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And it’s to that mudroom Harrison takes me, kicking open the door and presenting it with a gesture of his hand. “Here you go, your bunk of sorts.”
My ‘bunk of sorts’ is a cot pressed against the wall next to an old stacked washing machine and dryer, all cramped up in this mudroom that can’t be more than six or seven feet wide, complete with a screened window and door. A trunk is squished against the foot of the bed, where I reckon my things are supposed to go.
I give him a look. “This cot been checked for bed bugs? Looks like it was fished out of a dumpster behind Mort’s furniture store.”
“If it isn’t to your liking, you can always commute.”
I can still hear the hissing of the engine after the crash, the noise of groaning metal, my heart racing up my throat. “That’s … not an option,” I say, coming out of the memory.
“Guess it isn’t, huh? That’s what you get for being careless.”
I stare at him. “Careless …?”
“Yeah. Wrecking your truck. I heard the story.”
“Okay, now, wait a sec here,” I start, lifting a finger. “I wasn’t goin’ around bein’ careless with my old rusty beaut. There was a dumb dog in the road I was swervin’ to avoid …”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, damn near jumped out of nowhere. Me sacrificing my truck saved that stupid canine’s life.”
He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, studying me, squinting. I know the guy probably doesn’t believe me. I don’t really care. It’s the truth, and while that dog might be alive because of me, I’m now short a truck—and a means to get around Spruce other than on my own two feet.
Harrison finally grunts. “Probably Whitney’s dog again,” he mumbles half to himself. “She’s been unable to keep that dog in one place since he was a pup, always running off here and there.”
“I dunno whose dog it was, but they’re alive ‘cause of me, and I think I’m owed a thanks.” I shrug. “At the very least, I mean.”
Harrison turns his eyes onto me. “So what’re you expecting? A medal of honor? Look, we’re already falling behind. I gotta show you everything today—and what chores you’ll do tomorrow.”
“Chores?”
“Of course, chores. Feeding sheep. Cleaning the pig pen and the barn. Chickens. Horses. Cows …”
“I, uh … what?”
“That’s just the start. You’ll also be helping with maintenance, shoveling manure … Oh yeah, I hope you’re ready to get nice and accustomed to the aroma of animal feces …”
“Okay, okay, hold up now …”
“What’s that look on your face? Panic? What exactly did you think you came here for, boy? A vacation? Look, if it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea,” he goes on while I gawk at him, “we’re happy to find someone else for the job. Maybe a guy or gal who actually has farm experience—someone whose hand I won’t have to hold.”
I shut my mouth, which I didn’t realize was hanging open. He really is testing me—to my very last nerve. And it’s just the first day. Hell, it’s the first ten minutes of the first day.
Can I really last a whole summer of this?
But if there’s any virtue Coach Strong instilled in me over my years in football, it’s perseverance. When there’s a goal set, my ass doesn’t quit until it’s done. You can bet your bottom dollar I won’t give Harrison exactly what he wants: for me to go running from this place with my tail tucked.
I lift my chin. “You don’t gotta hold my hand, sir.”
Harrison stares me down harder. “You sure about that?”
“Dead sure.”
“You gonna cry any more about your living arrangements? I wasn’t kidding about having a whole stack of applicants on Gary’s desk I can thumb through and find a less pretty face than yours to take your cozy spot here.”
I flinch. “Did you just call me ‘pretty’ …?”
“Someone who doesn’t whine. Someone who’s ready to get pig shit under their fingernails.”
What’s this guy’s obsession with animal poop? “I ain’t whining.”
“Trust me, I can find someone,” he goes right on, maintaining that permanent scowl on his face, thick eyebrows pulled together with tension. “Just say the word.”
I throw my bag to the ground. “This is fine with me.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Dumpster cot, screen door and all.”
Harrison gives me a hard onceover. Finally he nods. “Alright. I’ll be outside waiting while you get that stuff of yours put away. Get something more durable on those feet. Boots, if you got them. Animals don’t care what you look like, just as long as you keep them fed and happy.” He leans in. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you today. You have a lot to learn.”
I nod. “Got the message loud and clear.”
With that, he pushes through the screen door and heads into the blinding sun, letting the door slap itself shut with the wind. A fly buzzes around the screened window, as if trying to find its way out. Sorry, bug, but it looks like you’re stuck here, same as me. I stare down at the cot, my eyes zeroing in on a suspicious stain.
