We drove a few miles down the frontage road next to I-16 and parked on the shoulder. So much trash littered the side of the road I wondered if a garbage truck had wrecked nearby. Jayce hopped out, reached into a cooler in the bed of the truck, and waved a water bottle.
“Water?”
“I don’t need it,” I said stubbornly.
He tossed it to me anyway. “Drink,” he ordered.
I wanted to argue, but my body wascravingwater more than anything, and the bottle was cool in my hands. I gulped it down so fast that rivulets ran out the side of my mouth and down my chin.
“Thanks,” I gasped when I was done.
“Mmm hmm.” Jayce grabbed trash bags out of the bed of the truck, and sticks with little needles on the end for jabbing trash. He pointed into the distance. “We’ve got this stretch of road from here to the Murphy ranch, about a mile thataways. We’ll get as much done as we can today and come down the other side of the road tomorrow.”
“All right.”
He watched me pull on my heels. “Are those the only shoes you have?”
“I couldn’t find my sneakers. And I was already late.”
He shook his head but said nothing as we began our work. I held the black trash bag in my left hand while stabbing pieces of garbage with the stick in my right, and then scraped them off into the bag. It was simple enough, but not preciselyeasysince the trash kept sticking to the needle.
“So you’ve got community service too?” I asked.
“No,” he said flatly. “I just love picking up trash.”
I stabbed a coke can and dropped it in my bag. “You piss off Judge Benjamin?”
“Something like that.”
“What were you doing in jail?”
He grinned at me. The same grin that had touched his lips before he went down on me in my dream. “I was sittin’, mostly. Not much else you can do in a cell.”
I rolled my eyes. “I mean what did you do to get thrown in there? Did you roll through a stop sign? Resist arrest from that sheriff jerk?”
He paused to give me an even stare. “In Eastland, you don’t need to break the law to end up in jail. You should know that more than anyone.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said, though he’d avoided answering the question. I wondered how he’d gotten on the sheriff’s bad side. Especially since he lived here, instead of being an outsider like me.
My heel caught on a depression in the road and my ankle twisted. I fell to one knee and yelped, wincing as my stick went flying.
“You all right?” Jayce asked.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Just fine.”
Jayce was there in three long strides. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up with easy strength. Standing close to him, I could smell his scent. Smoke and oil, just like his jacket. I wondered if it was deodorant or just how he smelled naturally.
“Thanks,” I said.
His hand lingered in mine, large fingers warm and comforting. “Don’t mention it.”
I limped for the rest of the day, but I wasn’t about to let a self-inflicted injury slow me down. We fell into a rhythm cleaning the road, one piece of trash at a time. As soon as we filled our bags, Jayce walked back to the truck and drove it up to us so we could toss them in the bed, then we opened new bags. As the sun climbed higher we began taking breaks, drinking bottles of water from Jayce’s cooler. I don’t know what I would’ve done without those. Sweat ran down my back and pooled against my bra strap.
Despite the heat, it was a pleasant day. Especially when the occasional cool breeze blew. The morning dragged on, and the bed of Jayce’s truck filled with bags of trash: four, then six, then eight.
“Good time to stop for lunch,” he said after one load. His muscles bulged as he tossed the bags of trash in the back. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”
“We get a lunch break?” I asked. I was imagining the diner menu in my head. I could crush a patty melt and milkshake right about then. Good hangover food.