Page 13 of Atlas

I tip too much water as my hands shake. He nearly chokes, and then gently shoves it aside. He’s had enough of us trying to help him. He rolls off me and shoves himself into a sitting position. He immediately presses the wet towel to his forehead, but probably because he’s seeing black spots.

Georgia takes the ladle from me, dips it, and drinks gratefully before passing it over. Our water bottles are empty, and I take long mouthfuls. The water is from a well, I’d say, with a distinct metallic taste that reminds me of blood, but the ice cold wet is heaven going down my dusty, dry throat.

I jump up. “I was just going to come up and get you to discuss pricing,” I say to Agatha after replacing the ladle in the bucket. I take her arm and guide her over to the giant pile.

We face the pile and I’m about to start listing off items that aren’t visible, going through in my head what I think would be a fair price for everything and then give a total, when Agatha drops a bomb on me.

“You should just take it all for free, dear. And go and die off my property.” She’s got one hell of a poker face before she cackles.

“My goodness, we’re not going to sue you. Atlas is fine. He just got overheated and couldn’t breathe with the mask on.”

“I was just joking. I hope you all live long lives yet.”

“You and me both.” I get that strange, burning, waterlogged feeling in my chest and tear ducts again. “I couldn’t possibly take anything for free. I’d like to come back and pick again. My trailer will be packed full for today.”

“It’s powerful hot out. A good time to take a break.”

“That too.”

“You’re welcome back anytime if you bring your gentleman friend with you. He’s a sight for sore old eyes.” Agatha glances Atlas’ way and cackles again. It grows into a raspy guffaw that starts seesawing in and out and ends on a snort. I have to laugh with her, it’s such a wild sound. “Oh, I know I’m an old crone now, but you should have seen me back in the day. I was quite a catch. You should have seen my late husband too. Whooooweee!” She laughs so hard again that I swear her dentures are in danger of blowing out of her mouth. “I’m just messing. You’re welcome back anytime. You can pay me then.”

“Oh, no, Agatha, I couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t know what I had this time.”

Her lips scrunch, emphasizing all her wrinkles. “Let’s call it a grand then?”

“Seriously? You’re way undercharging me.”

She smiles so sweetly. “I’m just glad these things will go to people who can use them and love them again. They saw a lot of good memories, and that means more to me than money. I’m well set, sweetie.” She pats my hand. “The place might look rundown, but I only have my son, Phil, to leave it all to, and he’s not interested. He’ll probably bulldoze everything and sell the land. He’s already established. A lawyer in Washington.”

“My sister is a lawyer too.”

“Well, then,” she sighs, and in that sound, I can hear her loneliness.

This farmyard is over an hour from Hart, but I vow to make more time to come out here and visit her, if she’ll have me.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, if that works?”

“It certainly does. Just give me a call ahead of time and I’ll have cookies waiting for you. I’d offer you some now, but you all look in need of cold water alone, and it was so hot I didn’t dare turn on the oven, so you’re SOL on that front.”

Hearing old people curse is a trip. It’s hilarious. “Thank you.”

I’ve always been a hugger and even though it’s sweltering and I’m filthy and sticky, I open my arms, and Agatha falls into the hug. She’s delicate, her bones frail, her long hair twisted up in a bun so wispy that spots of her scalp shine through, pink and vulnerable. I’m extra careful with her.

“Thank you. You’re a life saver. Literally.”

After I pay Agatha, Georgia and I do most of the loading. We force Atlas to sit in the shade that the big, enclosed beast casts. He grumbles about that until we need him to load the heavy pieces.

After I close it up and slip the locks on, I’m thoroughly exhausted. Forget paying just Atlas, I need to offer Georgia something too. If she won’t take money, I’ll be sure to give her some of those paintings from the shop that she was eying up yesterday, or whatever she’d like from today’s haul.

Atlas walks casually over to his bike. Georgia and I exchange panicked glances. We’re both red faced and streaked with grime and Atlas doesn’t look any better. He might think he’s fine, but there’s no way he’s getting on that bike.

“Simon!” Georgia yells, storming over. “You get in the front seat of that truck right now. Someone else can come back for your bike with you tomorrow.”

Atlas scoffs, slipping his helmet on and rolling his shoulders back stubbornly. “I’m fine. Just got overheated.”

“You passed out! There’s no way you’re driving back home. You could kill someone else, you moron.”

“I know I’m okay. This happened all the time in football games.”

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