Page 10 of Homestead

“Hi.” His hair and beard need trimming even more than they did before. His eyes are a very dark brown. He’s got a prominent scar that slashes down his forehead and into his left eyebrow. He shifts slightly in his seat.

I drop my eyes back to the laundry, awkward and confused. I’m working on a man’s white T-shirt, which was covered with dirt and sweat. “Did you need something?” I ask him, praying he’s not here to give me any more work.

Naturally, I’m grateful for these people housing and feeding me, but at this rate I’ll be up at midnight trying to finish my chores.

He leans forward, taking the washboard and wet shirt from my hands, then starts cleaning it himself.

“Was I doing it wrong?” My voice wobbles slightly since I actually thought I was doing good for once. It took me a long time to get used to this new way of washing clothes, but today I finally got the hang of it.

“No.” He sounds surprised and glances up to search my face. “Thought you could use a break.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I take a few deep breaths and smooth back several loose strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail. I’m sure my cheeks are red. I’m definitely sweating.

He works the shirt with quick efficiency while I sit and watch him. I feel like one of us should say something, but I have no idea what to talk about with this man.

He’s big and strong and capable and quiet. He’s got to be in his thirties. He has a big family and a lot of friends. I thought he went on a walk with Laura this afternoon. What the hell is he doing sitting here with me?

Maybe he feels sorry for me because I have nothing and no one. The thought makes my spine stiffen.

When he’s finished with the shirt, I take it to rinse and stop him before he pulls out a pair of boxers. “I don’t mind doing them,” I tell him. “It’s my job.”

He looks for a moment like he’ll object but then changes his mind. He sits back. Adjusts his position. Clears his throat.

I give him a curious look as I start scrubbing the boxers on the washboard.

It’s kind of gross to launder a man’s underwear like this. I don’t even know who these belong to.

Jimmy clears his throat again.

“Are you getting a cold?” I ask him, hoping it’s not too contagious. If I get sick, I’ll have a hard time getting my work done.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.” My back is killing me from leaning over for so long. Surely there’s a more comfortable position to do this work. I scoot closer to the edge of the bench and try not to hunch my shoulders.

“I got a place of my own,” Jimmy blurts out.

I’m surprised by the out-of-context announcement, but at least he’s making conversation. It’s better than the awkward silence. “Do you? I figured you must since I don’t see you here at the farm very much.”

“Yeah. It was my fishing cabin back before Impact. So the property has a good pond.”

“Are there still fish?”

“Yep.” He’s looking between my face and the washtub. “Not as many as before but still got some. It’s in the woods, and the wildlife is finally startin’ to come back. So I can do some hunting. Really helps in the winter.”

“I bet.” It must be nice to have both fish and wild game available for food. Grandpa and I spent years eating nothing but stored or scavenged canned and dried food from the old world with only the occasional fish or rabbit when he got lucky. “Sounds like a good situation.”

“It’s pretty good. Also got chickens and pigs. And I cleared out space for a big garden.”

“That was smart. So I guess you’re in pretty good shape for food.” I make sure to sound polite and interested although I’m honestly a little annoyed by his bragging.

Surely he knows I have nothing. Why the hell would he go on and on about how good he has it when I’m relying purely on charity?

Maybe he’s one of those guys who gets an ego boost from other people hearing about how great he is. He didn’t seem like that before, but I don’t genuinely know the man at all.

“Yeah. Also get milk from the Hurleys. My folks provide everyone round here with oats and flour. Get some extra produce when I need it from the Santiagos and the Clearys. So got plenty. More than I need.” He’s staring at me, breathing in long, slow inhales and exhales.

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