Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BIANCA
On Saturday, I’m pleased to see Rhett is wearing the douchiest set of track clothes to have ever disgraced this planet. They’re pumpkin-colored with white racing stripes, as if he’s going to sprint through the Gallaghers’ famous twenty-acre corn maze.
Maybe he will. He’s told everyone the designer kept the solution a secret from everyone, each and every Gallagher included, so it’ll be an “even playing field.” Of course, he’s a lying sack of shit.
It is wild to me that I almost married that man. If not for Kitty’s intervention, I would have. I never would have reconnected with Giovanni.
Rhett is currently standing in front of the opening of the maze, which helpfully has a huge ENTER HERE sign staked next to it, the red letters dripping, either because he wanted them to look like blood, or he got lazy.
He’s talking animatedly to Christopher, who has been suckered into writing a whole series about both Giovanni and Apple Ridge’s festivals.
Someone at the main office of The Asheville Gazette must really dislike the guy or have an aversion to mustaches.
“We could have breezed through that maze,” I say to Giovanni in an undertone. “Not a worry in the world.”
“It was a poor choice to turn Whit down,” Emily says. “A very poor, very sweet choice.”
I cup Giovanni’s cheek and then rearrange his Mr. October crown, which is barely sticking together at this point. “Yes, Chef. She has a point.”
He grins at me, and I feel a flutter of nerves. I seriously don’t care about solving the maze, so it takes me a moment to figure out what’s going on with me.
It’s all the Halloween décor, I realize with a lurching sensation.
It’s a reminder that our month is almost at an end.
The thought fills me with raw panic, but I tamp it down, not wanting to ruin the afternoon. If he’s leaving in another week, each moment together is important.
Emily pokes me. “You’re moping again.”
“Because Giovanni robbed us of certain victory,” I fib.
He kisses the top of my head. “Certain victory today, yes, but I’m going to fight for apple pie ascendancy. Consider it in the bag.”
Giovanni has already told me about his plan for next week.
On top of all the superfame he’s courting, he’s decided to charm each member of the judging panel for the apple pie bake-off.
We know who they are thanks to Whit, who brought the information over on Friday on an old bicycle, tucked inside a sealed envelope addressed to “Mr. Shirtless Chef Giovanni.”
It was all very cloak-and-dagger until Giovanni offered to let him taste-test the latest versions of the apple pie. He and Luanne decided they could improve upon perfection, so they’ve been making an unreal amount of pies.
Whit, the nonnas, and I have all voted on the four front-runners, using a scale from zero to ten. I nearly peed myself laughing because Nonna Francesca is a viciously low scorer.
“It’s almost time,” Rhett calls out, trying to add gravitas to his voice. “I’m so proud of our competitors for showing up today and supporting Apple Ridge with your contributions. We’re becoming a stronger community every day, thanks to you.
“Now, remember the rules.” He points to the list of rules beside the dripping sign. 1. No hitting the actors. 2. No tripping or shoving. 3. Have fun. “There can only be one winner, but all of you are winners in my book.”
“Oh lord,” Emily says under her breath.
Giovanni laughs. “What book did you pick for him, out of curiosity?”
“No one book could save him,” she mutters. “I’d have to choose a whole library, and he’d never read it, so all that wisdom would go to waste.”
We’re all still laughing when Rhett signals that it’s time to start by slapping the jack-o’-lantern button in the center of the table next to the entrance to the maze. A tinny, witchy laugh echoes from it, and the crowd pours toward the maze, instantly forgetting the no tripping or shoving rule.
Emily turns toward us, salutes, and then takes off at a power walk she definitely must have learned from Mr. Campbell.
“See,” I tell Giovanni, weaving my hand into his. “This is what happens when you try too hard to be fair. People lose faith that you have a winner’s spirit.”
I’m teasing, though. I like the fact that Giovanni doesn’t want to play Rhett’s games.
Especially since there’s nothing that could piss Rhett off more.
“I figured we’d have a nice stroll,” Giovanni says with a grin. “I brought snacks.”
We step through the lip of the maze and start winding our way through the dried stalks shaking in the wind.
A few people enter with us, but they’re clearly more competitively minded—one of them is equipped with a compass, the other a long spool of twine, presumably so they do not backtrack.
Within minutes, we’re alone on our path, but ghostly voices continue to drift through the corn, conversations half heard, and we catch glimpses of other people wandering through the maze.
It takes us about five minutes to hit the first dead end.
We’re weaving our way back out of the trap when Giovanni asks, “So what’s the deal with the actors?”
As if his words summoned him, a figure in a Jason hockey mask bursts out from behind a cluster of corn stalks, wielding a plastic knife, and Giovanni curses and shoves me behind him. I laugh so hard I have to lean on him to stand upright.
“They’re from the theater group,” I say through gasps. “Mr. Mayor hires them to scare people.”
“Good job,” Giovanni says, giving Jason a crooked grin. “You shaved at least three years off my life, but I’m told the last three years are the worst. Would you like a cookie?”
Jason accepts a cookie without removing his mask, then shrugs and says in a voice I recognize but can’t identify, “Take the fourth left. Then you’re going to want to take the very next right you get to.”
Giovanni nods in acknowledgment. “Thanks, my friend.”
“So you’ll accept Jason’s help but not Whit’s?” I ask him in a whisper as we move onward.
He shrugs, wrapping an arm around me. “He could be leading us to our death. It’s fun not knowing, isn’t it?”
Uncertainty isn’t all that much fun for me, actually.
I want to know what’s going to happen between Giovanni and me.
I want to know if I’m foolish to let myself hope for something more than the existence I had before he arrived—the comfortable yet stifling familiarity of being surrounded by older versions of people who’ve been around me for my entire life.
“It’s fun being with you,” I say honestly. “It would be fun anywhere.”
He kisses the top of my hand just as an adult-sized Chucky bursts out at us from around a corner, his plastic knife poised to stab.
Giovanni sighs and offers him a cookie.
Chucky expands on Jason’s directions, but the maze is large, and it only covers a small section of it. The next time we find ourselves in a dead end, this one gloriously free of paid actors, Giovanni grins at me. “Seems like a good place to make out for a few minutes.”
“Yes, Mr. October. Yes, it does.”
We stop to chat with Mr. O’Connor, who’s dressed like a knockoff Freddy Krueger, and a couple of other town figures.
Nearly two hours later, we finally emerge from the maze, and Giovanni’s crown is on my head.
We fully expect to see Rhett lording his “shocking” victory over everyone, but it turns out Emily was the first to emerge.
Rhett looks incredibly pissed off when he announces her victory to the gathered crowd, everyone drinking apple slushies because the cool start to the day has burned off into a sunnier-than-seasonal afternoon.
After claiming her prize, Emily grabs a slushie from one of the high-school-age servers strolling around with trays of refreshments. She drinks it down in a few quick gulps. “Tastes like victory,” she says with a huge grin.
“How’d you do it?” Giovanni asks. “Did the murderers give you clues too?”
She smiles, shaking her head, and then motions for us to huddle with her. “I bought the map from Whit.”
Giovanni looks astonished, but I bust out laughing. Of course she bought the map. Emily’s nothing if not a survivor, just like Whit. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she taught him some of his hustling skills, or that she bought him a book to guide his eventual world domination.
“I think I have a lot to learn from you ladies,” Giovanni says at last, smiling.
“You’ll learn everything you need to know at book club,” Emily says. “If you survive book club, you can survive anything.”
Christopher, who’s been making the rounds, talking to various townspeople, approaches us.
“Congratulations,” he says to Emily. “You got through the maze at least twenty minutes before everyone else.”
“I have a fantastic sense of direction,” she replies deadpan.
“So it would seem, so it would seem,” he mutters, then turns toward Giovanni and me with a faux sympathetic smile.
My back immediately stiffens. I don’t like it when people look at me, or anyone else, like that. There’s nothing in this world more rank than false sympathy.
“I heard something interesting about the car accident your brother was in, Bianca, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to comment?”
“Why are you interested in an accident that happened five years ago?” I reply, suddenly feeling like my throat is coated with ash.
“They say your brother was in that car with Ann Campbell and Jake Simmons,” he says, then turns to Emily and adds, “Ann was your boss’s granddaughter.”
“I know who I work for,” she says tightly.
“And Jake…”
“We know who both of them were,” I say. “Of course we do. We live here, Christopher. I went to school with them. We all cried for them. Some of us still do.”
He nods, more of that fake sympathy filling his gaze. “Jake was your high school boyfriend.”
Giovanni darts me a wide-eyed look, and I know he’s wondering why I never told him about Jake. Why Miles never said anything either.
I force myself to look away. “Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what you’re accusing my brother of?”
“Or you can leave.” Giovanni wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. “That would work too.”
Christopher lifts his hands, palms facing outward. “I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m trying to get the story straight, because from what I understand, a reporter from It’s Not Gossip has been calling around and asking questions about the accident.”
Giovanni swears under his breath. I swear over my breath.
“The story goes,” Christopher continues, “that Ann had broken up with Miles, and supposedly everyone in town knew Miles and Jake didn’t get along…”
“Oh my God,” I say, pulling away from Giovanni so I can wag a finger at the reporter. “Are you suggesting my brother—”
“I know he wasn’t driving. None of them were drunk, but why were they in a car together? No one seems to know.”
“Does it matter?” I snap. “Jake took a blind curve too fast, and he hit that tree. Miles only survived because he was in the back seat, and if you think he doesn’t carry that with him every single day, then you’re a fool. I don’t know what the hell this has to do with anything.”
“People are interested in your family,” Christopher says softly. “People are interested in the woman behind all of this.” He motions toward Giovanni.
A feeling of deep misgiving clutches at me.
Giovanni warned me they’d want all of our secrets, but that threat had barely given me pause.
Because we’d needed the money. We’d needed it, and now we’ve gotten it.
The farm is doing better than it has in a decade.
But Miles is coming back home soon, based on what Giovanni told me, and if he returns only to discover all of the old stories were revived right before his return…
It’ll kill him all over again.
“Leave my brother alone,” I say, feeling hot tears pressing at my eyes. “He’s been through enough. So have the Campbells and the Simmonses.”
Christopher nods consolingly, but I’d like to rip off his mustache. It’s not a gracious urge, but there it is.
Giovanni tries to take my hand, but I pull away. All of my nerve endings are supercharged.
Christopher presses on. “And your grandmothers…”
“Are we going to be answering questions about the apple fight too?” Giovanni asks with a sigh, rubbing his scruff.
I feel a stab of worry for him. He’s been doing so well, feeling so motivated, but this is the side of fame that doesn’t sit well with him. The hunger other people have for every single secret locked away in his soul.
Even the secrets of the people closest to him.
“I’d like to know the truth about it, of course,” Christopher says, turning to address me. “I did hear whispers that it had something to do with your great-uncle Ted.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say confidently.
Ted was the mildest-mannered man alive. He was like Theo on a constant stream of Xanax. It seems impossible he’d be the root of any sort of conflict. In fact, I’d always assumed the apple fight might have been sparked by my grandfather, who’d been a difficult man.
“Only whispers,” Christopher says, having the grace to seem a little embarrassed. “They say it might have been some kind of love triangle.”
“Love triangle?” I sputter.
Giovanni’s jaw hardens. “Dead men can’t defend themselves.”
“No, of course not. I was…it was honestly just a question.”
“And are people really going to care about all of this?” Giovanni asks. He seems shocked. I feel shocked.
“Yes,” Christopher says. “Because they care about you. I’ve also heard rumblings about an affair with a married woman back in Maine. A few people have suggested that’s the real reason you’re here.”
“And who’s their hot source?” I snap. “I’m guessing it was his ex. Did you know she stalked him? Is it any wonder he wanted to leave?”
“I thought he came here for you,” Christopher says pointedly.
“I did.” Giovanni squeezes my hand. “But I didn’t ask for this kind of attention. Neither did my girlfriend. It’s not fair to bother them to get at us.”
“Life’s not fair,” Emily interjects. “But sometimes you have the chance to control the map, Giovanni. Remember that.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not really listening. He’s deep in thought, and that feeling of misgiving swells inside of me. Because I know he’s already planning on doing the decent thing.