The Simplicity of Cider

Bass slopped now-dirty water all over his clothes and kept scrubbing, enjoying how the dirt came off so easily. This didn’t even seem like a chore. They washed in silence for a few moments.

“Do you like being tall?” Bass finally asked. He had wanted to ask Miss Lund, too, but hadn’t worked up the courage yet. Maybe tomorrow. Mr. Lund was different. He smiled all the time and laughed a lot. He seemed like the kind of guy who would buy him cotton candy and ice cream at the same time—just because.

Mr. Lund straightened to his full height. “I love being tall. I can pick most apples without a ladder, I can reach the top shelf in the cupboard, and I can tell which of my friends are hiding bald spots with a comb-over.”

“What’s a comb-over?”

Mr. Lund bent at his waist so Bass could see the top of his head, then pushed some hair to the side to reveal a smaller patch of bare skin.

“A comb-over is when you comb your hair over the bald spot on your head so people still think you have all your hair.” He smoothed his hair back where it had been and straightened up. “But I’m so tall, no one but you knows that I do that. Think you can keep that between us?”

He winked at Bass, and Bass held out his hand with his pinkie raised.

“Pinkie swear.”

Mr. Lund reached out his own little finger and they shook on it. Bass returned to his now very muddy water and looked for another spot to wash. Mr. Lund came to stand next to him.

“Looks like we’re finished. You do good work. I’m glad you’re helping us this summer. We’ll have to add you to the payroll.”

“For real? Like real money? Will I make the same as my dad?”

As Mr. Lund chuckled, his thin frame shook like a tall tree in a windstorm.

“That might be pushing it, and I’ll need to talk to your dad about it. How about ten bucks a day?”

Bass thought about that. It would be fifty dollars a week, maybe more if he helped out on Saturdays and Sundays. He could buy his mom a really nice present when they got home. He hadn’t seen her as much since his parents didn’t live together anymore, so he wanted it to be something good. He last saw her the week before he and his dad left for this trip. She had been really sick and skinny looking. She had had dark circles under her eyes and was really shaky. Bass had worried he would hug her too tight and break her. He had kissed her gently on the cheek and tucked blankets around her. She had promised to take him to Disneyland when she felt better. When they left, his dad had warned that it might take her a long time to feel better, but, duh, Bass already knew that.

A week later, they had left.

Bass looked up at Mr. Lund.

“Twenty,” he said with as much confidence as he could, like he had heard the men on the American Pickers show say it.

Mr. Lund looked down at him, pulled a bandana from his back pocket, and wiped some sweat from his forehead, causing his comb-over to go in different directions.

“Eleven.”

Bass’s mouth gaped.

“That’s not how it goes, you split the difference. You’re supposed to say fifteen.”

“Not when I don’t have to hire you in the first place. I have the leverage. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeeeeessssss. How about twelve?” He paused. “And I get to drive the ATV once a week.”

Mr. Lund looked down at him, and his shaggy hair that kept blowing in his eyes. Finally, Mr. Lund extended his hand.

“Twelve and I’ll let you drive the ATV, but only if I think you did exceptional work. If I see you sleeping in the Looms, then no driving.”

“Done.” Bass shook his hand. “What are the Looms?”

Mr. Lund’s mouth curved into a smaller smile than normal, like he was looking through a fog and liked what he saw.

“Ask Sanna.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


Isaac hoisted the bucket of trimmed branches into the back of the truck, setting the clippers alongside it. Then he reached for Sanna’s bucket, accidentally bumping fingers, resulting in a quick intake of breath from both of them. Somehow they’d settled into a graceless dance of accidental contact and mounting unspoken tension. He could address it directly, let her know he was attracted to her, and risk ruining any hope at a congenial working relationship. Or he could try and push past these feelings. They would be working together, and he wanted to get along, maybe have a few laughs and some good conversation.

After they both climbed back into the truck and closed their doors, he gave it his best effort.

“Did Bass do a good job for you today?”

Sanna turned the key in the ignition, but the engine sputtered, not the quick purr it had earlier. Without looking at him, she responded.

“He didn’t break anything.”

“Glowing praise.”

Sanna turned the key again, and it coughed, then silence.

“Guess we’re stuck out here,” Isaac said. Sanna’s nostrils twitched, and she gently placed her head against the headrest. He would swear she counted to ten. Every inch of her reacted to the world around her—she didn’t hide one ounce of emotion or sugarcoat her words. While refreshing, it was a little disarming. Yes, he was attracted to her, but he was also intrigued. Sanna was an interesting person, and he wanted to know more—friendship was the right path, the safe path.

“Do you want me to look under the hood for you?”

Sanna finally looked at him, her eyes wide. This time, when she turned the ignition, she gave the dashboard a sound whack and stomped on the floor. Though science and every auto engineer in America would argue it shouldn’t have made any difference, the truck rumbled to life, and Sanna actually smiled.

“Not stuck after all,” she said, then paused. “I imagine Bass will miss his mom this summer.”

Though Isaac was grateful she was contributing to the conversation, he just wished she had picked a different topic.

“She’s sick a lot, so he’s used to spending time apart from her, especially since we divorced a few years ago.”

Sanna’s lips made a silent O. Way to shut down the conversation, idiot, Isaac thought helplessly.

The sun ebbed toward the horizon, spreading reds and oranges like a kindergarten finger painting, large swaths of bold color. There were worse places to spend some time, and the Lunds seemed like good people who had hosted enough temporary workers to know not to pry into their past. The quiet open air and days spent in the sun would suit him just fine. His only worry was if Bass would stay out of trouble without friends and technology to keep him occupied. And a small part of him wondered if he had made the right choice in the first place. Would Bass have been better off knowing the truth right away, spending this summer grieving but surrounded by familiar people and places? But wondering was useless. He’d already made the decision and now he needed to live with it.

Isaac waited to make sure the engine didn’t conk out before trying conversation again.

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