Chenghai carried me across the field with the cooler hanging from his other hand.
The muddy track had disappeared into the dark, but the moon gave us enough light to see the worst holes. He stepped around them without slowing, which was good because I had no interest in being bounced after everything that had happened on the porch.
My legs had stopped shaking but that didn't mean that they were interested in walking.
I rested my head against his shoulder and watched the farmhouse disappear behind the tall grass. The place looked empty again now that we had packed the blankets and food. Fan Bo had taken the red truck, the porch was dark, and the only proof we had been there was the destroyed field and one towel still hanging over the creek railing.
Chenghai would probably remember it before we left.
He seemed like the kind of person who counted towels.
