FOUR
I lay with my arm over my eyes. Sleep refuses to come. I toss, turn, and flip from stomach to back, and over again.
No good.
I can’t clear my mind of the image of Buck with no shirt, his chest all hard muscle and dripping wet, with water running in rivulets over his washboard abs. It’s so unfair. I come home and he has to show up. It’s like the universe conspires against my peace of mind.
Throwing the covers off, I climb out of bed. I tiptoe through the kitchen, cringing when the floorboards squeak. I’m careful to shut the door as quietly as I can as I sneak outside.
The trees block the stars, but the breeze is nice. This is when I need to weed the flower beds—when it’s dark out and not so fucking miserably hot.
The house is built on stilts to avoid flood waters, so parking and storage are beneath the living quarters. I wade through the piles of junk until I find the door to the storage room. I pull the chain to turn on the single, naked light bulb. I twist my hair up into a wild knot, securing it with a zip tie from the rusty can on the floor. Taking a lantern, my gloves, and the spade from the shelf, I throw them into the half broke-down wheelbarrow. I push it out to the place where I stopped.
The moon shines through the pines in patches of light, the breeze moving the spotty nightshade in an eerie dance. I rustle the weeds and scare away any snakes or creepy crawlies. I get to my knees and continue working where I left off before.
I hack away at the base of a particularly stubborn dandelion-on-steroids when a twig crunches behind me. I jump to my feet and lurch around, hands up, ready to defend myself.
A dark figure leans against the trunk of the hundred-year-old oak.
“You out here burying a body, digging in the dirt like that in the middle of the night?” His deep voice calls forth memories I’ve tried to lock away.
I cock my head. “Yours is the only body I’d like to bury. And it’s not nice to sneak up on people.”
“Sorry. Thought you’d hear me.”
“I probably would have if I wasn’t trying to hatchet through one of the sixty messes that need to be taken care of before the house is ready to sell.”
“Oh? Delores is selling? Never thought I’d see that day.”
“Only if I’m able to talk her into selling. It’s her best option. But she’s got a mind of her own, and this is her home, so I can’t blame her for not wanting to leave.”
“Yeah, she and Manny were happy here. A lot of memories over the last few years.”
Too many memories. That’s why I had to leave; they were suffocating me.
I dig my toe into the dirt. “You didn’t come in for Manny’s funeral.”
He pushes his hands into his pockets, turning away. “Yeah, well, I was under contract, I couldn’t just up and leave in the middle of it. It would’ve cost me a bundle. I’m sorry I didn’t get here.”
“Fuck that. He was practically your family. Surely you could’ve worked it out.”
“I wanted to. I did. But you don’t get what it’s like out there. You’re either all in or you get nowhere. It’s an ocean full of sharks, and any sign of weakness gets you eaten alive and left behind.”
I cross my arms and stare at him, waiting for him to say something that deserves an answer.
“Do you think it’s been easy leaving my family for so long? Working all hours of the day and night on the whims of writers and directors?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
“At one point, I worked part-time at four odd jobs and shared a two bedroom apartment with three other people just to afford to eat and not end up on the fucking street. For well over two years I lived with a god damned boulder in my gut, afraid I’d made the biggest mistake of my fucking life by climbing on that bus bound for Hollywood.”
The bus. That’s a feeling I can relate to. “I get that part. I wondered the same thing a few times during boot when my feet were eaten up with blisters and my body hurt so fucking bad it felt like I’d been run over by the bus that took me there. But—you could’ve called.”
“I did call. I talked to Delores a couple of times that week, and two or three more times over the next month.”
Embarrassment leads tingles up the back of my neck. “She didn’t tell me. Sorry.”
“I left, but I still think about home all the time.” He pushes his fingers through his hair.
“And here I’ve spent the last few years avoiding too many thoughts about this place and all the crap it put me through. Tried to distance myself as much as I could.”
He pushes away from the tree and steps into the dappled light. “I hate that you had such a hard time, Lou. I only ever wanted what was best for you. I still think about you all the time.”