“Your problem.”
“The HOA relied on documented
access rights.”
“Your problem.”
“Refunds alone—”
“Your problem.”
Her face hardened.
“You think you can just destroy a major community event because you’re angry?”
I looked over her shoulder.
The cornfield glowed gold beneath the late September sun.
Thirty-one rows near the road had already been trampled flat by workers.
The remaining corn was dry.
Mature.
Ready.
I could almost hear my father’s voice from twenty years earlier.
Corn doesn’t care about your schedule, Jack.
When it’s ready, move.
I looked back at Trish.
“I’m not destroying anything.”
“Good.”
“I’m harvesting.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Corn’s ready.”
“You can’t.”
That was the first time all afternoon I smiled.
“I can’t harvest my corn?”
“The maze is scheduled to open Saturday.”
“Today is Thursday.”
“We have guests coming.”
“I have a combine.”
Her face went pale.
