Page 8 of Our Own Light

Everyone laughed. Oliver forced a laugh, too, though he was worried about whether or not these men found him funny in a ha-ha way or funny in a wow, take a look at this fellow kind of way. Embarrassed by his rambling, Oliver started on the strawberries.

“We’ll see you inside, Floyd,” Roy said, turning to leave.

Floyd responded with a wave and then reached for the scraps of his sandwich.

“I only eat the crust if I skip breakfast,” Floyd explained, placing the pieces on the cloth next to the strawberries. “Don’t tell Effie. She’ll poke fun of me for it. I like to throw the leftovers to Roy’s pigs on the way home.”

“Is Effie your wife?”

“Yup, she is.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Almost eight years.”

“I can’t even commit to a favorite fruit, and you’ve been married for eight years.”

“You were plenty certain about your least favorite.”

“Oh, I have no trouble identifying things I don’t like,” Oliver said. “I only have trouble figuring out what I do like. I’ve always been that way.” He tossed the strawberry stem into the bushes. “I’m sorry if you enjoy pears, by the way. Right after I said they were terrible, I realized that I probably sounded like an ass.”

“Mmm, a little.”

“I think I came across that way yesterday, too. At the store, I mean, when I was looking at hats.”

“Yeah, you did,” Floyd confirmed, though he shrugged like he wasn’t bothered by it.

Oliver was surprised that even though Floyd was agreeing with him so readily and openly about his previously horrible behavior, he hadn’t tried to make Oliver feel bad about it, nor had he reassured Oliver that it was fine. It was like Floyd had only been stating a fact. Strangely enough, there was some comfort in that—in honesty for honesty’s sake.

When Oliver moved to pick up one of the sandwich crusts, Floyd sucked in a breath through his teeth and the sound startled Oliver out of his thoughts.

“What?”

Floyd’s face was screwed up with what looked like revulsion. Oliver realized that Floyd was staring at his hands.

“Red tips,” Floyd answered.

Which was probably what this lovely ailment was called. Oliver’s face warmed. It had probably become even redder than his pathetic, swollen fingers.

“I spent the morning sorting coal.”

“Is that what Fred Donohue told you to do?”

“No, but I couldn’t find anyone to show me what else I was supposed to do. For some reason, I thought that when I came in today, there would be someone who would be paired up with me or something,” Oliver said. “Very naïve, I’m sure.”

“You ought to have come found me.”

“I walked around for a while, but I couldn’t really tell Dick from Harry in the mine.”

Floyd continued to look at Oliver’s hands, and Oliver’s face continued to burn. Oh, he was so embarrassed about them.

“Goose grease’ll help,” Floyd said. “If you can come over to my house later, I’ll make sure Effie fixes you up.”

Floyd’s offer made Oliver’s stomach feel a little funny. He wasn’t used to being cared for. Even in small ways.

“Thank you.”

“If you want, you can be my shadow from here on out. I won’t mind. I was working with a kid named Billy, but now that I been with him for a couple of weeks, I think I’m realizing that he ain’t really ready to work with me yet. Still too young.”

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