But you’re notpeople, you’refamily.”
I reach up and, to my surprise, my nose starts to prickle asI concentrate on gently removing the cake mix. I feel Sheryl’s gaze on me the entire time.
“This is one of those things, isn’t it?” she asks gravely. “A mistake I made when you were younger.”
A lump forms in my throat and I nod.
“Can I have a hug?” I ask impulsively, thinking of Anders.
“Ofcourseyou can, honey!” she replies, her voice jumping up an octave as she opens her arms to me.
“What’s going on here?” Dad interrupts. He’s just come in through the front door and his eyes are wide with surprise. “Where’smyhug?”
I laugh and go to break away from Sheryl, but she clings to my waist, opening up her other arm to widen the circle.
And I don’t think it’s because she wants to keep control or doesn’t like being excluded. I kind of get the feeling it’s because she’s not quite ready to let go of me yet.
28
Right, that’s it,” Jonas says to Bailey as she pockets the black ball. “I think you should divorce that Casey dude and marry me instead.”
“As if, you big oaf.” She shoves his arm.
He laughs and racks up the balls for a second game and I smile at their camaraderie, convinced now that their friendship is purely platonic.
It’s Sunday night, a week after our trip to Indianapolis, and the four of us have gone to Dirk’s to play a few rounds of pool.
Anders and I have spent every evening of the last week working on Bambi, plus all of yesterday and today, and that’s on top of the work he and Jonas have been doing to get the farm ready for harvest.
I’m used to arriving at their place and finding them hot, sweaty, and smeared with grease and dirt. They’ve been refueling farm vehicles; changing engine oil, air filters, and tires; and doing software updates. They use different headers—big pieces of machinery that go on the front of the combine—to harvest different crops and they all have numerous moving parts, any of which could malfunction and put a stop to the harvest, so they’ve been rigorous about checking everything over.
But earlier, when I went over to theirs, they were tearingaround the motocross trail behind the sheds, whooping like little kids as they went over the jumps. My heart felt full as I watched them.
The corn is beginning to turn now—it’s going golden from the bottom up—and the green leaves on the earliest planted soybeans are dappled with yellow spots. Even our pumpkins have ballooned. I can’t believe it’ll be September in a few days.
Anders and I arethisclose to finishing Bambi. This afternoon we reassembled the end panels and fixed a rubber seal to the new rear-door opening to keep out rainwater. We’re going to do a proper test tomorrow with the pressure washer and after that, once we know there are no leaks, we’ll fix birch-faced ply to the interior walls and lay lino on the floor.
We’re both so happy with how it’s coming along and have been working hard, but tonight we wanted to kick back and relax. Bailey and Jonas did too. Earlier, they finalized an advert for movie night and sent it off to the local paper to run later this week. Bailey is excited, but Jonas seems nervous. He still hasn’t told his parents what he has planned.
Peggy and Patrik have decided to stay up in Wisconsin for a few more weeks, and I think Jonas hopes that the first outdoor movie event to be held not just at the Fredrickson farm, but anywhere in town, will somehow escape their notice.
But it’s only a matter of time, according to Anders—probably mere days—before one of their friends mentions it to them.
