Page 150 of The Run Back Home

I spy Mabel's white hatchback somehow parked right up front—of course she didn't have to circle the lot thrice and park six rows back like I did. But my brothers' trucks and Bridget's silver Civic are nowhere to be seen.

I don't think much of it as I head toward the entrance—it's very possible they carpooled over or are parked in the overflow field up the street. But when I see Mabel killing time by scanning the gourd bin stacked taller than she is with squash of all different colors and sizes, I know something's up.

"Hey Mom," I say, stepping over a squished baby pumpkin that was clearly run over by a tractor of sorts.

"Nora," she squeals, thankfully dropping the bumpy white gourd back onto the pile. It's shaped way too much like a penis to be in my mother's hands or anywhere near her front porch. She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes tight.

"Where's everyone else?" I ask, hugging her back. "I assumed this was supposed to be a whole family thing."

Mom pulls away. "Eh, not this time," she says, waving me off and moving toward the corn maze.

I follow her, trying to nail down the tone of her voice.

Disappointment? Dismissive? Something else completely unique to Mabel.

The Maze entrance glows under a string of orange lights that don't need to be on in the middle of the day, but do add to the overall vibe. Kids dart in and out of the entrance while their parents shout warnings like Keep on the path! and Stay with your brother!

I watch as a couple disappears inside the stalks—voices soft, eyes on each other, hands interlocked like a labyrinth of dry corn is some sort of aphrodisiac. I picture Jace and I getting lost together, just me, him, and the hay-lined path. Not this year of course—I'll be leaving too soon, and then I'll be a million miles away. But maybe one day. In a future fall. If this second attempt at long-distance goes better than the first.

A familiar dull ache creeps into the hopefulness I've been clinging to. The same one that hit me the second I scanned my paperwork back to Kent after the aquarium. The one that tried to sort through the happiness I felt when Jace said he wanted to make things work despite the trip—and the disappointment that he never asked me to stay in Golden City.

I almost let myself drift back to that moment, when I had to remind myself I'm lucky he even wants to try again—that I should be grateful he offered me a way to have them both—when Mom grabs two wristbands from the bored teenager at the folding table.

She hands me one.

"We're doing the maze?" I ask, the top end of the yellow band flapping as a breeze blows by.

"Why not?"

She shrugs, moving toward the entrance, and I should probably question why my mom and I are embarking on the same adventure as the teenagers or lovers before us, but I don't. Because Mabel is Mabel, and this wouldn't even skim the surface of her strangest suggestions.

"And you're sure no one else is coming?" I ask.

She doesn't respond—doesn't so much as shake or nod her head. Instead, she wraps her fingers around a floppy leaf still more green than yellow, letting it slip through her fingers as she continues forward. "Let's go, Nora."

We walk straight for the first few seconds, both of our eyes wandering like we've never been here before.

That's the funny thing about nostalgia. The simplest things that just look like what they are to one person—a maze, a set of street lights, otters—others could stare at them for hours and think of all the memories they're attached to.

Eventually, we make our first left—Mabel directed of course—and as if the turn was a switch, Mom starts talking.

"So, are you ready for your last week in Golden City?"

I nod, walking slowly beside her, matching her pace while trying to drudge past the unexpected gut punch her words bring. "I, um—yeah," I sigh. "I guess so."

"And where to next, Nor?"

My brow furrows as her tone once again confuses me. "Uh… well, that's actually something I was gonna tell everyone today."

"That you're leaving again?"

I glance over at her smiling straight ahead, acting like this isn't her favorite subject to grill me on. "Yeah. I… got my next assignment."

"Mhmm."

We make another turn, a right this time, but Mom still doesn't ask me where I'm headed.

Voices scatter in front of us like a nearby group is pushing ahead—away from the potential fallout—and the leaves of the stalks ruffle like the wind itself is fleeing the moment.