Page 38 of The Bronze Garza
“I thought you were on vacation,” I say.
“I am.”
“So this is how you vacation? Building things in your basement?”
“Yes.”
“You’re strange,” I mumble, pushing away from the table. I amble over to the sliding glass doors that lead out to the backyard. “Who’s that man at the log cabin?”
“Woman.”
“What?”
“Jo’s a woman, not a man.”
Really?I squint for a close examination of the person reading on the small porch. Buzz-cut hair, thick neck, muscle-bound body encased in jeans, flannel shirt, and Timberland boots. But it’s too far away to catch facial features, so I’ll take his word for it.
“Oh, my bad. She just looks...”
“She’s a vet,” he informs me.
“Does she live there?” The log cabin is nice, but it’s a bit on the small side. I imagine someone as built as her would need more space.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because fighting for your country doesn’t mean your country’ll fight for you in return.”
How sad.Another neglected, homeless veteran. “That’s nice of you,” I say. “Giving her a place to live.”
“In exchange for yard maintenance.”
I drag my finger along the glass of the door. “Why don’t you have a pool in your backyard?”
A pause, then something clatters. “Let’s go.”
I turn from the doors. He’s dusting his hands on his jeans. “Go where?”
“Gonna drop you off at Barefoot Runaway.”
I lean back against the door and pop another tomato in my mouth. “No, thanks.”
“You—”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I ‘agreed to the terms.’ But, well...” I shrug. “I don’t feel like it right now.”
One eyebrow kicks up. “You don’t feel like it?”
“No, I don’t feel like it,” I repeat, holding his gaze.
“But youdofeel like annoying the shit out of me down here?”
I smile widely. “Yes.”
He plants one hand to the table in an intimidating stance, prepared to take me on. “Well,Idon’t like that.”
“What would you like then, Sir Miserable?”
