Not to mention that our three letters of resignation might as well have been written in blood.
Josh is going through some stuff. Zach might not be thrilled to work with me just yet. I’m having cold feet. All of this is perfectly normal, I reassure myself. Real-life responses to real-life challenges.
It will get better.
Because it has to.
ChapterOne
ZACH
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Good God, it’s hot,”Josh groans beside me. “I swear, I’ve never been this hot before.”
He’s telling the truth, but it’s not helping. We have a long day ahead of us, and griping about it isn’t going to make it any better.
The punch list on getting this place ready for a spring grand opening is as long as the Charles River and twice is murky. We got our financing—at an interest rate that isn’t great but can’t exactly be considered fiscal rape—to cover the major renovation and construction expenses and keep us clothed and fed for the next eighteen months—but with the cost of materials going up every week, we’d be stupid not to tackle the projects we can handle ourselves instead of contracting those out.
Which is why my best friend and I are putting up the fence. Sounds easy enough when you don’t know that it’s supposed to encompass four hundred acres of Louisiana prairie, forest, and river front. One side of the property edges the Vermilion River, so the ground is hilly where the water has changed course over millennia. And that’s where old-growth live oaks set down roots about three hundred years ago. The flat spots here around the big pond are easier to work with, but there’s no shade.
And even with a rented gas-powered auger, erecting a fence is fucking hard.
I promised myself I wouldn’t miss winters in Boston, but July in Louisiana? A barbecue on hell’s back porch couldn’t be hotter. How could I forget this mind-melting heat? I grew up here.
Is it climate change? Is it my age?
Both possibilities blow. I’m only 28.
“Two more holes and we’ll be in that patch of shade.” I nod in the promising direction, a cluster of water oaks that hug the north property line. Josh follows my gaze, but his expression stays leaden.
“Two more holes and I’ll be asking for one in my head.”
The rumble of the Polaris Ranger has Josh turning around before I can catch the look on his face. He’s always been one for sardonic humor, but if this is a joke, it’s not funny.
“I’d kill for a beer right now,” he mutters.
I’d kill for a Gatorade. The cooler of water we brought out with us this morning is almost empty. But if Greta is delivering more hydration, I hope she doesn’t hang around. Josh will take the excuse to sit on his ass and talk to her, and if we press on, we could be finished with this side of the fence in a couple of hours.
We don’t need to be out in this heat and not have something to show for it.
The growl of the UTV rises, getting closer. Ignoring it, I lift the two-person auger and move us to the next stake. A glance over my shoulder has me swallowing a curse. Josh just stands there, watching her bounce over ruts and roots, aiming straight for us. With that fat Corgi perched on the seat beside her, Greta’s smiling wide like we’re out here for a picnic.
She kills the Ranger’s engine and hops out wearing gray shorty shorts that fit her like shrink wrap, a turquoise tank top, and pink Tevas. Her hazelnut curls spill out of the back of her pink baseball cap, in a wild ponytail.
Scowling, I set the auger down and yank the next marking stake out of the ground.
Greta hefts the orange Gatorade cooler out of the Rhino rack and sets it at Josh’s feet. The dog doesn’t bother moving. He just pants on the seat, his tongue lolling out like he’s about to collapse.
“How’s it going, guys?”
Nobody in this heat could be that cheerful. Even the dog knows that. She has to be faking.
I wonder what else she fakes.
I give that thought a brutal shove and drag my dirt-dusted arm across my brow. “It’s going, but we need to keep at it to finish this part today.”
Subtext?Thanks for the cooler. Now, go back to whatever you were doing so we can finish.