But even with plenty of parking now, no one dared to test their luck again by crossing Eli’s boundary. The field where the cars had once sat was thriving. Corn stalks rose tall and green, stretching toward the sky like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Between the rows, sprigs of wildflower dotted the borders, planted by Margaret in quiet tribute to the damage that had once been done. One evening, just after sundown, Eli and Margaret sat on their porch watching the wind move through the field like a soft wave. The pink forget-me-nots swayed near the base of the porch steps, freshly watered.