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“A real live man,” he whispers vehemently.
“Who was he?”
He shrugs. “No idea. He said his name is Shawn, but I don’t know anything else about him. But when I asked to talk to her, he told me she was in the shower.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” I arch my brows at him and grin comically.
He shoves his fingers into his ears and sings out, “La la la la la la la! I don’t want to know!”
I try not to laugh. “I’m glad she’s happy.” I nod toward Mitchell. “He looks pretty happy too.”
Ethan grabs me and pulls me against him. “How about you?” His eyes run up and down my face. “Are you happy?”
“Couldn’t be happier,” I reply. I stand on my tiptoes so I can kiss him, and Mitchell makes a gagging noise, but he’s still engrossed in his comic book so I’m not too worried.
Suddenly, Ethan’s phone rings. His brow furrows. He hits the button to put it on speaker. “Hello,” he says.
“Ethan, the boys at the rescue squad just called. They need some help, so Jake and I are going to go down.”
I shake my head at him. “No,” I mouth.
He ignores me. “What’s going on, Mr. Jacobson?”
“There’s flooding down by Big Belly Creek, and some trees are blocking the road. They need a few men with trucks and chain saws to come and pull them out of the way.”
“No,” I mouth again. He still ignores me.
“I’ll meet you there,” he says. He’s already putting his hat on his head. “Is it on the north side or the south side?”
“Both. Jake and I can go to the north side if you want to take the south.”
“Sounds good,” Ethan replies. “Call me if anything changes.”
He hangs up the phone and pulls me against him again. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No, but I’m going anyway.”
“Glutton for punishment,” I mutter.
He gets Mitchell’s attention. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, son. Behave yourself, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell mutters, but he doesn’t look up from his book.
“Sorry,” Ethan says. “I know I just got here.” He looks worried.
I shove him toward the door. “Go so you can get back sooner.”
He leaves, his shoulders hunched against the rain that’s still falling. I watch him through the window as he backs out. He hesitates, staring toward the screen door for a moment, so I raise my hand. He raises his too, and I watch him back out and leave, the rain still pouring so hard that I can barely see his outline in the truck.
“He’ll be fine, Abigail,” Gran says from her spot at the table. “Come help me shell these peas.” She shoves a tall stack of peas toward me, and she puts the bowl between us.
“I do not like shelling peas,” I say with a frown.
“Well, I don’t like sitting idle,” she says. She glares at me until I start to shell the peas.
We shell peas together quietly for about a half hour, until Mitchell calls my name.
