No one tells you your dad can be your first best friend or your first bully. I got lucky. Shaun didn’t.
I glance toward the barns in the distance and spot the one where Shaun and Val are working. A smile tugs at my mouth.
The second Valerie walked in, I knew I had to get them paired up. No question. It was a risk, volunteering to work with Shaun and Sandie, but I counted on Fred wanting us split just to keep things moving.
Worth it.
Now Shaun’s got one-on-one time with the girl he’s been pining after for way too long.
I snort under my breath. Hopefully he doesn’t mess it up this time.
Setting up the games goes faster than it should. Either I’m on autopilot or I stopped caring halfway through. By the time I’m done, the silence presses in while I wait for Cole to come back with the tractor load.
Boredom wins.
I wander.
Fred’s show patch sits just beyond the fence, tidy and smug. The pumpkins are enormous. Too round. Too smooth. Their skins shine like they’ve been buffed with car wax.
I whistle under my breath. “Damn. He wasn’t kidding.”
One pumpkin near the fence hooks my attention. The color is off. Not bright orange. Deeper. Redder. Like a bruise that never healed.
Perfect smash target.
The sign creaks again.
No. You are better than this. You are not in high school anymore. No more stupid shit.
I glance back down at the pumpkin.
Screw it.
“Sorry, Fred,” I mutter as I hoist it onto my shoulder. It’s heavier than it should be. Dense. “One won’t hurt.” He earned it after being a prick all morning.
I drop it on the stump, lift the sledgehammer, and swing.
Crack.
The rind bursts open and seeds spray everywhere. Not the clean, stringy mess I expect. This is thick. Almost greasy.
The smell hits a second later.
Rot layered with something chemical that burns my sinuses.
“Jesus Christ,” I choke, slapping a hand over my mouth as I stagger back. My eyes water. “What did you do to these things?”
I look back at the patch.
The vines lie thick against the soil, coiled tight. The stench rolls off them in waves. Sweet. Sour. Alive.
That’s where it’s coming from.
I grab another pumpkin and drag it to the stump. My gut knots, but I lift the sledge anyway.
Crack.
The rind bursts and guts splatter my jeans. The stink is worse this time. Sharper. It bites the back of my throat. I glance down, almost expecting the slime to smoke or melt through the denim.
