Page 37 of Barefoot Lake

Once we’re outside, Alice stops resisting me, but I keep my hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the pumpkin patch, where dozens of pumpkins sit in happy rows, without a single person perusing them.

“‘There won’t be any pumpkins left,’ huh? It’s almost like you didn’t want me and Eli chatting. What, worried we’d gang up on you?” Alice lazily walks toward the patch, correctly guessing I didn’t want her and Eli talking and, inevitably, somehow conspiring against me.

My lie is obvious, but I couldn’t care less. I’m just now realizing this is my first time initiating contact with Alice, and I can’t focus on anything but the feel of her in my hands, even through her thick sweater.

She looks over her shoulder at me when I don’t answer. I’m more affected by my proximity to her than expected. I’m not sure I trust my command of the English language, so I keep my mouth shut.

“You haven’t been talking about me, have you?” she asks.

I find myself smiling in spite of her cheek. As we reach the pumpkin patch, I reluctantly release her shoulders and stand beside her. I swallow and hope my voice will sound normal.

“I’m just looking out for your pumpkins, Ace.”

It slips out before I can stop myself.

Alice immediately snorts and slaps her hand over her mouth, elbowing me hard in the side with her other arm. It’s becoming too easy to tease her, and I’m not a teasing guy. Taking responsibility for Scott when I was so young made me a serious person, always overthinking what I did or said before I did or said it, constantly hoping that I wouldn’t do or say something stupid and fuck him up for life. Alice makes it too easy to just be.

“Ok, wise guy. Show me where you keep the good pumpkins. The prize-winning, top-of-the-line Maseratis of pumpkins. I want to make a good impression on Halloween, and I can’t have sad, wimpy pumpkins on my porch.”

This girl is nuts.

“You won’t find any crappy-ass pumpkins here. Might I suggest choosing an assortment of sizes so they can complement one another as well as your home?”

I sound so stuffy, and I have no clue where it’s coming from. I guess I want to impress her… with our pumpkin supply? Her insanity must be contagious.

“Show me the way, good sir!”

Her laugh carries across the fields, loud and unrestrained.

When the sound tapers off, she adds, “You know, this is my first time having a porch of my own to decorate? Mom and I always had apartments, then I lived in dorms, and then back to apartments. I want to deck the whole place out, front and back, even if you and I are the only people who will see the ones out back.”

“Actually, most people will come to the back of your house because it’s easiest to go house-to-house by walking along the lake. You’ve got the right idea decorating both sides. But, if this is your first time, you should know pumpkins could attract wildlife, so be careful if you leave them outside, especially when it’s dark and they start to decay.”

“I figured, but I can’t not have pumpkins. I’m sure it’ll be ok.”

Her voice has softened, and I can tell she’s picturing what she wants her home to look like on Halloween. She looks wistful and authentically happy, and I find myself staring until I trip over a vine and nearly go face-first into a pumpkin the size of my head. Thankfully for my ego, I catch myself.

“Obviously, that one was determined to be picked,” Alice says, looking back at the gourd that tried to take me out and completely overlooking my lack of grace.

I can feel my face and neck heat up with embarrassment, but I appreciate her trying to let that one slide. I feel like tripping over my own crop in my own field might get my farmer card revoked or something, and I wouldn’t want to lose the nursery so shamefully.

“First pick of the day is a violent one.” I bend down to pick up the pumpkin, my new enemy, and make sure my foot didn’t damage it. Alice beams at me. We spend a while going up and down the rows of pumpkins, picking a variety of colors and sizes. Periodically, I haul them to one of the wheelbarrows we keep stationed near the patch to help people move their selections more easily.

We fall into a comfortable silence, and her lazy perusal gives me a very reasonable excuse to soak her in. Her hair whips around her, lifting and tangling, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’m reminded of the first time I saw her storming down from her house like a hurricane. She might be from Boston, but there’s some wild in her for sure. I like it.

I might like her.

Shit.

Once she’s selected twelve “perfect” pumpkins, she proclaims she’s got enough for a first run, and we head back inside to ring her up. I park the wheelbarrow outside the door and carry a couple of the pumpkins inside. As soon as I follow Alice over the threshold, I immediately shoot Eli a deadly glare. He’s halfway out of his chair, eager to cause trouble, but he huffs and sits back down when he sees my expression.

“Hey, Tim. You can take your lunch. I’ve got this.” I move around the counter to take the kid’s spot by the computer.

Tim looks a little confused, probably wondering why I’m ringing this woman up, but he also always kind of looks a little confused. I’m fairly certain he’s been stoned for several shifts, but he does work hard, and he’s a nice kid, so I haven’t called him out on it.

“I feel like I’m getting VIP service, here. Grateful Bob told me you own this place, so this can’t be normal,” Alice comments as I weigh the pumpkins and enter her order into the computer.

Seeing the process, Alice steps outside and returns with two more pumpkins, handing them to me.