Page 6 of Big Britches

Pedro continued loading his personal gear into the cab of his company truck—his lunch, a backup t-shirt, a hand towel, and a cooler full of water. As the roar of Miguel’s vehicle dissipated, he heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel as Silas Compton, his employer and the owner of Compton’s Greenscapes, approached him.

“Morning, Pedro. Everything situated?”

“Almost, boss. Just making sure.”

Silas looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “Man, it’s gonna be another hot one. Did you bring plenty of water? Gotta stay hydrated, you know.”

“Yes, sir. Cooler’s full.”

“Good. Because there’s been a change of plans. Carlos had an emergency. He had to return home yesterday.”

Pedro's eyes met Silas’s, concerned. “Oh, no. Is he sick?”

“Don’t think so. But it is something long term. He’s on his way to Mexico. Not sure when or if he’s coming back.”

“Really? That’s too bad.”

“Maybe for him. Not you though. You’re getting the Shepherd account, starting today.”

“Titus Shepherd?”

Silas cocked his head. “Yeah. You know him?”

“No. I’ve heard of him, though. Heard he never leaves the house.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Has been for a while ever since his wife died. It’s a sizable property, and he’s a very good customer. Now that Carlos is out of the picture, I want my best man on it.”

“You sure? That’s pretty high-dollar, boss.”

“Yes, it is. But you’ve earned it. I spoke with Big Britches yesterday and?—”

“Excuse me?”

“What? Oh. Big Britches? That’s Titus. It was his nickname in school. We played football for HOCO—Hoke County High. Anyway, he’s got some big plans for changing up a lot of his landscaping. It’s a nice old farmhouse out on Sun Hill Road. Gated. Can’t miss it. Ever been out that way?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I drew a map.” He handed Pedro a detailed invoice with crudely sketched directions at the bottom. Pedro glanced it over, assessing the work involved.

“Wow. That is a lot. Four acres, basic lawn, trim, shrubs, trees, perennial maintenance, custom annuals…”

“And that’s nowhere near all. Says he has lots of projects in mind. Extensive projects. I mean it, Pedro. Get in good with Titus and it’ll be beneficial for both of us.”

“No worries, boss. I got this.”

“Thanks. I’m counting on you.”

Maestro.

Pedro didn’t mind the nickname—liked it, in fact. It stirred embers of nostalgia deep within him. The original plan had been for him to become a teacher in his native Mexico. Like his father, Mateo Torres, Pedro had a passion for English literature. His father had taught high school in Chiquilá—English primarily, so there had always been access to books. But Mateo’s teaching had started much earlier, with Pedro at home. There, he’d made certain that Pedro was bilingual at a very early age, when children’s brains soak things up more easily.

It’s crucial to know the world’s predominant language, he had explained to his son. The planet grows smaller with each decade—our distant neighbors not so distant. It’s important that we understand and communicate with them for opportunity… as well as security.

If the lessons were a chore, Pedro didn’t recall. He learned to read early on, prior to attending school. His father had English copies of several children’s books unavailable at their local library. Pedro went from Goodnight Moon to The Cat in the Hat to Where the Wild Things Are and Madeline long before traditional schooling. Once elementary school began, he was way ahead of the other children. But his father had also taught him modesty and selflessness. In class, he would learn his traditional lessons in Spanish, even tutoring his fellow students, before rushing home to Charlotte’s Web and The Chronicles of Narnia.

As Pedro reflected, driving slowly on dirt roads just outside of Spoon, bittersweet feelings surfaced. Strange how a single word like teacher could trigger so many memories. Up ahead, he saw a sign for Sun Hill Rd. Pedro signaled well in advance, though there wasn’t another car anywhere in sight.

His father was diagnosed with prostate cancer when Pedro was in high school. His mother, Alejandra, took on extra work to keep him at his studies. She was often away at night, leaving Pedro to care for Mateo. Sound sleep for any of them soon became a wistful notion. That freshman year in school, Pedro’s last, was a blur. It was for the best, really—a time he wanted to forget.

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