Page 38 of Curses and Cornstalks
“You don’t have to move at all if you don’t want to,” I assure her.
She stills against me and, for a moment, I think she might stay where she’s at. That she might keep me pinned to the ground, every curve of her body conforming to mine. That we can stay like this, pressed against one another, forever.
But she moves to stand seconds later, and my heart sinks.
“I won't torture you like that.” She grins and offers me her hand.
I laugh dryly. I’m no stranger to torture. I’ve suffered for over a century, experienced more pain and anguish than I care to admit. Being close to Cassie isn’t torture.
It’s bliss.
“If being close to you is torture, I'll gladly suffer for all eternity.” Her mouth falls open, her cheeks turning bright pink, as I take her hand.
When I’m on my feet again, I pause inches away from her, my heart pounding hard. Tension swells around us, making the air feel like molasses.
“Well, I… That’s very…” She stammers, her face growing redder with every word, and clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you.” I tip my head slightly in a nod of appreciation. “Now, follow me. There’s something I want to show you.”
I grab her hand and thread our fingers together before turning and leading her down the row of cornstalks.
“You have something to show me?” She repeats like she can’t believe it. “Like what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I’m not sure if I’m capable of blushing anymore, or what it might look like if I did, but heat warms my face beneath my burlap mask. It’s a risk, showing her what I’ve been working on in the days since she was last here. But now that she’s here, I’m eager to show her.
What if she thinks it’s weird? Too much? Creepy?
What if she hates it?
“As you can imagine, I get very bored,” I explain as we walk. “Before, I could only stand at my post and watch the stalks sway in the breeze. Now, I try to stay busy, but there aren’t many distractions. So I’ve been trying my hand at art.”
I glance over in time to see her brows furrow together, and she shoots me an inquisitive look.
“Art? In the cornfield?”
“Yes. Obviously, I don’t have much to work with—mainly dirt and blades of grass—so keep your expectations low.”
She laughs, music to my ears, and squeezes my hand. “I’m sure it’s great.”
I try to find reassurance in her words, but as we approach the clearing, my stomach knots with nerves. Every doubt I’ve had over the last week resurfaces tenfold, and I’m tempted to change my mind.
The stalks begin to thin, and I suck in a nervous breath. This is my last chance to change my mind.
I stop walking abruptly, and Cassie looks at me worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to close your eyes,” I say. Maybe it’ll help my nerves if I can brace myself before she sees it. “I’ll tell you when to open them.”
She raised one slender eyebrow. “Atticus, what are you up to?”
“Just trust me. Close your eyes.”
With a tiny smirk, she obeys, and I guide her by the hand into the clearing.
In the middle of the open space is what I’ve been working on for a week solid, a six-foot long, intricate drawing carved into the dirt. I painstakingly emphasized the shadows and highlights by digging into the ground or building up parts so they catch the sunlight.
I’ve never drawn anything before, but I was quite proud of it up until this moment.
