Roy picks me up in the parking lot and doesn’t stop talking the whole way to his place. Ha. Kidding. We ride without a lot of conversation. And by a lot, I mean any. He’s as much of a morning talker as I am.

  Even after busting ass yesterday, there’s still a ton to do. Every muscle and tendon and ligament and joint and even the freaking marrow in my bones is so sore that I involuntarily groan every time I move. But I refuse to complain. In spoken words, at least.

  Roy’s quietness suits me fine. We’ve traveled from Awkwardville into Companionable Silence Territory. We get to his place, and get to work. While I net and drag and bikini wax the trees, I think about Emmett, and Jamie’s locket. (When I use the chainsaw, I don’t think about anything but not cutting myself in half.) And I wonder how much trouble Emmett is really getting into. It can’t be that bad if he’s still allowed on the soccer team; he can’t be flunking out. But are his parents really headed for divorce? And also the tiny detail of him wanting to know how Jamie died. I don’t know much, but I know this: just because he hasn’t asked again doesn’t mean it’s not on his mind.

  And then there’s Stenn. He’s coming home for Thanksgiving and a long break in a few days. Which I’m happy about. Really, really happy about. But that brings up the whole sex thing, as in, when are we going to have it? Plus, Stenn’s being stingier than usual about his texts and phone calls. Which is probably all in my head, but it’s not lost on me that he’s around other girls, some of whom are evidently quite cool and down-to-earth. And I can be a bit of a handful. Sometimes.

  Then there are the minor additional worries about Jeremy breaking our deal, Dad being cryptic, and Mom still holding her grudge. Not to mention that I’m physically exhausted, which I’m pretty sure I’ve already mentioned.

  So after two hours of steady, sweaty work, I drag my tired schnookus over to Roy to suggest a coffee break. I’ve come prepared this time, with a big thermos of coffee and lots of cookies. Plus multiple sandwiches for lunch.

  “Want to take five?” I ask Roy.

  He looks stymied. Like I’ve asked him to sketch the schematics of a nuclear reactor.

  “You know, a coffee break? With treats?” I wave the bag of cookies.

  “Oh. Sure.” He goes to the garage and comes back with two tall white plastic buckets, which he sets upside down for us to sit on. Buddy curls into a ball on the ground between us. I pour some coffee into the thermos cap for Roy, and sip mine straight from the bottle. He takes a bite of cookie, a swig of coffee—and chokes.

  “Are you okay! What’s wrong?”

  “The coffee. My goodness, that is sweet.”

  “Yes. I like it to taste like coffee ice cream. Except hot.”

  “Mission accomplished,” he says, standing up. “Got my own inside.”

  I pick up the thermos cap after he goes into the house. Should I toss the coffee onto the ground? It’s too tasty. And I’m willing to bet Roy doesn’t have mono or herpes, so I pour every drop of the precious fluid back into my thermos. Roy comes back with a chipped mug of black coffee. He settles onto the bucket and bites his cookie. We don’t talk. We eat. And I marvel at the unmitigated genius of whoever first combined caffeine and refined sugar and chocolate and carbohydrates. That person deserves a recurring Nobel Prize.

  I eat another cookie. And one more after that. I’m fairly confident that lumberjacking burns one trillion calories per hour.

  Way too soon, Roy stands. “Well, got more that needs doing. Let’s see. Need to refill the washtubs—have to empty them nightly or they freeze solid—and finish felling and readying. Also got to tally up the inventory.” He rubs his chin and looks around as if he’s trying to prioritize tasks.

  I finish my third cookie, pull my—Roy’s—work gloves on. “How about I keep doing what I’m doing so you don’t have to spend your time teaching me new things. And I can fill the washtubs.”

  “Makes sense. Hose is in the garage. Tap’s over there,” he points to a faucet near the front steps. He asks, “You aren’t getting too tired out.”

  Holy hell YES I am too tired out. “I’m all right. Let’s git ’er done.”

  He tilts his head, nods once. It looks like approval. It’s a small gesture, but it has a huge effect on me. I am filled with an insane amount of pride.

  Roy pats his leg and Buddy scampers up and assumes the old belt-hang. He flashes his nippy teeth and beady eyes. What with his gray patchy fur and huge, skinless rattail, he’s as cute as a button. But he keeps Roy good company, and I’m glad for that. Han Solo has Chewbacca, I have Ruby, and Roy has Buddy.

  “We’ll probably be finished up an hour or two after lunchtime,” Roy says. “If we keep working steady.”

  “Okey doke.” Did I just say okey doke?

  So I keep Working Steady.

  And along with learning

  1. How ridiculously sore a body can get, and

  2. How loud a chainsaw is, and

  3. How to wrestle a Net-o-nator

  I’m learning something else about physical work:

  4. It gives the mind room to mosey. Meander in a less tweaked-out way. It’s very different than lying in bed or spacing out during class. Somehow the work here helps make things transparent and more comprehensible. Ergo:

  Hard work + physical exhaustion + being actually useful = a smidgeon of clarity.

  Time passes, and we work, and it’s really hard. And we go inside to warm up and eat lunch, and we talk about nothing much. I tell him about school and we talk a little bit about the weather—he tells me he trusts the predictions from Farmer’s Almanac over The Weather Channel any day of the week—and then we go outside and get back to work.

  At two, Roy comes over to me at the Net-o-nator and says we can stop. He looks at all the bundled trees and turns back to me. “I’d say we’re square. Debt cleared.”

  “Really?” That is Great News. But why does it also make me sad?

  He nods. “And then some.” He puts his coat back on, and I do, too. Stop moving and your sweat chills quickly. I gather my things. And I realize why I’m sad: I really like it here. I really like this work. I like being useful, and it makes me feel strong, because I am strong when I’m doing this.

  Roy clears his throat and says, “Sarah. You probably don’t want to, but I’m wondering. Would you like to keep working here.”

  My cheeks flush with pleasure. Yes yes yes, I want to keep working here! That is, if I can move my body at all, ever again. And if I can get my parents to let me, because I don’t want to risk losing Ruby and Stenn and driving. Which are pretty big ifs.

  “There are some things I need to work out, but yes. I’d like to.”

  He smiles. I smile. I say, “I’ll be out of school for Thanksgiving vacation, and then of course there’s after school and weekends. So I could help a lot, if you want.” I hand Roy his work gloves, pull my red mittens on.

  “You can help me set up the stand downtown.”

  My eyes go big. “You’re setting up a stand?”

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you were a…what’s it called. A wholesaler.”

  “Cutting out the middle man this year.”

  “So you’re going into retail. Selling them yourself?”

  “Yep.”

  Sounds good to me. Selling trees will be a lot easier than cutting them down. Oh. Wait. No! My cover will be blown. How can I remain incognito in town? Wear a ski mask? Sunglasses and a fake mustache? My parental units will find me out for sure. Crudmuffins. I try to think of solutions while Roy takes Buddy into the garage. He comes back sans possum.

  “Well,” Roy says. “What say we do some trailblazing.”

  “Say what now?”

  “Can’t give you a ride everyday. Here,” he sets a compass in the paw of my mitten.

  “Are you serious?”

  “From here, I believe your land is east-northeast.”

  “How do you know where I live?”

  “Little thing called the phone book.”

  The phone book. How quaint. Anyway, he can’t be serious. I need to get back to the Y, not My Land!

  “Well, go on. Lead the way,” he says.

  He’s serious.

  We walk.

  When Roy oh-so-politely suggests yet another course change after the zillionth tree branch whacks me across the face, I get the distinct impression that the compass is for my benefit alone. Roy seems like the kind of person who could find his way across the Himalayas with his eyes closed. And fashion a snare out of a shoelace while he’s at it. And then rub some sticks together to start a fire. And make tea in a pot he whittled out of a pinecone.

  Me, on the other hand… Well, between trying to read the compass (a skill my one year of Brownies left me woefully unprepared for) and working out how to hide from my parents, bypass my house, and proceed to the Y, it’s—gah. I look at the compass again and keep walking.

  Roy ties those yellow plastic strips onto branches to mark the trail.

  When the descent levels out, I pray to the compass gods that it means we are near my house.

  Crick. Crack. Branches and twigs crash in front of us. Ruby! What a sight for sore eyes. My sweet ferocious girl.

  She’s tearing through the trees with a mole dangling in her teeth. She drops it at my feet, her almost completely healed tail whirling in circles. Another poor critter to bury.

  “This must be your dog.”

  I nod, and swallow my fear of Roy’s reaction, remembering what she did to his deer. “This is Ruby.” I tell her to sit so she can make a good impression, and so I can properly introduce her to Roy.

  “Do you know how to shake,” he says to Rubes.

  Ruby holds up her paw. Roy takes it in greeting.

  You could knock me over with a feather. My dog never listens to anyone except me.

  “Nice to meet you, Ruby. You’re quite a hunter, aren’t you.”

  “That was my fault! What happened the other night with the deer. I am so sorry. And Rubes didn’t mean to…”

  “Dog’s only as good as its owner.”

  Wow. That is harsh.

  He scratches his chin. “Looks like you’ve got a good dog here.”

  Again my cheeks flush. A compliment for Ruby, and me. I don’t know him that well, but I think it would be out of character for Roy to veil an insult. The man might not spill his guts at the drop of a hat, but he’s earnest. Which is remarkable, when you think about it. I mean, how many people can you name who aren’t facetious, or snide, or smart-alecky, or sarcastic, or snarky, or at the very least ironic, some of the time? None, that’s how many.

  And Roy doesn’t layer on the compliments, either. So if he says something, you know he means it. If he trusts me with a chainsaw, it’s because he thinks I’m strong and clearheaded and capable enough to use it. Unlike how Jeremy, and Mom and Dad, and overprotective Stenn, and the rest of the universe see me.

  “Now that you’ve got your own way to get to work, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Roy says. “Same time as usual.”

  I’m pretty sure it’s a question, and it would probably be okay if I say no to tomorrow, but yes to later. But what what comes out is, “I have to have lunch with my family. But I can come in the afternoon.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Reckon you can bring your dog, if you want.”

  “Really?” My heart lifts. “But what about Buddy?”

  “We’ll leave him safe inside.”

  “Wow, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  Roy nods. I’m about to go when he holds out his hand.

  I take off my mitten to put my hand in his. He wraps his other hand around mine and says, “Sarah, it’s been another real good day.”

  He squeezes my hand, then turns and hikes back up the hill.

  I look at the sky through the tree branches. There was respect conveyed through those cracked, leathery hands. That strange feeling of contentment comes through me again. And hope.

  Until it’s time to sneak past home, convince Ruby to stay there, and get my ass over to the Y. Details, details.

  Life moves along. I manage to not get caught going to work Sunday afternoon. My dad keeps giving me these You’re Up To Something, Aren’t You? looks, but Mom seems pretty normal: crabby and texty and Bluebird Dinery and breakfasty.

  Stenn shows up at Emmett’s soccer game two days before Thanksgiving. He texted me when he left Mercer, but once again he shows up earlier than expected. Kid has a lead foot; no wonder he and my mom get along.

  Ruby and I run down the bleachers to greet him. He hugs me but he’s scowling and his eyes are bleary. He looks wiped out. He gives me a prude, Parents Are Around cheek peck. He says quick hellos to people and we return to my roost at the top of the bleachers. Rosemary chats with Stenn a moment (How is boarding school? What’s it like? kinds of questions), but then she smiles and goes to sit with another group of friends, because it seems pretty clear Stenn wants to be alone with me.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” I nudge him with my shoulder. “How was your exam?” Stenn hates math. I help him sometimes over texts and e-mails, since we’re both taking trig.

  He shrugs.

  “How was the drive?”

  “Fine.”

  This is weird. Bad weird. Being this terse goes against the entire Wagner ethos.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  He glances at me and flicks his eyes back to the game. No answer. He starts to chew a fingernail, looks at it, and switches to the cuticle.

  “Stenn. What’s going on?”

  “You mean you actually want to know?”

  “Um, yes?” This comes out snarky. Oops.

  He rubs his hands together like he’s suddenly remembered he’s not supposed to bite his nails. He sighs. “Why are you here, Sare?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean?” Pure acid, his tone. He stares at the game but no way is he paying attention to it. “What am I supposed to think about you coming to Emmett’s games?”

  “What?” I almost laugh. Almost. Thank Christ I have the sense to stifle it. “Stenn. This is only the second game I’ve been to this year. I used to go all the time.”

  “That was to watch me. Or so I thought.”

  “Of course. But I like soccer. And I thought you’d be glad. That I’m reaching out to friends.”

  “Friends,” he snorts.

  “Friends,” I repeat. “Rosemary. And Emmett. We are friends.”

  “Right. Friends.” His hand shoots back up to his mouth and he gnaws at his pinky nail. “Famous last words.”

  He seriously cannot be jealous. No way. First of all, Ninjas like Stenn do not get jealous, as there is no need. Second: “Emmett is my best friend’s twin brother. There is no way anything is going on with—”

  “Sure. Nothing other than, oh, let’s see…hanging with him at the soccer party, coming to his games, leaving Nano’s with him Friday night…”

  “He’s like my brother.”

  “You already have a brother.”

  “He’s like a nice brother. Think of me and Emmett as Luke and Leia. You’re my Han.” I nudge him again.

  He doesn’t respond.

  “If you want to talk about jealousy, I’ll give you an Emmett and raise you a Midge and an Apple.”

  He almost gives a hint of a smile.

  “Look, I’m not hiding anything here. I always tell you what I’m up to.”

  “So do the guys. You know how many texts I got when you left Nano’s with Emmett? How do you think it looks, Sare?”

  “What, you’re turning into your mom now? Worried about how things look?”

  He puffs out an angry breath and looks at me like he hates me. It was a low blow. But there’s always been a touch of his mom in him, and I don’t think Mercer is helping. How Things Look is to be considered at all times. It never really bothered me before; it never really came up because I cared about it, too—BJD.

  “How it looks isn’t what’s important,” I say gently. “I told you everything.”

  “Sure.” It’s practically a snarl. “Everything. Like you always do.”

  In record time, his jealousy has gone from surprising to mildly annoying to truly irritating.

  “Meaning?” I press.

  “Oh, just that…” He stops midsentence. Shakes his head. He’s super angry but he keeps his voice low, for appearances. “You don’t tell me anything. Sure, you tell me when you hang out with Emmett, but you never tell me what you talk about. And there’s the whole deer thing that you didn’t tell me until later. Why wouldn’t you want to tell me right when that happened? I’m supposed to be your boyfriend. And—oh, I don’t know—how about every single thing you feel about Jamie that you never, ever talk about. To me, at least.”

  Eesh. It’s not just that Stenn is jealous. It’s that he feels frozen out.

  “You’re like a robot, Sarah.”

  I manage not to try to make a crack—C3PO or R2D2?—because I’m honestly a little too scared of getting dumped right now.

  Wordlessly, we sit. I stroke Ruby (robotically) until Emmett scores a goal and the crowd smashes our brittle quiet.

  “Can we go somewhere?” I finally ask.

  He doesn’t look at me. “You sure you want to miss the game?”

  “Stenn. Please.”

  He sighs and relents.

  We walk past the soccer field to the elementary school playground, Ruby trotting in front of us. Our feet sink into the thick mulch as we go to the swings. Site of our first kiss, over a year ago. We each sit on a swing. Ruby sniffs around and sits at my feet. The playground is deserted. We each sit on a swing. I have a huge urge to sit on Stenn’s lap and kiss him hard—distract the hell out of him. And me. But not only does it not seem like a good idea at the moment, it doesn’t even seem possible. Right now he’s undistractable.

  Strangely, I keep thinking about Rosemary and how she said I need to give people a chance. And Roy, how he’s been so kind and fair to me. I owe Stenn that much: kindness, fairness, a chance. It’s not like he hasn’t put up with a lot from me: depressive girlfriend who stops wearing makeup and stifles all meaningful communication. And that’s on my good days.

 

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