They rhapsodize so long about her appearance that I can’t help but speak up for all womankind, even if I’m not sure I’d include her on that list quite yet.
“Um, guys, Sofia is more than just a nice ass and beautiful rack,” I mutter, to which I am met with blank stares. Tough crowd.
Manny and I muck the stalls every morning, which is where I find him when the sun begins its ascent into the sky. Our morning routine is one of the few times during the day that we can chat alone, but he’s distracted this morning, and none of my efforts to get him to talk pan out.
By the last stall, I’m starting to worry, which is why I ask, jokingly, “Everything okay there, pendejo?”
“Hmm?” he says, glancing up. “Yeah, just thinking, mija.”
“About what?” I ask playfully, raising my voice to a song at the end.
He chuckles but shrugs. “That new group that came through. There’s something, I don’t know, weird about them?”
I assess him from where I stand, with the rake holding my balance and my arms crossed at the handle. “Like what? You get a bad feeling or something?”
“No, it’s not bad, I guess. It’s just weird. I don’t know. I’m probs overreacting,” he replies, laughing, but the sound is half-hearted and nowhere near convincing.
“Okay, first,” I say, holding up a finger. “Did you just say ‘probs’ like a preteen girl? And second, you don’t sound convinced.”
He laughs. “I heard Katie say it the other day. I thought it was cute, no?” he asks with an adorable puppy dog look, which accentuates his lean, masculine features, high cheekbones, and thin lips.
Reaching down, I grab a bunch of hay and throw it at his face jokingly. He wipes it off with a chuckle as he continues. “As for the other, I don’t know. I guess I will wait and see.”
“Have you met all of them?” I ask casually, playing with the dirt under the toe of my boot.
“I think so.”
“So, you’ve met Sofia?”
“Yes, mija, I’ve met her,” he replies, a new twinkle in his eyes.
“Well?” I ask, raising my brows. Manny knows what I’m getting at, and I’m crawling with curiosity about what he thinks.
“Well, what?” he asks with a tiny smirk.
“Do you think she’s hot?” I blurt, and he laughs outright this time.
“Mija, every single man on this ranch thinks she’s hot,” he says before winking at me and walking out the door.
I grimace at his back and put my tools away before following behind him.
The ranch keeps us all busy from sunup to sundown, and now that electricity is a thing of the past, this literally means we are up with the birds and in bed when the sun is no longer lighting the sky.
Although we are considering converting some of our energy to solar, it takes supplies and knowledge that the group is still working through. This includes not only mounting the panels but knowing how many we need and connecting them. One guy here who had them installed on his roof said we’re better off ensuring the panels are of the same size and output. But is this because they would perform better or because they wouldn’t perform at all? Questions he couldn’t answer but we need to determine.
We each volunteer for duties that match either our skills or our desire. Since I have little in the way of ‘ranch’ skills, having been a true city girl before the outbreak, I often get handed the tedious or hideous chores no one else wants.
For example, since I can’t milk a cow—and believe me, I’ve tried, ending in a seriously pissed-off cow and nothing but sore titties to show for it (the cow’s not mine)—I’ve been relegated to duties like laundry.
Laundry no longer consists of sorting by color, popping it in the machine, and adding detergent. Nope, now we have to wash the clothes by hand with a handy (for the Middle Ages anyway) washboard and pilfered soap. It’s back-breaking work that makes your arms feel like noodles by the time you’re done, not to mention that you’re touching other people’s dirty underwear. Gross.
Laundry duty also reminds me of the showdown with my uncle. I hadn’t known he was my uncle until right before our confrontation, and the revelation was one of many he spilled in those last moments. I don’t regret his end because I’m fiercely glad that he can no longer prey upon innocent people, but the memory is strong and brings with it visceral emotions I’m still working past.
Today, the load is smaller, as we try to do loads daily and rest on Fridays. Even so, as I squeeze a wet shirt between my fingers, I wince at the perennial cramp that slides up the pained digits and push away the inevitable unease because, despite my progress, some things linger like a bad habit.
I try to clear my mind and focus on scrubbing and squeezing, humming below my breath, but when a shadow falls across my shoulder, I get a serious case of déjà vu and shudder when I turn to look behind me.
I can’t see more than a dark form against the bright rays of the midday sun until the shadow steps in front of the glaring light, revealing Sofia standing over me with a slight smirk. Disturbingly, it only increases her beauty, and I comfort myself with the thought that maybe she’s an ugly crier.