The weekend passes quietly for Abbie. She spends Saturday, at home, resting, cleaning, and primping and preening for her date.
Sunday, as she prepares herself for her date with Jacob, she wonders as the weekend of silence from Crane. Usually she receives a text or a brief phone call, inquiring politely about her health or a comment about the fineness of the weather. Occasionally, she's received a frustrated text about the latest of Crane's observations—taxes, technology, fashion, and etiquette form the bulk of these. His texts or brief calls are short and respectful, reminding her of his presence and feeding the growing ease of the burgeoning friendship.
While a weekend bereft of Crane's e-presence is not troubling—Crane is, after all, a grown man—Abbie's notice of his absence unsettles her.
It is with a little too much enthusiasm and brightness that she promptly pulls her car into the driveway of the Ellerby Sheep farm at noon.
A sure-footed boot emerges from her SUV, and Abbie hops down from her seat onto the lush green grass of arable land. A sprawling, white-painted farmhouse abuts the trees to her left, and to her right, behind the dark-brown wood fence, is a family of three sheep. Behind them, about 50 yards back, stands the main part of the flock of two dozen, eating grass and standing in the sun.
Abbie smiles with surprise. There's the sheep, she thinks. I'm waiting for the compliments and flattery.
As if on cue, a dark, tan, fit young man emerges from the farmhouse and walks toward the main part of the flock. Abbie sees Jacob walking with his athletic stride and waves. "Jacob!"
He turns and grins easily at her. "Abbie! You made it!" He sets down the bundles that he is carrying and sprints toward her. He jumps over the three-foot fence and stops short a few feet in front her. "M'lady," he says as he leans into an abbreviated bow.
Abbie laughs with surprise. "Mr. Ellerby."
Jacob rises. "Please. Jacob. Thanks for coming. And welcome to the farm."
"Thank you." She looks around at the lush rolling green in front of her. "And you were serious. This is an actual sheep farm. With sheep."
"Yes. It's my grandmother's. If you'd like, I can give you a quick tour. It's on our way to . . ."
"To?" she asks.
Jacob grins. "A surprise. But please, come with me." He turns, runs to the fence, and leaps over it easily.
Abbie laughs. "Easier said than done, I think." She walks slowly toward where Jacob stands. "It is my day off, and I am not climbing over this."
"No problem, Abbie. There's another way." With he a wink, he fiddles with the latch, and the fence comes open.
"There is always another way," Abbie responds automatically. The words echo strangely in her ears, and she her fingers brush over the outline of her cellphone in her jeans' pocket.
Jacob nods. "That's what coach says, anyway." He closes the fence behind her and places his hand gently on the small of her back. "Ready?"
Abbie brushes the thought of Ichabod from her mind. "Absolutely."
Jacob picks up his bundles and walks with Abby past the small family of sheep, past the main flock, and further down the green, rolling field to a stand of trees next to a river. There, a group of about ten people sit on picnic blankets surrounding a central pile of food.
"A party?" Abbie asks as they walk toward the group.
"Something like that." Jacob opens his bundle and pulls out a bottle of wine. "Sheep is life."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a celebration. For the sheep. For the way that we, the Dine, the Navajo, make our living." Jacob crooks his elbow and invites Abbie to put her arms through his arm. "What do you think?"
Abbie took in the children and grandparents playing and talking around the blankets. She watched as the women and men laughed and flirted and milled around, careless smiles and easy banter flowing as easily as the river that flowed next to their picnic site. Looking at the family in front of her, Abbie felt herself melt—she felt the city, her cases, her role as Witness slough off of her, leaving her light and wanting.
Abbie places her hands through Jacob's arm and squeezes his elbow. "I think it's perfect."
Jacob leans in close and speaks softly into her ear. "It is now."
A shiver passes through Abbie, and she is pleased by its thrilling tremor. And there's the flattery, she thinks.