To my surprise, she saw me and cut through the grass before I’d gotten far from my day’s work. She came barrelling a little too quickly toward me and slid to a stop a few feet from the tree. Her windows were down and a song I barely recognized, but knew was from the nineties because it was Finley, came tumbling out. It had a heavy beat and it spilled happily all over the field surrounding me.
She tossed her door open and turned up the volume full blast and jumped out, singing at the top of her lungs. She stood on the hood of her car, her arms raised at her sides, and continued to belt out the tune the only way Finley knew how to do anything, with as much life as her heart could give.
I burst out laughing almost immediately but that didn’t stop her. In fact, it only seemed to bolster her. She slid gracefully off the hood onto the field below and came skipping toward me still singing. She grabbed my hands and made me dance with her. I humored her but it was proving difficult because I was laughing so hard I could barely stand. When the song came to an end, she pulled away, her eyes gleaming and her chest pumping from the effort. She playfully fell to the grass, out of breath.
“God, I love that song,” she said, smiling.
I backed up and leaned on the hood of her Bug. “I can tell,” I teased.
She looked over at me seemingly just realizing that we were out in the middle of my field. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, studying her surroundings.
I gestured to the dead tree. “It fell down a few weeks ago when that big storm rolled across and I’ve, uh, been meaning to get to it before my dad did.”
“That’s awfully nice of you,” she said, catching her breath.
“Not really. My motivation is guilt.”
“Best kind, really,” she joked.
“Yeah,” I laughed, “the great persuader.” I studied her. “Don’t have work today?”
“Nope. Well, not during the day. I don’t work Mondays through Wednesdays at the travel agency.”
“What do you do for cash then?”
“I, uh, work nights at Buffalo’s,” she admitted, avoiding eye contact.
I fought a smile.
She sat up, fighting a smile of her own. “Whatever, Moonsong! I do what I have to do. I’m not ashamed!”
Buffalo’s was the local burger joint. That may not seem that bad, but unfortunately its main clientele were usually between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. Local farm kids rarely get the opportunity to do much other than school and work on the ranches. Needless to say, when they get together, they’re, let’s call them a rambunctious lot. Oh, and I almost forgot, the manager makes the waitresses there sing and dance to songs from the jukebox on the bar top once an hour. Nothing seedy but, I mean, come on, it’s pretty girls in shorts and cowboy boots. You can imagine how much the local high school boys like it.
“I’m not knockin’ it, Fin. I just feel sorry for you is all.”
Her smile went crooked.
“What time’s your shift?” I asked.
“Six o’clock,” she answered, standing up and brushing the grass from her shorts and band T-shirt. “It’ll be busy but you should come out,” she prodded.
“I know what you’re doing,” I said, walking back over near the tree and picking up the chainsaw.
“What am I doing, Ethan?”
“You’re tryin’ to keep me from the bar.”
“So what if I am?” she asked, joining my side and propping herself on top of the dead trunk of the tree. She looked me dead in the eye.
“I have no plans to go to the bar tonight,” I admitted.
She narrowed her eyes. “Really,” she stated as a fact more than a question.
I met her eyes. “Really.”
“Why not? I mean, I’m glad and all, but I want to know why.”
“Because of how close I was to you know…” I left the sentence hanging. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Come in at eleven. It’s pretty dead by then. I’ll save you a booth.” She jumped off the tree trunk then tied her hair back. “Let’s do this,” she said, examining the tree.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finley helped me by binding up all the loose branches with twine and setting them in a pile as I broke down the dead tree. I felt pretty grimy by the end of it but it also felt so good to use my muscles again. It’d been a while. It was odd to go from a backbreaking type of work to nothing at all in the matter of one day. It was amazing as well as disheartening to have realized that I was more sore than I should have been and it encouraged me to begin working out every day to keep myself up. Finley had gone home to shower and change for work, and I promised her I’d go in to Buffalo’s that night.
Inside, I stripped and sat under a hot shower for a few minutes reveling in the burn of the muscles of my back and arms. After, I threw on a pair of jeans and my boots and went to the fridge. It was empty, which made my chest ache. It’d been empty for about five years ’cause my mom was the one who’d kept it full. Looking back, I thought about all she’d used to buy in order to make whatever meals she planned for the week.
Which made me think of something. I left the fridge open and studied the calendar on the wall near the pantry.
Son of a bitch.
Suddenly, I wanted a drink. Badly. I slammed the fridge door closed and paced the small kitchen, at war with myself. It would have been so easy to head out to my truck and grab my emergency stash. I could have just as easily started it and headed toward my dealer Vi.