Lined up against the wall of the barn are rows of pallets with pre-picked pumpkins for people to browse, as well as a few pallets of decorated gourds, dried corn, and stacks of decorative straw bales.
“You know, I was thinking,” I say, needing to pull my mind away from thoughts about forgoing lunch, sliding onto his lap, and dry humping him until that silly straw bale he’s sitting on falls apart. “You might want to do some kind of a game inside the maze.”
Munching away on his burger, he looks at me curiously. “I thought the maze was the game.”
“It is,” I say. “But it would set yours apart if you had some stations in there, like some clues that would lead to hidden treasure? Or maybe just tell a story? A bench to rest on in case people get tired would also be a welcome addition.”
He nods solemnly. “A bench. I was thinking of making it haunted, but go on.”
I reply, “If you want families with little kids here to spend their money, maybe don’t scare the pants off of them.” I hate being so bossy, but when my mind is on a roll, I can’t stop my mouth. “And while we’re talking about benches, you could really use some picnic tables out there. People could have a picnic after they shop for their pumpkins. The corn maze works up an appetite. The longer they stay, the likelier they are to buy more stuff.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, nodding thoughtfully.
The ideas keep coming and Henry gives me encouraging looks. Most people get overwhelmed when I spew all my ideas at once, but he’s rolling with it. “And a playground. I’ve seen some pumpkin patches with playgrounds that do really good business.”
Henry sits back and smirks at me playfully. “You didn’t mention your last job was at a pumpkin patch. You know a lot about this.”
I laugh. “It wasn’t. I was a capital investments manager.”
Henry stares at me blankly. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds important.”
“It can be. It’s stressful. I loved it, but there’s not much of that kind of thing to do around here,” I say.
I can tell by the way he’s looking at me he wants to ask why I moved here with no job prospects. Why I quit my last job. But he doesn’t want to pry. Bless him.
“Sarah’s dad is why I left that life and came to live with Rocket temporarily.”
Henry doesn’t respond with words, but his eyes tell me he’s listening intently, with no judgment. So I finish the story.
“Sarah’s dad was a colleague of mine. A rising star of the company. We dated briefly. We were careful, but I got pregnant anyway. Condom broke. It happens sometimes. We were already broken up when I had her. He told everyone the baby wasn’t his, even after the paternity test. He twisted the whole situation to make it look like I was trying to get money out of him because he was on track for a big promotion. None of that was true. Then suddenly something changed. He must have decided after meeting the president of the company, a real family man, that he wanted to make that kind of impression. Put on a good face. Have a daughter as a prop. Well, I wasn’t having it.
“He and I never really had any kind of custody agreement and he’d never given me money to take care of her, which was fine with me because he’d never before wanted to spend any time with her. I left town with Sarah. And I didn’t tell him.”
“Whoa,” he says.
“I know it sounds bad.”
Henry crumples up his sandwich paper and tosses it into the bag. “No. You misunderstand me. I mean whoa, as in, wow. I love that you did that.”
Relief that Henry isn’t judging me floods through my entire soul. “Thank you,” I say. Apart from Rocket, he’s the only person I’ve told my story to.
“I don’t blame you one bit. I would have done the same thing if I were you. I would have given him a knuckle sandwich and then left, but I’m not as elegant about things as you are.”
I smile as we finish our lunch in comfortable silence. When I’m finished, Henry grabs all the trash away from me and tosses it in the bin.
I’m dying to tell him what Helen told me. I feel like I’ve exposed myself to him in a big way and now it’s his turn. But I don’t necessarily work like that. I was ready to talk. Henry can tell me his version of Helen’s story when he’s ready.
“Any other ideas for this place in that head of yours?” Henry asks me with a grin.
I smile sheepishly. “Am I talking too much? Am I taking over? That’s very on-brand for me, so please tell me if I’m being too much.”
Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the knees of his dirty jeans.
“Jane, I can use all the help I can get. I’ve never done this before, so whatever you think might make this place better, I’d love to hear it.”
It’s been a long time since anyone asked me to let loose with all the ideas floating around in my head. Henry doesn’t write anything down, only rubs his chin and nods solemnly when I point out the tree we could use for a tire swing, and the old bit of fence that could be spruced up and used as a backdrop for photos. I recommend some cutesy directional signage along the highways to draw people in, a pumpkin painting station for the little ones, and hayrack rides. By the time I’m finished, we’ve used up our entire lunch break and I feel a little self-conscious.
“I’m so sorry. You probably wanted some peace and quiet and I’ve talked your ear off.”
He looks down at his dirty shitkickers and then back up at
