"How long have you been doing this?" I asked.
"Since I was twelve. You live in New Orleans, right?"
"Yes."
"We heard talk about you and your family, but no one knew anything for sure," he said, shifting his eyes away quickly.
"What sort of talk?" I asked.
"That you once lived here with a woman who wasn't your mother and Mr. Tate, who wasn't your father, and that now you lived in a rich old mansion somewhere and sat back and counted your money," he replied.
"First," I began, "that woman was my mother." "Oh. Well, everyone gets stuff wrong here."
"And second, we don't just sit around counting money. That's hardly us," I said sharply.
"No offense meant. You asked, so I told you," he said casually.
"My father works hard; my mother is an artist, and I'm about to go to college to become a doctor."
"A doctor? Wow!" He whistled. "Well, there she is. Your well," he said. I just stared. "You really didn't know which one it was?"
"I was very little when I lived in that house," I said, nodding toward the mansion, "and I was afraid of the oil machinery. They looked too much like mechanical monsters. If anyone took me close to them, I would scream."
Jack nodded, his face serious, thoughtful. "I can imagine how a little girl might look out at these babies and think they are some sort of creature. They're alive to me," he said.
"Like bees, sucking up the oil?"
"Not exactly," he said, laughing. "Was that your idea?"
"One of them, in nightmares."
"Oh. I'm sorry. It's really very interesting work, and I'm always fascinated by the idea that we're drilling deep into the earth and bringing up something that was formed so long ago, even before humans existed."
I saw he was sincere about his fascination.
"Of course," he said, lowering his voice, "I don't talk about the work like this with the other guys."
I smiled. "Is it ever dangerous?" I asked him.
"You don't want to be near the rig if there's a blowout."
"Blowout?"
"A pocket of high-pressure gas gets into the well and boom!" he said, throwing up his arms.
"Oh," I said stepping back.
"It's all right. Your well is tried and true and as sweet as . . as you look," he said. Now it was my turn to blush. "So," he said, "why were you looking for your mother in the old house? No one uses it anymore, far as I know."
"We thought she might have come back here," I said. My chin quivered.
"Something's wrong?" he asked. "I don't mean to pry, but if there's anything I can do to help . . . I know it sounds crazy, but after looking after your well all this time, I sorta feel I know you."
I wiped the fugitive tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and sucked in my breath. "One of my twin brothers was bitten by a poisonous snake and died. My mother is still quite upset," I said. "She ran off."
"I
'm sorry. That's terrible. But why would she come here?"