Page 47 of Say You Will

He closes my door, walks around to the driver’s side and folds himself into his seat. I spend the first few minutes enjoying the scenery as we drive. The sky is a blue so bright it almost doesn’t look real, with fluffy white clouds floating overhead. The trees are a riot of color that look straight off some screensaver or calendar. Almost too perfect not to be photoshopped.

“What are we going to do with the pumpkins when we get them?” I ask.

“It depends on the kind of pumpkins we get. We could carve faces in them. Stick a candle in them and put them on the front stoop.”

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin in my life. Is it fun?” It sounds idyllic.

“Some people think it’s fun.”

I give him a knowing smile. “You don’t.”

He shoots a glance my way. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. It’s a feeling I have.”

He sucks on his eye tooth briefly before he admits, “Pumpkins have guts.”

“What do pumpkin guts look like?”

His lips turn down in an exaggerated grimace. “They’re cold and slimy and stringy at the same time.” He gives me a sly grin. “We could shoot the pumpkins.”

“Shoot them?”

He mimes an explosion with his right hand. “We’d need a lot of pumpkins, or it would be over fast, but a hollow point bullet makes them explode.”

I laugh. “What did the poor pumpkins ever do to you?”

“The pumpkins don’t care, Franki. We’re not hurting their feelings.”

“Then it’s wasteful.”

“More wasteful than using them as candle holders?”

“Good point, but, yes, anyway,” I tease.

“How do you feel about shooting at paper targets attached to hay bales?”

“Much less squeamish than shooting at poor, unsuspecting gourds.”

His lips twitch in a suppressed smile. “Grandma Miller gets little pumpkins that she turns into pie.”

My eyes flare wide. “Have you made pie before?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

I twist my lips and laugh. “Me neither.”

“Do you want to?”

“We don’t know how.”

“Not knowing how to do something has never stopped me from doing it,” he says dryly.

I laugh, but I suspect he’s not kidding. If he doesn’t know how to do something, he figures it out. “Is that your motto?”

“My family already has a motto. I don’t need another one.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Love hard. Remain loyal. Fight dirty.”

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