Page 18 of Something About September

Byron laughed. “Exactly.”

It took some doing, and more than a few U-turns and back tracks, but they finally made it to the center of the maze, where Sabrina and her father, James, were surveying a large tower of stacked hay bales. For a moment, when she saw James, who was tall, his dark-brown hair salted with white, his expression serious, Rebecca thought of the photo she had found of him and her mother as teenagers. How close had they been? Then James turned and his expression lit up.

“Becky!” He was the only one she would ever allow to call her that, a throwback from her childhood with Sabrina, when he referred to them as a duo: Becky and Beans. “Have we gone too far this time, do you think? Tell us. The maze this year seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

“Never!” Sabrina said. “Trust the process. Right, Byron?”

“I trust you completely, boss,” Byron said with a grin, before he stepped away to talk to one of the hay maze crew members—who was actually wearing a hat and a T-shirt that read “Hay Maze Crew Member.” This was also new.

“Honestly, Sabrina, this is really something,” Rebecca said. “Every year, you and your dad say you’re going to make the best hay maze ever—but this time, I think you’ve actually done it.”

“And you say that to us every year,” James said. “That it’s the best one yet.”

“I always mean it! May you always keep outdoing yourselves. Although”—she glanced nervously at the teetering hay bales above them—“I definitely wouldn’t go any taller?”

“It’s true,” Sabrina said sadly. “We probably have to take down a few bales. There might just be such a thing as ‘too much.’ ”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Rebecca replied with a smile. “Now, how can I help? Put me to work.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” James said. “Sabrina and I were just about to head into the main house for a late lunch, but first we need to go check on a few last-minute supply orders. You go on ahead. Marion is expecting you.”

—

The Calloways’ kitchen still felt familiar—warm, spacious, and filled with the mouthwatering aroma of baking. Marion Calloway was at the stove, her back to Rebecca, the sun flowing in through the kitchen windows reflecting the glints of silver in her long hair—curly and golden like her daughter’s, streaked with white. She had passed her love of cooking and baking on to Sabrina, and seeing her here by the stove felt like going back in time.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Marion said, turning, crossing the room, and gathering Rebecca into her embrace. “You made it out of that maze. No such luck with the other two?”

“They’re just checking on something and said they’d be here soon,” Rebecca said.

“It is so good to see you.” The warmth in Marion’s tone was genuine, as always. “Sit, sit,” she urged. “Coffee first, while the soup warms and the bread cools, and let’s get caught up.” Rebecca sat and wrapped her hands gratefully around a warm cup of coffee.

“How are things going at the diner?” Marion asked. “Sabrina mentioned you were on the hunt for a contractor, but not having a ton of luck. Word on the street is you were thinking of hiring Eli Walsh?”

Rebecca focused on stirring cream into her coffee, appreciating that her friend had kept her confidence, but not quite sure how to answer this. She was grateful when James clattered into the kitchen—but the reprieve was brief because he had obviously overheard.

“Yes, I wanted to ask, why wouldn’t you hire Cort?” James joined them at the table with his own cup of coffee, while Sabrina breezed into the kitchen and said, “The reason for that exists inside our friendship cone of silence. But she did end up hiring him. Right, Becca?”

“I did,” Rebecca confirmed—somehow knowing this would not be where the conversation about Cort ended.

“Well, that’s good,” Marion said, but she still gave Rebecca a thoughtful look before bringing the fresh bread to the kitchen island, on a cutting board with a crock full of butter that looked like it had just been churned.

James hopped up and brought pottery bowls for Marion to ladle the soup into. “You used to tutor Cort in English lit, right?”

“Dad, this topic is off-limits,” Sabrina said.

“No, it’s okay,” Rebecca said, telling herself that in this town, you had to normalize casual conversation about Cort Adams. “Yes, I did. A long time ago.”

“He mentioned it when he was here in the winter, turning our attic into a loft bedroom. You’ll have to come take a look, it’s gorgeous.”

“We have a view of the entire valley from there. It really is lovely,” seconded Marion. “And, yes, Cort spoke very highly of you when your name came up. Said he thinks your influence helps him be a better parent to his little Pip, who is adorably bookish. Not interested in sports at all, which is just fine with Cort.”

“You’ll never meet a sweeter, smarter boy,” James said. “And, man, do I know from experience that being a high school athlete stays with you for the rest of your life. I still have a trick knee from my days as the Bramley High quarterback. But, yes, he was indeed saying that you instilled a love of good books in him that has only made his life better. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have the job.”

Rebecca’s cheeks felt hot. She pulled at the neck of her thick sweater. “Well, I was thrilled to give it to him. I didn’t ask him at first because I just assumed, with quality work like his, he wouldn’t be available. But he is, and he’s starting tomorrow.” Eager to change the subject now, she added, “And this soup smells amazing.”

“Mulligatawny,” Marion said. “We had an apple recipe contest last year, at the Autumn Festival, and Mr. Patel’s was the winner. His secret ingredient is a grated Granny Smith. It’s become a family favorite.”

“I was thinking we should create a line of soups,” Sabrina said. “Can’t you just picture it, all of them with a certain Calloway apple as a secret ingredient?”