Near the single men’s area, he saw an old beat-up truck rattling along down the path through the middle of the camp. He watched as it parked in front of the office building. The door opened, and a short, skinny man climbed out, overalls hanging off him, hat sitting low on his head. The stranger stretched with his hands on his hips as he bent backward, then forward, like he’d come a long way. The man caught Del staring, mashed his hat farther on his head, then sort of scuttled inside the office building. Del continued on his way, thinking if it was someone wanting to work, he was already doing better than most. He had him a truck, an uncommon piece of property. Most around here still got around on mules, horses, and wagons. Del was inclined to think if it was him, and if he had him a truck, he’d sell it, make some money rather than work here.
The sunset glowed like a long thread of orange laced through the pines, transforming the woods, and making them appear as if they were on fire. The sight gave him a shiver, like he was actually seeing trees burning, and he had a sense of impending doom. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake, so much so his sleep was fitful, and before he knew it, dawn came again.
Chapter 10
Rae Lynn
She was going along at forty-five miles per hour when she swerved to avoid a pothole and something hit the front end. Immediately white steam came from the front under the hood and the truck’s engine began to stall. She pulled over to the side of the road and stared in disbelief as the vapors rose in the air. A farmer tending his fields nearby saw her predicament and came over, looking from her to the ailing truck.
He said, “What you reckon you gonna do?”
Aggravated and feeling as hot as the overheated engine, Rae Lynn got out and stared at puffs of steam coming out from under the hood. The sun was a white-hot disk straight overhead, while cicadas rattled relentlessly in the distant trees. Rae Lynn, uncertain how she was going to fix the problem, didn’t find his question one bit helpful. Plus, she was worried over how she appeared to him. She squared her shoulders. Stared him in the eye.
She snapped out a reply. “How would I know? It just happened.”
“Well.”
She didn’t say anything else and he didn’t either, both of them standing with hands shoved in pockets like they were having an impromptu social visit. As the silence expanded to the point of being uncomfortable, she realized, since she was a “man,” it was expected she ought to be investigating what was wrong. Assuming fake confidence, she bent over and fiddled with the latches, lifted one side of the hood, and exposed the engine. She stared at the workings, which made about as much sense to her as the innards of a dissected frog, something she’d had to do in a biology class at the orphanage. She couldn’t make sense of what was what in this truck, not without something to tell her. Besides, Warren had always been the one to work on it. She went back to the driver’s side and dug around under the seat for a manual, a schematic, or anything that might help, and found only an old oily rag.
Sensing the farmer’s watchful eye, she went back to the engine and proceeded to touch this and that, his presence putting her on edge. At least she was sweating like a man. She stopped tugging and adjusting the whatnots under the hood when he cleared his throat loudly. He was at the front of the vehicle.
With a dry tone, he said, “This here’s your problem.”
Rae Lynn straightened up and went to where he stood. He pointed at a hole in the radiator, which definitely had not been there when she started out.
He said, “I ’spect it ain’t got no water left in it at this point.”
She said, “No, I reckon not.”
He said, “How far you going?”
She said, “Valdosta.”
He said, “Well. You got a ways to go yet, but I reckon some brown soap would hold till you can get it fixed. Wait here.”
She leaned against the truck, chewing a nail before dropping her hand. Would a man bite his nails with worry? She didn’t think so, plus she’d been rude. And, to top it off, she was embarrassed by not knowing what ought to have been obvious, what with steam pouring from the front.
He was back a few minutes later with a bar of Fels-Naptha soap and a somewhat full bucket, part of the water having sloshed over the sides as he’d made his way back.
He handed her the soap, and she took it and said, “Thank you.”
She held it, not sure if she was supposed to stick a piece directly into the hole or what. He frowned at her, and since she couldn’t see what else would be done, she dug around in Warren’s overalls, remembering he’d always carried around a pocketknife. Her fingers encountered the small tool, and she quickly cut a plug out and the farmer came to life, confirming she was on the right track and involuntarily guiding her by telling her a story.