Chapter Nineteen
Milo
It was a week before Halloween, and we met at a forty-acre farm just west of town with a corn maze in the shape of an American flag cut out of the stalks in the immense field. There were hundreds of people, mostly families because it was a Monday night. In Idaho, with the majority of people being Mormon, Monday was the night they did family outings and activities.
When Don and I pulled up, he sighed.
"I know," I said, appreciating him for being my wingman. "I owe you."
"You've said that a lot lately."
This was true. In the two months since Clara and I had reunited, we'd been relentless in our efforts to spend time together. It was as though we were trying to make up for all those years of being apart so we could start again.
We spent hours talking on the phone
