Page 8 of Jackson's Redemption
I had never met anybody who worked an oil rig. When we had scheduled this trip, he told me he worked two weeks on and two weeks off. At the time I thought it seemed like a sweet deal. Then it made me think those two weeks on were pretty arduous.
“No, I’m a mud logger.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I don’t know what that is.”
His lips actually twitched. I wasn’t sure why but I took an immense satisfaction in that. I had a feeling smiles were rare for such a serious man like Jackson.
“I take samples of the soil around the drilling sights. Make sure nothing is leaking into the ground or water tributaries.”
“Oh. Well, that’s a good job to have. You make sure nothing gets polluted.”
“That’s the idea.”
“How do you like working all the way up here?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I could see he was searching for the words to explain.
“I prefer it. I’m not the best with people.”
Understatement. I didn’t say that, but it made sense. A loner, someone who preferred the quiet and who grunted more than he spoke. This was about as far away from people as you could get.
No wonder he needed to run a contest to find women to date.
We settled into silence for the rest of the drive. I hoped it made things easier for him to know he didn’t have to talk.
I tried to imagine how ourdatewas going to go.
Then I thought about how hungry I was. I had been so nervous making this trip I hadn’t eaten much all day.
“On this date, will there be food?”
“You like fish sandwiches?”
“Love ’em.”
Another lip twitch. I tried to imagine him laughing a full-out belly laugh but I couldn’t see it. I considered what it would take to make that happen then I realized I was thinking about how to make someone laugh.
Laughter. Finally. When the past few months had been all about crying.
“Then there will be food. And beer, if that’s okay for you.”
“Works for me. People around here call you Jack or Jackson?”
He grunted. “Most people around here call me Daniels.”
It took a second. “Ah I get it, Jack Daniels. You’re a whiskey man, then.”
“I drink it occasionally. I don’t want you to think I ever imbibe too much. If we do go hunting, I’ll never be drunk out there, either,” he said, pointing out the window into what could only be described as the vast Alaskan wilderness. “That place isn’t an amusement park. You have to have your wits about you, always.”
“Not a problem.”
“Jackson,” he said, after a beat. “I would like it if you called me Jackson.”
It was strange, but he said it as if that meant something to him. Like it was important to him that I personally called him Jackson.
“Jackson it is.”
That earned me another grunt.
