Page 70 of Our Own Light

“No, I ain’t.”

“Yes, you are. I’ve seen fifteen-year-olds with more responsibility than me.”

Even in the relatively poor lighting, Oliver could sense that Floyd was upset. Through the tense silence, Oliver heard Floyd let out a long breath through his nose. Still, Floyd had yet to respond to what Oliver had said. Christ, that man was so stubborn sometimes.

“No wonder you like working here. You’re even more stubborn than the mules,” Oliver said, half-expecting Floyd to be upset with him for the insult.

But Floyd cracked a smile and said, “Yeah, I suppose you ain’t wrong about that. Though right now, it seems like you’re trying to compete with me on stubbornness. Look, I won’t let you work in there, and if you won’t let me work in there neither, then I reckon we ought to head over to James’s house to complain.”

“What about the money?”

“Guess I’ll have to be more careful at the store this week since our paycheck won’t be as big.”

“Well, you could borrow from next week’s paycheck.”

“I told you, that’s how you end up in a hole you can’t claw your way out of.”

“Can I buy some of the things your family needs this week, then?”

Floyd rubbed his chin, thinking it over, and the fact that Floyd was even hesitant made Oliver scoff.

“Please?”

“Yeah, I suppose. We’re running short on corn and peas and such. Shouldn’t cost too much. I’ll return what I owe.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?”

“Don’t pay me back.” Oliver leaned in close and whispered, “Let me treat you a little.”

Floyd whispered back, “You want to treat me to some canned vegetables?”

“Only the best for you, sweetheart,” Oliver teased.

Floyd snorted. “Fine, Ollie, you win.”

So, the two packed up their tools and left the mine. First, they stopped at the company store. Oliver bought Floyd a whole two brown bags’ worth of food, not only canned vegetables, but beans and fresh fruit and a loaf of bread, too. He could tell that Floyd was a little unnerved by it. Floyd still had trouble accepting Oliver’s help. Or “charity” as he liked to call it. Oliver tried not to let Floyd’s reaction upset him, but he had to wonder if Floyd would have let Matt purchase a couple of cans of lima beans without making a whole to-do about it.

After Oliver and Floyd stopped at Floyd’s house to drop off the food, the two of them started walking to James Donohue’s. Perturbed by the lingering tension between them, Oliver intentionally bumped Floyd with his shoulder.

“What was that for?” Floyd asked.

“If you keep stewing about me purchasing three dollars’ worth of food for you and your family, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to beat the upset right out of you.”

“Uh-huh, sure you will.” Floyd rolled his eyes in that adorable way of his. “You’re a fair bit smaller than me.”

“Yeah, but I’m scrappier.” Oliver held up his fists and grinned. “I’m from New York.”

“You’re too sweet to be scrappy. Besides, remember what happened with our so-called boxing match?”

Now Oliver had to roll his eyes. “First, I’m not trying to look sweet. I’m trying to look threatening. Second, I was zozzled. I can be plenty threatening when I need to be.”

Oliver moved his fists in a little circle, but Floyd only laughed.

“Real scary, city boy.”

Playfully irate, Oliver thumped Floyd’s biceps. Even though he’d put some muscle behind the blow, Floyd’s only reaction was to cock one of his eyebrows, which was stupidly adorable, but also a little maddening.

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