Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

I swallow hard, then finally come to. “What …? No. Why?”

In a tone as level and boring as dirt, he says: “I see you go over there at night. I see you guys go together many times a day, often to a secluded place like the toolshed, like that one day I ran into you both. I see you guys smile at each other in ways that suggest you two have history—current history. Late last night, I saw you two come back together, then go into his cabin, which you never left. And before you went in, I saw you two kissing by his truck.”

With every word he utters, my heart climbs higher up my body, until it finds an impossible home somehow in my face. Each beat makes my eyes bulge and my teeth clatter.

I can feel my own fear in my eyelashes.

We haven’t been as careful as we thought.

“I’m observant,” says Turtle casually, then shrugs. “It’s a gift.”

A gift, he calls this. I turn back to the screen door, speechless.

What do I say? What would Harrison want me to say?

“I won’t tell no one,” he says in his perfect drone. “That has to happen in y’all’s own time. My cousin Ethan’s gay. I know all about respecting your privacy.”

Now that’s rare. “Okay.”

Turtle lets out a snort. “I’m the only other person here who’s actually from Spruce, like you and Harrison. I know the town isn’t all that respectful with keeping people’s secrets—or keeping its nose out of ‘em. But I am. I don’t know much about much,” he goes on, “but what I do know, I know well. I respect others’ privacy. I’d ask if your stomach is good, but I’m guessing it was never bad.”

After a moment of staring at Harrison’s cabin, still in shock, I slowly nod. “Totally fine.”

“Good. If you wanna hear a new song, I’ll be singing it tonight. Do you think Lea likes me?”

That pulls me out of my thoughts. “Lea? She’s old enough to be your—” I stop myself, realizing I’m being a hypocrite here.

Turtle shrugs. “She has nice hair.”

I glance back at the yard. “Who am I to judge what makes you happy? Go for it.”

“It doesn’t make me happy yet. It makes me confused. Song’s about a sheep and a horse who fall in love, by the way.”

Turtle sniffles loudly for no apparent reason, which I guess is his way of ending the conversation. Then he turns and heads back through the kitchen to the house, his feet barely making a sound.

I’m left staring at Harrison’s cabin, wondering if that’s what we are: a sheep and a horse, trying to make sense out of all of this, trying to pretend like a real relationship between us isn’t totally impossible …

But am I the horse or the sheep?

Chapter 21

Harrison

The folded-up sheet of paper weighs heavily in my hand.

I’ve been staring at it for far too long in the dim nighttime lighting of my cabin and having too many thoughts, struggling to form a specific feeling about it—and the words printed on it.

Maybe it’s okay to not feel any certain way. I can just sit here and feel nothing at all, if I wanted. I happen to do that pretty well, even without a supplement of alcohol from the bunkhouse.

Yeah. That sounds optimal.

Let’s not feel anything.

I toss the folded-up sheet of paper onto my desk, having decided not to decide how I feel, and head for the shower. The hot water is running and I’m down to just my briefs when the door to my cabin swings wide open without even the courtesy of a knock.

I turn to find Hoyt standing there, pensive, glowering.

What a shocker.

“Sorry to just burst in like this—” he starts.

“No, you aren’t.”

“—but I just can’t let it go. I don’t want you to lie to Gary or ruin your reputation or compromise your morals. Especially not for me.” Hoyt slaps the door shut behind him and comes right up to the bathroom doorway, fully dressed and arms crossed. “Won’t have you do that. And I ain’t worth it.”

My eyes dance up and down him, head to toe. “Alright.”

He flinches. “Alright …? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“You caught me in my underwear. The shower’s running. Yes, that’s all I’ve got to say. ‘Alright.’ Just said it again.” I peel off my underwear, then open the shower curtains.

He flings them shut and faces me. “Harrison.”

I look at him. “Whatever you’ve got to say, Hoyt, just out with it, please, don’t tap dance around it for an hour before saying what you came here to say.”

Hoyt squints at me in suspicion. “You seem like you already know what I’m here to say.”

“You putting in your two weeks’ notice?”

His lips part. Then he squints even more. “Say what?”

“There you go, tap dancing like you always do. I’ll save you the trouble and the breath.” I give a nod at my desk. “Guess you dropped it out of your jeans pocket last night.”