“No,” I say.
“No,” Dean says.
“I also never hear from Creagan,” Xavier says. “Emma,” he grabs the bedspread beside him to give him leverage that he can pull his head up and look at me. “I need a cell phone.”
“Yes, you do,” I say. “We'll add that to the list.”
“For today, that list is taking a half-day,” Sam says.
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“We're going to eat lunch, then we’re going to go do something fun,” he says. “No more moping or investigating.”
“There's too much to do,” I say.
“Which is exactly why we are going to do something fun.”
“You do realize that kind of sounds counterintuitive, right?” I point out.
“Look, everything that needs to be done will still need to be done when you get back.”
“Not sounding too optimistic right at this moment,” I say.
“The point is, you've been pushing yourself into the ground. You're working too hard, and it's going to catch up with you. I know you, Emma. I know you better than anybody. And you work at your fastest and strongest and best when you haven't put yourself through a blender.”
“I think that probably applies to everybody,” Xavier points out, his head upside down again.
“See?”
“No,” Sam says. “Emma, listen to me. I know this is important to you. It's gotten under your skin, and it's driving you crazy. But remember, we’ve had talks about this. I need you to take a step back. Just for a little bit. This is all you can see right now, and I need you to see something else.”
He was asking me to see him. My conversation with my father rises up into my chest, tightens my throat, and makes my eyes burn. I try to breathe, but the air won't move. All I can do is nod.
“What did you get for lunch?” I ask him
A smile comes to his lips, and he picks up the bag. Sam distributes the sandwiches and bags of chips he got, and we position ourselves around the room to eat.
“What did you have in mind for the fun thing of the afternoon?” Dean asks.
“Well, I was thinking we could go to the pumpkin patch,” Sam says. “It's something Emma always used to love when she was younger.”
Our eyes meet, and I smile, for a second, only seeing him.
Just getting to the pumpkin patch already makes me feel more relaxed. It brings back memories from my childhood. I used to spend hours choosing the perfect pumpkins to sit on the porch. As teenagers, Sam and I would pick a day to go together. It was a perfect excuse to walk through the rows of vines holding hands and stealing kisses in the autumn chill.
The parking area in front of the pumpkin patch butts up against a row of stacked hay bales that supports a hand-painted wooden arch over the entryway. We walk through it into a large area filled with already picked pumpkins and gourds on display. Xavier immediately goes over to a section of the pumpkins displayed on risers, surrounded by smaller hay bales, and begins examining them.
Sam watches him for a few seconds.
“How are the pumpkins feeling today, Xavier?” he calls over.
Xavier glances over his shoulder at him, then back at the pumpkins. He runs his hand over one of them.
“Pretty smooth,” he says. Then runs his hand over a decorative, ridge-covered one beside him. “Except for this one. This one's pretty bumpy.”
Sam looks at me, and I laugh as he shakes his head. “I'm never going to get him. Never. As soon as I think I am on the right track... I'm just not going to get it.”
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. “You try. That's all that matters. Come on, let's get a hayride.”
For the next two hours, I don't think about anything but the guys, the gorgeous weather, and the pumpkins. I won't let myself. It feels too good to see Dean and Xavier bonding as they climb through the vines together in search of the perfect, untouched pumpkin. Or to turn around and already be in Sam's arms, my face able to nuzzle right in the crook of his neck so I can smell his aftershave and feel his heartbeat.
When we've collected an impressive assortment of pumpkins and stacked them by the road to be picked up with the hayride, I realize Dean and Xavier haven't come back from their last excursion.
“Do you know where they went?” I ask Sam.
“Last I saw them, they were headed off into the far corner, determined they were going to find the Great Pumpkin,” he chuckles.
“Descriptor or gourd deity?” I ask.
"I think, descriptor?" he offers. "I don't think this place is sincere enough for anything else. The one back home is much better."
I nod and make an acknowledging sound. Sherwood was always my favorite pumpkin patch. Over the years, I would go to ones all over, always moving from state to state. But none of them ever measured up to Sherwood.
Cupping my hand over my eyes, I look out over the field, trying to see them. The rumble of the tractor pulling the hay wagon gets louder in the distance, and a cloud of dust puffs up. I grab my phone to call Dean, but the reception won't grab hold.
The tractor stops in front of us, and the handful of other people browsing the field climb on. I walk up to the side of the tractor to talk to the driver.
"We have a couple of stragglers," I tell him. "These are our pumpkins right here. Do you mind coming back for us?"
"No problem," he says. "Load up the pumpkins, and I'll bring them to the front to wait for you."
"Thank you," I say. "I appreciate it."
I lean down to grab one of the biggest pumpkins, and pain tears through my arm. The pumpkin drops back down to the ground as I pull my hand away from it, pressing my palm to my bandage and hissing.
"You alright?" Sam
