At one point, one of the women said, “Whatever happened to Samantha?” and I found that I wasn’t overcome with jealousy or sorrow. I listened closely. I wanted to know.

Billy said, “We don’t really know. She probably went back to Ukiah.”

“She had a friend from high school there,” Liz said. “A girl she could stay with. That’s our best guess.”

The conversation moved on and we finished our meals. Darkness had fallen by the time we’d said our goodbyes and started the drive back. I was in the middle seat again. I kept thinking of Samantha. I was ready to know instead of wonder.

“You all liked her a lot, right? Samantha?” I asked.

Billy shrugged. “She was okay. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know what to say about her, really.”

“She was cool,” Liz said. “She wasn’t you, but she was fine.”

I felt their shoulders touching mine, felt myself smile in the dark.

___

Once we got back to the farm, we unloaded all our trades into the refrigerator and pantry and handed the money to Julia.

“Everyone loved the zinnias today,” Liz said.

“And the dahlias,” I said.

Julia beamed. “Good, good,” she said. “And did you have fun?”

“I love it there,” I said. “I’ve never been to a town like that.”

We told her where we went to dinner and what we all ordered, who we saw there and the gossip we heard.

“A million people said to tell you hello,” Billy said.

“As usual,” Liz added.

“Hello to a million people.” Julia laughed. “Well, you’ll rest well tonight.”

We headed across the field, back to our cabins. My shoulders were sore from carrying the crates and buckets, but I didn’t want to be alone. I steeled myself for our goodbye—for the two of them to walk into one cabin, shut the door, and leave me outside—but when we reached Liz’s door, she said, “Who wants to share a bottle of wine?”

We went into our cabins for thicker sweaters and socks and one glass each before meeting back outside Liz’s cabin, where we sat together in a row, facing the field. The ghosts were out, but they didn’t seem to mind us. Seeing so many of them together like that, I realized that most of them were very small. A few of them were taller, a couple were almost grown-up. But most of them were children. A few of the older ones were huddled in a group, and another broke away from them. Oh, I realized as she began to dance—it was her. I looked away.

“Here,” Liz said, filling my glass.

“Terry and Julia don’t care?” I asked.

“It’s a glass of wine. But no, I don’t think so. They let us have some on holidays.”