Page 27 of The Auction
Second time he tried it, I used a broom handle against his chest.
Third time, I pulled the collar of my shirt up over my nose so he ended up kissing me through cotton. Laughing as he walked out of the kitchen.
The fucker. It was like he was trying to turn us into this thing that we weren’t.
We weren’t a couple. I wasn’t any closer to thinking about having sex with him than I was on the day we got married.
And just because we now spent mornings together, ate dinner together, hung out and watched TV together, didn’t mean we were…together.
Although, even if in my head we weren’t any closer to being a couple, it also didn’t mean I was any closer to my great escape.
Because we were in it now. Planting season.
I was currently on the back of the tractor behind him. Standing on a ledge where the trailer was hooked to the plow behind me. Creed had finally gotten the engine running smoothly, and we were plowing fields to prepare them for planting.
The engine noise made talking almost pointless. I’d told him ear plugs would help, but he’d shaken me off, saying he needed to hear the sounds the engine was making so he could better service it.
I don’t know. Maybe he’d been some kind of boat engine savant in the Navy.
Then I remembered the night of his sleepwalking event.
Or maybe he’d been something else.
“You’re pulling right!” I shouted behind him.
From my position looking over his shoulder I had a better vantage point of the fields in front of us. Also, I knew exactly where lines had been churned before. The rows needed to be twenty to thirty inches apart, and I always leaned toward more rows than fewer, so I was keeping him on a more narrow trajectory.
“The fucking tractor drives like a tank!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Yeah, because it’s a tractor! You need to own this bitch like an actual farmer and keep it straight!”
“You want to drive?”
Hell, no. Driving the tractor wasn’t any fun. All that dust and dirt kicking up in your face. He’d probably already swallowed at least a handful of bugs.
No, I was happy to stand behind him on the ledge behind the seat, his large, wide frame blocking the elements nicely. I also wore a kerchief over my face, an old ball cap on my head and goggles over my eyes so I could see clearly.
Did I tell him I had spares of all of it? I did not.
“You ready to quit?” I asked him. The pussy part was implied.
“Fuck that!”
I didn’t smile. Just kept tapping on his left shoulder any time I felt him pulling right.
It was strange, but this felt normal. Not that I spent time on the back of the tractor with Herb. He’d been an old hand at making straight rows, but usually I trailed behind. Moving larger rocks out of the way. Checking the PH balance of the soil. Checking for insects or maggots. The smell of the diesel fuel filling my nostrils.
Just then a cold breeze pushed against us and the sudden drop in temperature was noticeable. I could see the goosebumps break out on his forearms in real time. I looked up and dark, looming clouds were rolling in fast. They were low, too. Which was never good.
“We’ve got to stop!” I shouted over the engine and the churning plow behind us.
“What?”
I tapped three times on each shoulder. “Stop the tractor!”
Whether he heard me or sensed my urgency he brought the tractor to a stop and let it idle in neutral.
“What?” he barked.
