Actually, she’d said, “You can pick me up at three.” Which gave him his first dilemma. How was he to pick her up? He’d spent so much time gathering his courage and then worrying over her answer that he hadn’t given much thought to the details. He had picked out a nice spot beneath an oak tree. It was far enough from the pigpen that they wouldn’t be disturbed by the raucous critters. They could make quite a noise when they felt the need. The first few times he’d heard their high-pitched cries, he’d run over, certain a coyote had jumped into the pen. But no. They’d simply decided to chase each other at top speed, circling the pen, trundling through the mud, squealing and oinking and generally kicking up a fuss. So he picked the site for their dinner as far from the pen as reasonably possible, but still close enough to the barn not to necessitate a long hike across muddy fields. Rebecca had given him an old quilt, which he spread out underneath the tree. Then he debated between walking over versus driving the tractor.
