Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

“Well, puttin’ your back in is somethin’ good, especially when you got stamina, youth, n’ too much confidence on your side.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Too much confidence …?”

“It sure did you wonders back in the day.” He chuckles.

I stare at him. Gary seems to take delight in my expression as he casually picks up the drill gun, then starts fishing screws out of a bin, squinting as he inspects each one.

I sigh. “Sir, I’m pretty sure that in a town blowing up with able-bodied young men and women, there’s bound to be someone who can do the work. What about that tough, wild-ass girl Tyrone and Omar adopted? Kelsey? Doesn’t she need something to do?”

Gary chuckles at that. “Last I spoke to the Kings, I got the fast impression she’s spending her whole summer helping her friend Toby get settled in his beachside home in Dreamwood. A summer on the beach doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” He chuckles again.

I sigh. “I refuse to believe Hoyt Nowak is the only dang option, or else the whole town of Spruce is screwed.”

“Of course he isn’t the only option.” He inspects a screw, then shakes his head and tosses it back, looking for another. “I’ll have a new guy here tomorrow mornin’. Friend of a friend’s son.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Recent graduate from Spruce High, like Hoyt, but a few years ago. Young, obedient as far as I can tell, very willing to work. A bit eccentric, but we like that ‘round here, keeps things interesting.”

I squint at him, dubious. “Eccentric …?”

“Might be a budding engineer, this one. Has experience at the Spruce Cinema 5 workin’ on projectors. Our machines are a whole other species of monster, I know that, but it’s a start.” He gives me a hearty pat on the back, then adds, “Try not to run this one out too quickly, will ya?” Then Gary heads off with his drill gun and screws, leaving me in the shed with my thoughts.

That night, I lie in my bed in silence and stare at the ceiling. No sleep comes. Ghosts of all the angry words Hoyt and I shared bounce off the walls.

It makes me wonder if echoes live forever.

Then I’m on my porch, sitting in a rocking chair I made once just to challenge myself, studying the mudroom across the yard. It looks so silent. So empty.

So cold.

I’m glad he’s gone.

It’s for the best, isn’t it? Now, things can go back to normal. I can work in peace, just like I used to. I don’t have to stress over how Hoyt might look at me. Or whether he might lose his temper and tackle me again.

Or shove me with his hands.

Or put his pretty face in front of mine.

Or scowl in that annoying way that makes him look just as handsome as he does infuriatingly arrogant.

It was confusing with Hoyt here. He got in the way of me just minding my business and keeping to myself. He made my life feel like it was falling apart in just a single day.

Yeah, I’m glad he’s gone.

Reassured, I shut off the porch light, then go to bed. Tonight, I am determined to get the best damned sleep I’ve gotten in ages. Lights out, eight full hours, ready to rise with the sun.

Midnight comes.

Still awake.

One in the morning. I roll over with a huff.

I blink my eyes open and glance at the clock. 2:32 AM.

I kick off the sheets and stare up at the ceiling, then close my eyes and let out a sigh.

Hoyt’s face hovers above mine, smirking down on me.

I’m glad you’re gone.

I roll over and stare at the clock. 3:13 AM.

This fucking sucks.

When morning comes, I’m already wide awake and dressed. I’ve run on an empty tank before. It doesn’t stop me from doing my duties and taking care of the animals and crops.

This morning, I meet Hoyt’s replacement.

It’s in front of the bunkhouse that I find him. He’s as tall as me, but with less than half the weight. Skinny as a pole, pale, and slouched. Medium-length, dusty-brown hair that curls at his ears. An oddly cute face, but his eyes are sunken in and blank, giving the instant impression that there’s nothing much going on behind them. His name is Timothy Hewitt, son of the computer science teacher at Spruce High, but apparently he goes by Turtle.

In other words, Hoyt was replaced by a Turtle.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” I say as I bring him into the bunkhouse—and to the mudroom, where I present a very recently vacated cot that I just a few days ago presented to someone else.

A knot I didn’t realize was there twists tighter in my stomach.

“Cool,” says Turtle, complaint-free.

“I’ll give you some time to put your things away in the trunk,” I tell him, “right there at the foot of the bed, and then you and I can meet just outside, where we’ll begin our—”