I looked around my mother’s old room, at the quilt folded neatly in the corner. “Where’s Rhys?”
“He’s helping Henry chop wood for the bonfire tonight.”
“My brother’s chopping wood?” For a moment I wondered if I’d woken up in an alternate universe. I laughed. “Okay, I’m definitely dreaming.” I flopped back down on the sheets.
Beth pinched me hard on the back of my arm.
“Hey!” I bolted upright, the quick movement making my head throb. “What was that for?”
“Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” she said, flitting to my mother’s closet to thumb through her clothes, humming that same stupid Backstreet Boys song she was singing when we first met her.
“Hey, if you’ve never been outside of Quivira, how do you know that song?”
“Dane taught it to me when I was recovering from my fall. It’s a good one, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face. He must’ve heard it at the junkyard.
Beth selected a few frilly dresses, draping them over her arm.
“I hope you’re not suggesting I wear one of those.”
She perched herself on the edge of the bed, eyes dilated, breathing shallow, like she’d just chugged a vat of coffee. “I got invited to the Mendoza lodge for Girls’ Day but only if I bring you with me. Please come. Please. I never get invited anywhere and I re—”
“Will Dane be there?” I asked, suddenly feeling more alert.
“For Girls’ Day?” Beth snorted. “No. But I saw him walking along the eastern perimeter early this morning. He looked . . . worried.”
I leaned forward. “Like, dreamy worried or angry worried?”
Beth shrugged and moved on. “I’ve heard the Mendoza lodge is really beautiful and they make these little sandwiches with cucumbers, and we just sit around and chat and play parlor games . . .”
I did my best to tune her out. As tiresome as Girls’ Day sounded, the thought of seeing Dane’s surroundings, his room, was too much of a temptation to pass up.
“Just give me five minutes,” I said as I tried to rally.
“I think you’re going to need a little more than five minutes.” She pulled strands of debris from my hair and laid them across my lap. Corn silk.
“Not again,” I whispered, a dry ache settling in the back of my throat.
I swung my feet out of bed. They were covered in dark rich soil. I had a vague recollection of following Marie’s body into the corn, but my last real memory was of Dane walking away from me last night. The remnants of his scent along with the cedar campfire hung heavy in my heart.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” I said, feeling light-headed.
“Okeydokey.” Beth turned her attention back to the dresses. “Which one do you want to wear?”
“Neither.” I got to my feet. Every muscle in my body ached like I’d just run a marathon.
Beth looked longingly at the dresses, fondling the hem of a lemon-yellow chiffon number.
“But you should wear that one,” I said.
“Oh my stars! Really?” she squealed. She came toward me like she was going to give me one of her obnoxious bear hugs, but quickly changed her mind. “I’ll just start the bath for you. This might take a while.”
? ? ?
As Beth and I walked to the Mendoza lodge, along the cobblestone path that lined the lakeshore, we came across Rhys and Henry, who were carrying freshly chopped bundles of wood on their shoulders.
“You look nice.” Rhys smiled warmly at Beth.
She twirled for him, laughing as her hair flew around her shoulders. It was just so Beth.
Rhys glanced at my wrinkled black shorts and T-shirt and shook his head. I gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up. Disapproval noted.
“Come on, Beth.” I pulled her along.
“One more day,” Rhys said as I passed, like I could forget. And only three more days until the summer solstice.
But tonight, Dane was taking me into the corn.
? ? ?
The Mendoza lodge was enormous—twice the size of the Larkin lodge and immaculately maintained. Everything hinted at old-world Spanish charm—from the dark wood furniture, rich carpets, and heavy red curtains in the main living rooms, to the smell of saffron and sea salt wafting from the black-and-white-marble kitchen. I could picture Dane growing up here. It suited him.
Beth pulled me toward the lavish spread at the far end of the room. On a long scrolled table sat crystal pitchers full of pastel-colored drinks muddled with strawberries and platters full of dainty sandwiches and fancy hors d’oeuvres.
“Look,” Beth squealed as she picked up a triangle and inspected it. She rotated it, nibbling off wee bites like she never wanted it to end.
“Good afternoon.” A middle-aged woman in a prim high-collared lace blouse looked me up and down as she passed. Thick dark hair, widow’s peak, clearly a Mendoza.