"I used to mow hay in this field," he said.
"By hand?"
"Sure thing."
She climbed onto the stile and sat beside him, the weathered planks shaky, beetles crawling about under the bottom step ... Chuck had collected beetles as a kid ... Chuck would like it here, sitting in the sun.
"Now ... now where?" she made herself ask.
"Across the field," he said.
"Your aunt said it may rain."
"We can't let a little thing like rain stop us."
"I'm game."
"Give me your hand."