of quiet tonight.”
“I guess.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Mary Ellen said. “Was just telling Tad about how you sit on that bench by the office, in all that noise, trains going every which way, and it’s like you’re out fishing on a pond or something. Whenever things’re getting tight on me, I just look out at you, you know.”
Jorgen watched the corn. A few rows in, stalks were bending more than what the wind could do. “I wasn’t always this way.”
“Well, it’s a good way to be.”
The corn wavered, the stiff leaves rustling, sounding like rain on tin. Jorgen began to shiver. He reached his arm around Mary Ellen and pulled her so they had to walk slower.
“I ain’t getting cute,” he said. “I’m cold is all.”
“Thought you said you didn’t get cold?”
“Never had before.”
“You want your jacket back?” she said. “Maybe we can take turns? A minute for you, a minute for me?”
“I’m all right.”
Mary Ellen threw an arm around his waist and they walked easy. The air smelled of woodsmoke. He tried not to look at the corn, but it wouldn’t stop shifting in his periphery. Finally, he peered into the rows. “They’s dogs that run these fields,” he said. “Sometimes the stalks move and you think someone’s out there, but it’s just the dogs.”
Mary Ellen looked into the corn, too. “You trying to spook me?”
“Sometimes, when they cut the crop they find dogs, dead or froze up in a rut or something.”
“That’s awful.”
He shrugged.
“Jorgen,” she said. “I ever tell you about my big dream?”
Up ahead, the road came to a T. An abandoned farmhouse sat on a wooded hill above the road, the moonlight edging its chimney and tattered roof. Beside the house, the tops of trees swirled in the wind. “Marrying Tad?”
She smacked his shoulder. “Not that,” she said. “No, I want to go to school to work in an animal hospital. That’s what my mama does.” She chuckled. “We got eleven dogs, two snakes, and a potbellied pig, all what live in the house.”
“Must stink.”
“You get used to it after a while,” she said. “I miss it when I’m gone, if you can believe that.”
“I got a bird,” he said.
“A bird?”
“A little parakeet.”
“What’s she called?”
Jorgen felt uneasy. “Don’t know,” he said. “Never called it nothing.” Mary Ellen smacked his shoulder again, laughed like he’d told a joke. He watched her mouth, the white of her teeth, the gap in the front. “Tried to set it free today, but it wouldn’t go.”
“What you want to set it free for?”
“Just seemed right,” Jorgen said. “With me leaving and all. Anyway, it wouldn’t go.”
“Bet you treat it well.”
“It don’t say one way or the other.”
“It didn’t fly off,” she said. “That’s how it says.”
“I guess.”
“You might be too nice for my cousin,” Mary Ellen said. “She’d eat you alive.”
“I ain’t that nice.”
At the T in the road, Jorgen pointed to the right and they turned onto Old Saints Highway. He walked and watched the farmhouse. A flashlight blinked on and off behind a second-floor window. The right side of the road was a high wall of corn, the left was harvested hills. On a far knob in the middle of the bare field, a tiny light winked back.
“You’re shivering like a kitten,” Mary Ellen said, and stopped in the road and took off the jacket. “Here, take this awhile.”
Jorgen pushed it away. “I’m all right.”
“Take it,” she said.
“No.”
Mary Ellen defiantly stepped forward and wrapped the jacket around Jorgen and held the collar at his throat. “You wear it till I count to sixty,” she said, and began to count.
Jorgen breathed in her perfume. She grinned, mouthing the numbers. He could see how it happens. He wanted to throw his arms around her. Kiss her mouth. At the count of twenty, a knot of guilt welled high inside his chest, and he had to look away. Dark things moved out
“I guess.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Mary Ellen said. “Was just telling Tad about how you sit on that bench by the office, in all that noise, trains going every which way, and it’s like you’re out fishing on a pond or something. Whenever things’re getting tight on me, I just look out at you, you know.”
Jorgen watched the corn. A few rows in, stalks were bending more than what the wind could do. “I wasn’t always this way.”
“Well, it’s a good way to be.”
The corn wavered, the stiff leaves rustling, sounding like rain on tin. Jorgen began to shiver. He reached his arm around Mary Ellen and pulled her so they had to walk slower.
“I ain’t getting cute,” he said. “I’m cold is all.”
“Thought you said you didn’t get cold?”
“Never had before.”
“You want your jacket back?” she said. “Maybe we can take turns? A minute for you, a minute for me?”
“I’m all right.”
Mary Ellen threw an arm around his waist and they walked easy. The air smelled of woodsmoke. He tried not to look at the corn, but it wouldn’t stop shifting in his periphery. Finally, he peered into the rows. “They’s dogs that run these fields,” he said. “Sometimes the stalks move and you think someone’s out there, but it’s just the dogs.”
Mary Ellen looked into the corn, too. “You trying to spook me?”
“Sometimes, when they cut the crop they find dogs, dead or froze up in a rut or something.”
“That’s awful.”
He shrugged.
“Jorgen,” she said. “I ever tell you about my big dream?”
Up ahead, the road came to a T. An abandoned farmhouse sat on a wooded hill above the road, the moonlight edging its chimney and tattered roof. Beside the house, the tops of trees swirled in the wind. “Marrying Tad?”
She smacked his shoulder. “Not that,” she said. “No, I want to go to school to work in an animal hospital. That’s what my mama does.” She chuckled. “We got eleven dogs, two snakes, and a potbellied pig, all what live in the house.”
“Must stink.”
“You get used to it after a while,” she said. “I miss it when I’m gone, if you can believe that.”
“I got a bird,” he said.
“A bird?”
“A little parakeet.”
“What’s she called?”
Jorgen felt uneasy. “Don’t know,” he said. “Never called it nothing.” Mary Ellen smacked his shoulder again, laughed like he’d told a joke. He watched her mouth, the white of her teeth, the gap in the front. “Tried to set it free today, but it wouldn’t go.”
“What you want to set it free for?”
“Just seemed right,” Jorgen said. “With me leaving and all. Anyway, it wouldn’t go.”
“Bet you treat it well.”
“It don’t say one way or the other.”
“It didn’t fly off,” she said. “That’s how it says.”
“I guess.”
“You might be too nice for my cousin,” Mary Ellen said. “She’d eat you alive.”
“I ain’t that nice.”
At the T in the road, Jorgen pointed to the right and they turned onto Old Saints Highway. He walked and watched the farmhouse. A flashlight blinked on and off behind a second-floor window. The right side of the road was a high wall of corn, the left was harvested hills. On a far knob in the middle of the bare field, a tiny light winked back.
“You’re shivering like a kitten,” Mary Ellen said, and stopped in the road and took off the jacket. “Here, take this awhile.”
Jorgen pushed it away. “I’m all right.”
“Take it,” she said.
“No.”
Mary Ellen defiantly stepped forward and wrapped the jacket around Jorgen and held the collar at his throat. “You wear it till I count to sixty,” she said, and began to count.
Jorgen breathed in her perfume. She grinned, mouthing the numbers. He could see how it happens. He wanted to throw his arms around her. Kiss her mouth. At the count of twenty, a knot of guilt welled high inside his chest, and he had to look away. Dark things moved out
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