Chapter 42 Rowe
Rowe
As soon as the words leave my mouth, Pane pulls me into a hug, kisses the top of my head, and whispers, “Congratulations. You just saved your farm.”
There’s still so much to work out: How will I part with my precious piggycorns? How many will it take to light up a community? How am I going to manage growing starfizz berries and raising piggycorns? But I’ve got Pane beside me, and that’s all that matters.
And right then my heart expands. I feel like the Grinch in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, when his heart breaks the bands encasing it. My heart overflows with love. Nothing—not one thing—can yank this feeling away.
While I’ve got my face pressed into Pane’s chest, inhaling his amazing scent, I hear murmurs and gasps around me.
He strokes my head and whispers, tickling the hair surrounding my ear, “Look up, little Sunbeam.”
When I do, my heart nearly pops out of my chest. I blink, wipe my eyes to make sure I’m really seeing what I’m seeing.
A patch of earth in front of the house, about twenty feet long, glows with light, illuminating the grass all the way to the tip of each blade.
But unlike all the other times when I’ve seen this happen, this time there’s no catalyst. The wind isn’t blowing; the air is still.
But even so, the earth buzzes with energy.
As I watch, vines unwind from the ground and shoot into the sky.
They stretch like long, elegant fingers, jutting way up before stopping their ascent.
They hang in the air for a brief second, swaying lightly in the breeze, before curling their tips back down and plunging into the rubble like a swimmer diving off a cliff.
From underneath the pile of debris, the clang of snapping and popping fills the air. It sounds like bones cracking and glass shattering all over again.
“Is the house going to fall into a hole?” someone whispers.
“No. It’s being fixed,” I hear myself realize.
Shingles rise into the air, lifted by the vining ropes that stretch unnaturally from the earth. More vines dive down into the mess and resurface, bringing with them panes of glass and cracked planks of wood.
Orbs of magic lift from the ground like sprites.
They surround the rubble that’s risen from the dead and, quick as lightning, spin in a blur.
The air around the house seems to exhale, and as it breathes, the shattered and destroyed planks of wood and shards of glass swirl with it.
Planks click and clack as they snap back the way they were.
Glass grinds and shingles scrape as they are stitched, becoming whole once more.
“Holy cow,” Cristina says, her voice overflowing with awe. “Rowe, what did you do?”
I shake my head, unable to put into words what I’m feeling, watching in disbelief as the broken and destroyed house—the wood splintered to dust and the glass ground into powder—spins, creating a vortex that whips the air around us.
My shirt flutters. My legs shake as the house spins and spins, until it finally lands with an earth-shaking thump.
The very world stills as we stare in silence at the house—my house, the Wadley farm—as it stands tall and proud in the middle of the yard.
And then, just like when Pane bested Coleman Barrier’s chain saw challenge, what feels like the entire population of Mystic Meadows erupts into applause. The power of it hits me in the solar plexus, choking me up.
Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s the love of this town or the love of the earth for me, but I’m overcome with emotions.
And all is right in the world.
There is a party at Sparkle Bar, of all places, to celebrate Pane’s win, me gaining back the farm, and the house being rebuilt. Not only has the whole town shown up, but Pane’s brother arrived, too. His mother has even stayed.
Pane has changed into a three-piece suit that Sylvia brought, and he now looks like the powerful CEO and president of an international company.
He makes me proud.
I’ve changed into my best dress (I wore it to Jennifer and Ron’s wedding several years ago). Music plays, people celebrate, and Pane Maddox is man of the hour.
Someone notified the press of the contest, and news crews have shown up as well. They’ve been pelting Sylvia with questions, but soon enough it’ll be Pane’s turn.
I push up onto my tiptoes and place my elbow on Pane’s shoulder. He’s been talking to Isaac and Ron, but at the intrusion, he turns my way and wraps an arm around my waist.
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.”
“It’s no interruption,” Isaac confesses. “I was just congratulating Pane.”
“And I”—Pane kisses my cheek—“have been dodging every reporter possible.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Looks like you’ve done a good job. They’re with your mother now.”
He lifts his whiskey glass toward her. “Sylvia always knows what to say. I’ll let her have at it.”
“Brother!” A tall man with a very clear resemblance to Pane—wide shoulders and a thick neck, but lighter hair—strides up in a dark suit and crystal-blue tie.
Pane glances up and his face breaks into such a wide smile that the pulse in my neck begins fluttering. I slip my elbow off his shoulder and sink back to my heels as the brothers embrace.
When they part, Stone holds Pane at arm’s length.
“Congratulations! It’s well deserved, though I almost had you beat.
I would’ve gotten away with it, if it hadn’t been for those meddling piggycorns,” he jokes, referencing a line from every Scooby-Doo episode.
Ever. “I told you piggycorns were a big deal.”
“Yes, brother. You practically handed me victory. I almost owe you my win,” Pane says with amusement lighting his eyes and laughter filling his voice. When the laughs fade, his gaze flashes in my direction. “Stone, this is Rowe Wadley.”
Stone takes my hand and smiles at me warmly. “Ah, I finally get to meet you—the piggycorn whisperer.”
I laugh as we shake. “The piggycorn whisperer? That’s a new one.”
“Didn’t you know?” He winks. “That’s what Pane’s been calling you. Says he couldn’t have done any of this without you, and I can’t help but agree, because it’s well known that animals hate him. Or that he hates animals.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Pane chides. “I’ve never said that—”
I tug him by the lapels and pull him in. “That you, what? Don’t hate animals? What a fibber! You hated all the piggies when you first arrived.”
Stone folds his arms, giving his brother a scrutinizing look. “Is that true? You actually told her you hated them?”
Pane takes my hands, which are still curled in his suit jacket. “Do I hate them now? That’s the real question.”
“Now he feeds them,” I inform Stone smugly. “With your hot dogs.”
“That’s cannibalism,” Stone decries.
“They’re all-beef,” Pane and I chant in unison.
Stone laughs. “So, not cannibalism. Great to know. Come on.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “Let’s celebrate your win.”
I start to walk off with them, but Sylvia Maddox catches my eye. She lifts her brows like she wants to speak with me. “You go ahead,” I tell Pane. “I’ll catch up.”
He frowns. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I watch them walk over to the bar, admiring how happy Stone is for Pane. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s not jealous. From everything Pane’s told me about his brother, they are so committed to one another that a little bit of jealousy couldn’t sour their love.
It’s really admirable.
Warmth bleeds through my chest as my gaze flicks back over to Sylvia.
She’s untangled herself from the reporters and is making her way over.
The woman looks like a sore thumb in the middle of the excruciatingly tacky Sparkle Bar, a place that resembles a field of rainbows vomiting more fields of rainbows—with stuffed buck heads to top it off.
As Pane steps up to the bar, reporters surround him, shoving a camera and microphone in his face. He smiles pleasantly, talking with an ease I couldn’t muster no matter how hard I tried.
“Congratulations,” Sylvia says as she walks up. “You should be very proud.”
“I am,” I tell her, referring more to my pride in her son than anything I hold close to myself. “I’m very proud of him.”
She twists in Pane’s direction. “He’s going to be very busy now that he’s won the company.
I’ll need him back in New York immediately.
From there, he’ll fly to the West Coast and then make his way to Japan.
After that, it’s Europe. He’ll be gone for months, introducing himself and making sure the company gets off on the right foot under his direction. ”
My stomach convulses. Gone for months? Pane never said anything about that.
Sylvia inspects her manicure and says coolly, “I know you expected him to help get your little piggycorn business up and running, but I’m afraid my son will be much too busy.”
Too busy?
She nods at the reporters. “There will be more interviews like this, of course. It’s fun doing it here, in Mystic Meadows, where all this started. It’s cute, really. But this isn’t real life. Real life for a Maddox occurs in the boardroom, in a hotel.”
In a hotel.
Of course I know that. Pane’s lived in a hotel his whole life. But he said he doesn’t want that, that I’m his future.
But it’s not really true, is it? The company is his future, and that doesn’t exist here. The hotels are in different cities, across the country, around the world.
What’s actually in Mystic Meadows for Pane Maddox?
“Has my son ever told you about his father?”
I’d almost forgotten that Sylvia was here. “I’m sorry?” I clear my throat, hoping that will remove some of the cobwebs hazing up my brain. “Um. Yes, he has told me something about him.”
“Has he told you that the man married me for my money?”
“No, not exactly.” What did Pane say about his dad? “He just said that he . . .” The word abandoned doesn’t seem like a nice way to phrase what I know. “He left, Pane said.”