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TRACI WIPED DOWN THE fogged bathroom mirror and frowned. She smoothed on a thick coating of sunscreen over her face and arms, rubbed some Kurly Locs oil in her palms and spread it through her hair. No point in making a fuss about hair and makeup. She’d probably be outside all day in a cap and shades. She pulled her shiny curls into a floppy bun on top of her head and added a swipe of lip gloss. She checked her phone again, nothing from Myra. That was strange.
She decided to make an appearance at Dependable Flyers as scheduled. According to the information Ms. Rios gave her, she would complete the on-boarding paperwork and orientation during the morning. Then, they would assign a company bicycle and she would shadow another Flyer for the rest of the day. She would try calling Myra during her lunch break. They could sort out her next move and figure things out together. She stared into the almost empty fridge and realized that she had nothing prepared for her lunch bag. Her stomach churned as she regretted not eating any of the food she saw last night. Or, at least, she should have taken some home for later.
She shoved her hand into a cereal box, grabbing a couple handfuls to munch on while checking her messages, again. Nothing. She double-checked to make sure her alert notifications were set for Myra’s number. She drank the last three gulps of orange juice and headed out the back door. She had plenty of time to catch the R-3 thanks to very little sleep last night. First day on a new job always made her antsy. And this one was more unsettling than usual without being able to check in with her former case worker for a pep talk.
Myra’s calming voice had followed her through tough situations and kept her from unraveling. She started down the back steps and out into the yard while the crickets were still singing in the grass. Her mind kept going back to Milo. There was something in his eyes and the way he answered her. What was it? Fear. No, something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She shook her head. There were more important things to think about than some kid and a bunch of strangers.
She would have to respond to the letter from Commissioner Polk’s office. And there was Mayor Gundry’s report on how she planned to complete the repairs on her house. The officials had been patient and very lenient with the rehab timeline, thanks to Myra’s influence, but Traci knew her time and luck were running out. She was doing all the work by herself and her skills were not up to every task in front of her. She tried to work on the most noticeable violations first. She managed to improve the curb appeal, which won them over big time during the first inspection. But there was plumbing, and drywall still left to do. No major electrical, thankfully. And the roof needed patched. She had meditated on all possible scenarios. She had to stay on this job at least six months to get full benefits and maybe it wasn’t worth it. If she gave up, sold off and moved, where would she go? She tried calling Myra again. It was early, but whatever. Voicemail, again.
“Hi Myra. This is Traci again. Please call me when you get this message. I’m on my way to this job. The courier one. Anyway, call me.”
She shoved her phone in her pocket, and instead of walking down Spring Street to the bus stop, she turned down the back alley and wandered past the side yard of the magnificent Hazelton House.
There were already people bustling around the greenhouse and sheds, pushing wheel barrels and arranging an assortment of tools in stacks. There was a cluster of folks gathered around looking at a piece of paper tacked on a tall wooden post. Rowena Garrett came out the back door of her house barking orders.
“No smoking ‘round here, Darnell. I told you that before. Y’all be sure to check the schedule and be on time tomorrow! We’ve got traps to set. I’ll be dog-goned if I’m gonna let some groundhog eat up all our crops this year.”
Traci kept walking toward the scene, searching the crowd for Milo. She finally spotted him attaching a flat hose to a water faucet at the edge of one of the rows. She started to approach him when Rowena turned and noticed her.
“What you doing lurking around?” she said. ”There’s biscuits and gravy on the stove. Maybe some bacon left, but I doubt it. Help yourself if you want to.”
“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.” Traci said.
“Well, we got the cure for that around here.” Rowena said, “Here, pick up the end of that soaker line and pull it along that row over there.” She pointed to where Milo was wrestling with the rolls of nylon mulch. “We gotta get these in place before that heat wave hits this weekend and dries up everything we’ve worked for up ‘til now.” She turned and looked at Traci, “C’mon, get busy.”
Traci picked up the end of a long flat rubber hose and tried dragging it with her free hand toward Milo. He came over and took it from her.
“I got this,” he whispered.
“I have to catch a bus and get to work,” Traci said with an apologetic glance. “I have a job.”
“Right, no problem,” Milo said with a smile that faded swiftly.
“I just want to know,” she whispered, “What is this place?”
“This Miss Rowena’s place. Bent Willow Farm. It’s not much, right? But for some of us, it’s all we got.”
Another man came along and touched Milo’s shoulder, directing him to get back to work. He was a full head and shoulders taller than Traci, wearing a faded green Moe’s Tavern t-shirt, his hand the size of a catcher’s mitt. Perspiration stains already flowed down the center of his chest and his weary eyes were fixed on Traci.
“Get this out to the compost pile,” the man said to Milo while never losing his gaze on Traci.
Milo used both hands to lift the thirty gallon trash can overflowing with weeds and kitchen scraps. He hoisted it onto his back, glancing at Traci over his shoulder as he turned and walked away. Traci smiled politely and nodded at the man. He didn’t nod back or smile. She backed up and looked away. She could see the flash of sunlight on the windshield of the 8:20 bus turning the corner and headed down the block. She made a mad dash for it, cutting across the street right in front of it. She dropped her fare in the box and walked past the scowling driver, taking a seat completely out of breath. A fresh start as a bicycle courier? “Come through electric bikes,” she said.