Bo Waters’s back hurt from pushing a lawnmower over Willa Hunt’s endless yard. When he had done this chore for her years ago, there’d been a tractor-mower he could sit and ride on, turning the task into a relatively painless journey in the hot sun. But now he was stuck with some contraption from the last century, without an engine in sight. It was a hand-powered rotary mower meant for a much smaller lawn than Willa’s. Bo was sweating and grunting, and not even done with a sixth of his task. He’d better get paid considerably more for this. He tried to succumb to the rough pleasure of physical exertion—he’d been a decent athlete in high school but hadn’t done much since. It occurred to him that perhaps this was his first step back into shape; that maybe he should be grateful for the immense inconvenience of this stupid machine.

As he was distracting himself from his throbbing muscles by cursing the lawn mower, Bo was suddenly stopped by a timid sneeze. He looked toward the sound and saw a movement by the woodpile. Expecting a cat or a groundhog, Bo was startled to see a human form rise slowly from the other side. A female human form.

“Hi,” Jiminy said, sneezing again.

“Hi,” Bo replied, aware of the pollens floating in the air between them. He wondered how many of his curses had been overheard.

“I’m allergic to grass,” Jiminy said, by way of explanation.

“That’s a tough one to avoid,” Bo replied.

Didn’t Jiminy know it. She was allergic to dust also, and wheat, and easy human interaction, or at least it frequently seemed so to her.

“Do I know you? You look familiar,” she said, with her head cocked to the side in an inquisitive way that didn’t feel totally natural to her, but that she hoped was fitting for the moment. Her neck hurt from how she’d been sitting against the woodpile.

“You do, too,” Bo replied. “I’m kin to Lyn. I’m Bo.”

“I’m Jiminy. Willa’s my grandmother.”

They’d made their introductions, declared their affiliations. Jiminy stood waiting for some inspiration about how to continue this conversation. She wanted it to go forward, she liked the look of this guy. It wasn’t just that he was the first person younger than seventy that she’d encountered in the past week, though that probably was part of the attraction. But there was more. He had a smooth assurance to his features that made Jiminy feel calm.

“How old are you?” she blurted.

Bo stared back at her.

“Twenty-one,” he replied. “Is that old enough?”

Jiminy blushed.

“I guess so,” she replied. “Except for renting cars.”

“Who needs a rental car when I’ve got these hot wheels?” Bo replied, lifting up the lawn mower he longed to fling into the nearby river.

Jiminy laughed.

“Are you doing the whole lawn?” she asked.

Bo nodded wearily.

“I should be finished in a couple months. Do you know what happened to your grandmother’s tractor-mower? I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if you tell me where it is.”

Jiminy laughed again.

“Sorry, I don’t know where much of anything is. I haven’t been here in years.”

“What brings you back?”

Jiminy looked down, unsure of how to answer. Could she say she was running away? Should she tell Bo about her restlessness, and desperation, and how her unsatisfactory world had abruptly folded in on her? Should she mention her mother, and her nervous breakdown destiny? Or admit how random it was that she’d chosen this spot for refuge? She opened her mouth to let all of this out, then closed it again.

“Just getting a break from city life,” she managed to say at last.

Bo nodded, unperturbed by Jiminy’s awkwardness. He could tell she had plenty more to say, but he felt no urge to pry. Like anyone who wasn’t actually from here, Jiminy assumed Fayeville represented a relaxing respite from busier places, but Bo knew there was as much turmoil here as anywhere. If she stuck around, she’d find that out for herself.

“How long you staying?” he asked.

“Just taking it day by day,” she answered with a shrug. “How are you related to Lyn?”

“She’s my great-aunt. I lived with her some growing up.”

Jiminy glanced down at the book in her hand, then snapped her gaze back up to meet Bo’s.

“Do you happen to know . . . I mean, I guess you probably would . . . but maybe not, who knows how much families communicate . . . Um, was Lyn ever married, by any chance?”

Bo felt sorry for Jiminy that she had to expend so much effort to ask a simple question. What a difficult way to go through life. He had his challenges, but most of them felt imposed from the outside, not created within. And now Jiminy was looking at him fearfully, like she was worried she’d overstepped her bounds somehow.

“Aunt Lyn was married to my grandma’s brother, Edward Waters. And they had a daughter, but she died. He died, too—both a long time ago. Aunt Lyn never hooked up with anyone else, as far as I know.”

Jiminy nodded.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Bo continued. “No one else does either, to keep from upsetting her. What I know, I heard from a drunk old uncle talking outta school.”

Jiminy nodded again. She considered showing Bo her grandfather’s diary, but decided to keep it to herself for the time being.

“Is that a Polaroid camera?” Bo asked.

He was pointing to the camera dangling from her neck. Jiminy had brought it with her from Chicago, to document her decline. She touched it now, and nodded.

“I didn’t even know they made them anymore,” Bo remarked. “I used to love those things. Such instant gratification.”

Jiminy nodded again, in complete agreement. She resisted the urge to snap a photo of Bo right that second.

“So what do people do for fun around here?” she asked instead.

“Oh, we go cow-tipping, throw crab apples at the Hardee’s billboard, make crank calls,” Bo answered.

Jiminy tried to imagine herself doing these things with any amount of enthusiasm. Maybe the crab apple thing, if she actually managed to hit the billboard.

“I’m kidding,” Bo continued. “We’re not that bad off. Though I have been known to spend rainy days in the sports aisle of HushMart. You can get a pretty good basketball game going before they ask you to move on.”

“I’m the queen of HORSE,” Jiminy replied.

It was true. She wasn’t athletic in general, but she had a preternatural talent for making basketball shots. Not while on the move, and she couldn’t dribble or pass or be sure of many rules of the game, but she could get that ball through the hoop from practically any standing position, no matter the distance.

“The queen, huh?” Bo replied.

His tone wasn’t skeptical; it was more amused. Still, Jiminy found herself resenting it. She wasn’t good at many things. She felt she proved this nearly every day.

“I’m not kidding,” she insisted, with uncharacteristic fire. “I’ve never lost a game. I’ve never been anything more than a HOR.”

Bo raised his eyebrows.

“H-O-R,” she clarified, feeling her face flush.

Bo grinned and put his hands up in surrender.

“Do you coach lesser players?” he asked.

“Anytime,” Jiminy answered, surprised at her confidence.

“I’m gonna come find you when I finish this,” Bo said, motioning to the vast expanse of unmown lawn around him. “If I live that long.”

Jiminy smiled, happy to realize she still could.

 

Inside, Lyn had been watching them through the window for the past ten minutes, thinking about when they’d first met as children. She doubted either one of them remembered it.

Jiminy had been only six years old, dropped off by her quarreling parents for an impromptu visit. She was a silent, reserved child, and she’d quickly become Lyn’s little shadow, sitting for hours on the stool in the corner of the kitchen, shyly watching her every move. Lyn had gone about her business as usual, but every once in a while she’d stuck out her tongue without warning and waggled it around, causing Jiminy to erupt into paroxysms of giggles. Just as suddenly, Lyn would resume her poker face and reabsorb herself in her task. Jiminy would giggle a little longer to herself, then wait patiently for the next show.