3. Benji #2
“I’m sorry that I always lose my temper with him,” I said. “I know he’s got a lot on his plate.”
“My sweet boy...” She waved her right hand. “You weren’t wrong. Always those damn keys. Every morning! Just try to watch how you say it next time, okay?”
“I will.”
She looped her arm around my waist, leaning on me for balance.
“I love you, Mom.”
“And I love you too, sweetie.”
I wished not every morning for the last two years had started like this. But part of me also didn’t want to lose it. Not anytime soon.
Out of all the days in a week that I could’ve been screwed over, Tuesday had to be the worst. But, of course. I couldn’t catch a break.
Inside the barn, it was already as hot as it would be outside at noon. Standing at the little desk Mr. Farley usually occupied, Gordy grinned like he’d just unlocked the damn secret to happiness.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered, forcing my voice low.
“I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity.”
My eyes darted to Sam, sitting on a bench ten feet away, hands folded in his lap. His head snapped up like he’d been waiting for me to look. I turned straight back to Gordy.
“Why me? Why not one of the geezers?”
“Because they’d run to my dad in a heartbeat and rat me out.”
“And you think I won’t?”
“Do you want the full list of reasons in writing?”
“You damn—” I bit my teeth, choking off the second half of that sentence.
Too many ears around. If I lost it here, Mr. Farley would hear about it before lunch and return from his conference to fire me before my shift was over.
As much as I wanted to wipe that smug look off Gordy’s face, I couldn’t risk this job.
Not now. Even if that meant playing along with his abuse of authority.
“Damn what , Mr. Putnam?” Gordy teased me, his smirk stretching wider.
That he spoke like his Dad didn’t make it easier.
“Nothing, boss . Thank you for the opportunity,” I said through gritted teeth. Fine. If he wanted to handle it that way, I would play along. But I was under no obligation to keep talking to him. Without waiting for anything, I turned around.
I made my way over to Sam, who jumped up like a dog waiting for commands.
At least he’d remembered what I had told him yesterday and wore green, long pants, a long-sleeved, beige shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat.
Why he thought it was a good idea to wear stuff right out of a catalog instead of something old that wouldn’t mind getting dirty or ripped was beyond me, though.
“Come on, rookie.” I sighed and waved for him to follow.
Without bothering to explain anything again, I headed to the back wall, grabbed one of the green picking bags, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the barn. Sam did the same thing, just ten times slower. But I wasn’t going to wait for him. Not today.
“Pick up the pace,” I barked, not looking back as I passed a couple of coworkers on my way out the back entrance.
Outside, on the back side of the barn, a steel rack held thirty ladders stacked upright. I stopped beside them, turning just in time to see Sam still fumbling with the strap of the harvesting bag as if it were a damn puzzle box.
A breeze cut through the air, making the sun slightly less brutal, but not enough.
I had checked the forecast, and it was going to be one of these days when everyone over sixty was advised to stay inside, to keep them from dropping dead in the streets.
Bad enough that I had to worry about keeping myself hydrated, but now I had to keep an eye on him, too.
I couldn’t have this damn amateur fainting out there. How would that look?
“How much water did you bring?”
“Roughly three-quarters. I only had two bottles yesterday and?—”
“That’ll do,” I cut him off. I appreciated that he thought ahead, but I didn’t need a monologue. “Before we start, listen up. I’m leaving right on time today. If you’re not done, I’ll leave you out in the field.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied with a little nod that made my jaw clench again for some reason.
It wasn’t Sam’s fault that Gordy dumped him on me, or that I had that weird ass dream about him, but still.
I could’ve done without seeing him, let alone being responsible for him.
I’d even take listening to Jin’s constant ramble about whatever football team he bet on this time. But it wasn’t like I had a choice.
I inhaled deeply, turned to the rack behind me, and grabbed a ladder.
“Gordy asked me to teach you how to work on a ladder. The first thing you need to know is to always watch your surroundings. You don’t want to clock someone in the head or break a tree.”
I lowered the ladder in front of him. He got the hint and wrapped his fingers around the rung right next to mine.
Once he looked like he had a grip, I let go.
But the ladder tilted right away, yanking him off balance.
Luckily, my reflexes kicked in, and I managed to grab the ladder before it buried him.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he panicked, his fingers tightening on the rung. “I can carry a ladder. I promise. I simply misjudged how heavy it would be.”
“You sure?” I asked. “Because if you drop dead out there, I’m not scraping you off the ground.”
“Yes. I’ll prove it.”
“I hope you don’t regret saying that.”
Without warning, I let go again. For a moment, Sam struggled, but this time, he managed to grip the ladder and steady it on the ground. His smile was a little too proud for such a basic win, but at least I didn’t have to save him twice.
I grabbed another ladder and hoisted it onto my shoulder.
Sam tried to copy me, but he carried his horizontally, like he was trying to measure the whole damn orchard. With a stupid smile, like he thought this was exactly how it should be done, Sam searched for my face, probably waiting for praise.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, but quickly took a deep breath to keep myself from barking more slurs at him.
“You carry it like that, you’ll knock someone’s teeth out.
” I turned my back to him, lifting my ladder higher and stepping three feet toward the trees—just far enough that if he screwed up, it wouldn’t be my teeth getting knocked out.
“And watch the ground for anything you could stumble over. Better yet, walk like the whole place is full of hazards.”
My hands moved from orange to orange so fast, I didn’t even have to think about what I was doing anymore.
Grip the fruit, snip the stem, and carefully place it into the picking bag so the peel doesn’t get damaged.
One after the other. When they were close enough together, I could hit forty a minute, easily.
Sam was barely cracking ten.
It started to get on my nerves. I couldn’t rush ahead and leave him alone.
Not now with him on the ladder for the first time.
We had a quota to hit, and if we didn’t, I’d be the one answering to Mr. Farley when he got back.
I couldn’t afford that. Not today. Not with Mom’s doctor’s appointment in the afternoon.
While my hands kept moving, my eyes slid over to Sam. At least his technique wasn’t awful. Once shown how to do something, he copied it pretty well. The only issue, besides his slowness, was the way his shoulders curled forward.
“If the bag gets too heavy, empty it even if it’s not full,” I said. “I’d rather you climb up and down more often than you fall because you’re not used to the weight.”
Sam glanced up at me, a stupid smile flickering across his face, but his hands stopped moving.
I cut him off before he could say a word. “Please keep working while you talk, or there won’t be a conversation.”
He nodded and turned back to the oranges. “It’s not too heavy yet,” he said, eyes on his hands again. “Plus, I have to get used to it anyway.”
His soft voice scratched at something inside me that I couldn’t name. Ever since Gordy dumped him on me, I’d been hard on him. Maybe a little too hard.
“If you want to have a healthy back tomorrow, you shouldn’t let your shoulders slump like that.”
Sam looked over at me, his brows knitting together, and after thinking about it for a second, pulled his shoulder blades back as if posing for a photo.
I rolled my eyes. “No. Look.” I rounded my shoulders the way he had, glanced at my lower back, then arched slightly. “A straight back starts down there. Not too much, though. Just a little.”
He looked back over his shoulder, lifted his butt an inch, trying to mimic what I’d shown him before searching my face for my professional opinion.
I stared at his ass and gave a nod of approval, when I realised that what we did might look weird to someone watching it—especially with the rumors going around about him.
Not that I thought it was weird. He was just a coworker, some dude on a ladder.
It wasn't as if I was checking him out .
And even if I had been... so what? It’s not a crime to notice someone. If people like each other, they should be able to do whatever they want together. That didn’t mean I liked him, though. Obviously.
I shook the thoughts off, or tried to, at least. Focus on the oranges . Keep your hands moving, I told myself.
By the time I snapped out of it, ten minutes had gone by, and I had plucked the last ripe orange from my tree. I climbed down my ladder. Sam followed my example, even though his bag was only half full and his tree was still heavy with fruit.
“Sorry, I’m so slow,” he said. “I’ll try to keep up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, keeping my eyes off him.
He could’ve been faster, sure. But I knew what it was like.
I’d been the new guy once, too, and it had taken me weeks to catch up.
“At least you’re doing it right. That already makes you better than half the guys we’ve had.
Some tore up more fruit than they picked. ”
“Your explanations help a lot.”
We emptied our bags into the big rubber bin closest to us before heading back to the tree Sam had been working on. The best course of action would be to continue working on his row for now. So, I dragged my ladder over and leaned it against the opposite side.
“I’m actually quite happy it’s you showing me what to do and not Gordy,” Sam said as he climbed back up. “He didn’t seem interested in explaining much.”
I paused, unsure of how to respond. No one had ever said something like that to my face before.
“I think this is one of the things I always get lucky with,” Sam went on, his hands finding their rhythm again. “Somehow, I always end up with good teachers. It was the same in high school as it had been for the last few months. I hope I’ll be just as lucky in college.”
“College?” I said, knowing very well what that word meant. I also wasn’t asking about which college or which courses Sam was planning to take. I asked because no one I had ever met out here had any plans that stretched beyond the job.
“Yeah. It’s not confirmed yet, but I hope to start in September at SBU.”
His voice carried so much warmth and hope that it made something seize in my chest. He had a voice like someone who never had to worry too much about how the next bill would get paid.
Someone fortunate enough to have the means to attend college.
Someone wealthy enough to pay for it outright, or at least be considered for a student loan.
My fingers clenched tighter around the orange in my hand. I clipped the stem and... something was off. A sticky fluid ran down my palm. I looked down and saw my thumb buried in the soft flesh. I had crushed it without realizing.
I froze, my view drawn to the destroyed fruit. This had never happened before, not even when I was a trainee years ago.
I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn’t fill. My view darted through the leaves at him. He didn’t notice. He just kept snipping, calm and steady, like this whole job was nothing more than a box to check off his summer list.
“Why are you here, then?” I asked in a low, steady voice. I couldn’t afford to lose it. I couldn’t risk a fight—even a verbal one—not with this job on the line, not with my mom unable to work, not with her medical bills piling up, not with the reputation I carried in this town.
“To save some money,” he said so simply, it made me want to scream. “It’s a little complicated. My parents prepaid the first three months for my apartment, so I could build a little nest egg before I start into real life. But now, I’m actually hoping to save it all for college.”
A sharp sting shot through my chest.
Real life.
Like this wasn’t it.
Like this was a pit stop. A curiosity. Something he’d tell a cute story about in a dorm common room before some professor handed him the future.
I went back to picking oranges. One by one. Faster than before. I had to finish this tree. I had to get away from him.
If I stayed near him any longer, I didn’t trust myself not to say or do something I’d regret.
He looked over a few times. I felt it. But I didn’t meet his gaze. I simply kept moving until the tree was stripped, climbed down, emptied my bag into the bucket, and grabbed my ladder with a little too much force, the wood groaning in my grip.
But at least, I didn’t say a word.
I just moved on.