Beau and Bett

by Kathryn Berla

  “Okay, one . . . two . . . three . . . set it down.”

  Once it was positioned in the trench, I started filling in the hole with earth.

  “I thought you’d like it,” she said. “The kids at school thought it was ridiculous but I knew you’d appreciate it.”

  “Why’d you get a truck?”

  “I liked just being able to lie in the back of yours last week. I could read in there. Maybe even set up a chair. It’s just like yours.”

  “Your truck and my truck are nothing alike,” I assured her. “For one thing, there’s about a twenty-year age difference. For another, there’s about a sixty-thousand-dollar price difference. Why’d you get such a powerful truck if that’s what you wanted? Why not a Tacoma or something smaller?”

  “Dad said if I got tired of it, he could use it for the ranch.”

  “It’s going to be a massive gas hog.”

  “I don’t drive very much.”

  From the sound of her voice, I could tell her smile was gone. I guess I’d killed her buzz. I turned around and could see the familiar downward tilt of her mouth.

  “You don’t like it,” she said.

  “I told you I like it. What’s not to like? It’s just . . . it’s just an unusual choice, that’s all.” Why couldn’t I just say I liked it and be done with it? Be done with her? “I like it,” I said. “I really really like it. You’re a lucky girl, and I mean that.”

  The barest hint—a memory—of that short-lived smile returned, and something ached inside of me. She turned around and walked back toward the house.

  Twenty-One

  What goes around comes around so maybe I deserved it. The pride I had in a job well done, even if it was forced labor. The soothing tunes of my music. The warm day and the satisfaction of working out my muscles. All of that was gone in a blink just because I didn’t register the right amount of satisfaction over Bettina’s truck. And her hat. And maybe I should’ve jumped up and down with joy because she tried to convince her father to release me from the deal. And was I supposed to commend him for insisting on building my character? Whatever. It just felt like a lousy job again—which it was, so why bother pretending otherwise?

  I hadn’t reached the gate yet when Ray came by to see how I was coming along.

  “You did good, Beau. Nice job. Go ahead and finish up to the gate, then you can trench the rest.”

  Fifteen minutes earlier, that praise might have lifted my mood, but now I couldn’t shake the gloom. Ray left to go back to the vineyard and I went back to my monotonous pattern of digging, dropping the mesh, filling the hole and cinching the ties.

  When I was within five yards of the gate, Bettina reappeared, and the sky darkened again. She’d done another complete wardrobe change, which I now understood was her usual pattern. This time she was wearing tight, ripped, faded jeans; high-top pink Converse sneakers with a picture of that white cat with the big head and a red ribbon in its ear; and a white T-shirt that looked a lot more expensive than the ones I wore, sleeves rolled up almost to her shoulders like a 1950s hipster. Her hair was in double braids and she wore a pink baseball cap with that same white cat that was on her shoes. She had huge hoop earrings that almost touched her shoulders. And, of course, oversize sunglasses—a different pair.

  “Hello,” she said as though greeting me for the first time that day.

  “Hi,” I responded. “What’s up?”

  “I brought you a snack,” she said, producing an energy bar from her back pocket that I thought would’ve been too tightly fitted to her to contain an energy bar.

  “Thanks.” I ate it in about two bites and then looked around for a place to set the wrapper.

  “I’ll take it,” she shoved the empty wrapper into the same back pocket. “I thought I’d help out. You said it went much faster with two people lowering the wire mesh into the hole.”

  So, this was her work outfit?

  “The only thing is . . . once I get to the gate, I’m supposed to just trench the rest of the perimeter. Ray doesn’t want me laying down the mesh until I’m done with that.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, while I really appreciate your offer of assistance . . . I’m afraid it won’t be necessary.” And then I quickly added, “But thanks for the offer. And also the energy bar.”

  I went back to what I was doing but she didn’t leave.

  “Who was that in the truck with you?” she finally asked.

  I’d been waiting all morning for that question. Or at least something like it.

  “That was my friend,” I said. “The one I told you about who goes to Castlegate.”

  “The girl?”

  “No, the boy. His name is Khalil.”

  “I’ve bumped into him at school before,” she said, and I had to choke back a response to that literal statement.

  “Who was the girl—your girlfriend?”

  I basically had the liberty to answer this any way I wanted. After all, she’d never find out the truth. Did I want to be the guy with the hot girlfriend? I could be that guy, at least in Bettina’s eyes. She’d never know. Did I want to answer noncommittally and leave her wondering? I could do that too. The cool guy. I could be anything or anyone I wanted at that moment. Well, almost anyone since my financial circumstances were obvious to her. Not to mention the LeFrancois bad luck. But in the end, I went for the truth. Because I was that guy and I was no good at being anyone else.

  “Just another friend,” I said.

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  “If you don’t need my help, do you want my company?”

  She had a straightforward way of talking and when someone has a straightforward way of talking and asks you a question, it makes it hard to do anything but give them a straightforward answer. And if that means answering in a way that makes that person feel lousy, well it’s not such an easy thing to do.

  “Sure,” I said, trying my best not to sound more excited than I actually was.

  Twenty-Two

  She plunked down on the ground next to me, chin resting on knees, arms wrapped around her legs. Her big hoop earrings splayed out against her shoulders. “Why were you there that day—at Castlegate? Just picking up your friend to hang out after school?”

  “Something like that.” Plunge. Scoop. Discard earth. Plunge. Scoop. Discard earth. “Actually, my mom’s car was getting fixed on account of the accident with you. (Plunge) And it’s her job to pick up that kid—Khalil—from school, so I took over. (Scoop) And then she wanted me to keep it up a few days a week, so she can get home from work earlier and work on my sister’s wedding.” Discard earth. Wipe sweat from brow.

  “Oh, so that kid—Khalil—he’s not really your friend, then.”

  “Technically. Why?”

  “Just wondering. Because he’s annoying, that’s all.”

  I’d reached the gate with my last roll of wire mesh to lay down before continuing on with the trenching.

  “You wanna help out?” I asked, and Bettina jumped up, eager to help. “Grab the other end and hold it in place . . . just a little overlapping with the last roll . . . about two inches. Okay, one, two, three, lower.”

  I began shoveling the discarded earth back into the trench.

  “I don’t think he’s annoying at all,” I said, even though I sometimes did. “And, he actually is my friend. Technically, that is.”

  “What’s a technical friend and how does that differ from an actual friend?”

  “What’s so annoying about him?” I ignored her question.

  Bettina sat down on one of the granite stepping stones. “Well, for one thing, he was walking behind me down the hall between classes one day, and he stepped on the back of my sandal. So, I tripped and dropped all my books.”

  I stomped back and forth along the re-earthed trench to pack it down tight with my shoes.

  “I can do that if you want,” Bettina offered.

  “Nah, that’s ok
ay. Anyway, stuff like that happens all the time in school. I’m sure Khalil wasn’t trying to do it on purpose.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “Anyway, he didn’t apologize or offer to help me pick up my books, which I consider to be extremely rude.”

  “Did you say anything to him? Maybe he didn’t even realize he did it.”

  “Oh, he realized,” she said. “He and his friends were just . . . whoops . . . haha. Did I mention the strap of my sandal broke and I had to walk around with it all day?”

  “No, you didn’t mention that.”

  I sat on the ground to cinch the ties, so we were actually sitting pretty close at that point.

  “Well it did. And I did.”

  “Did you ever let him know you were upset about it?” I asked. “I’m just wondering because there’s a possibility he doesn’t have a clue you’re mad at him for that. I’m just sayin’ . . . some people, mainly guys, are clueless about social cues and all.”

  “Social cues, ha!” I looked at her and that scary face was back for just a second, or was it my imagination? She pulled her sunglasses up just enough to let me see her eyes narrow into tiny slits that could be reminiscent of a snake, although I’d never actually looked a snake in the eyes before. And her mouth tightened into a straight line. “And yes, I did let him know how it felt. I’m quite sure he picked up on my social cues.” She shoved her glasses back down.

  “Sorry I brought it up,” I muttered in a way that wasn’t convincingly sorry.

  I worked in silence for the next few minutes.

  “Was that girl technically your friend or actually your friend?”

  “The one who was sitting next to me in the truck?” I asked as if there were any other girls anywhere else in my life, in the truck, out of the truck, or you name it.

  “Yes, that one.”

  “She’s an actual friend,” I said and felt happy I could say it and have it be true.

  “Does that mean that you’re actually in love with her?”

  To say I was surprised at that question is an understatement. But she didn’t ask it in a mean way, which I would’ve ignored.

  “No, it doesn’t mean that.”

  But was I?

  “What’s her name?”

  “Her name is . . . Masie.” I pulled the cinch tight and snipped off the end with the cutting shears. “How about you? Who’s the lucky guy in Bettina’s life?”

  “You know, that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.” Her mouth relaxed into something close to a smile. She removed her cap and I had an almost uncontrollable urge to pick one of the many spectacular flowers within an arm’s reach and tuck it behind her ear.

  “What? No, I’m sure I must have said your name before.”

  “Nope. Not to me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well I know your name, obviously. It’s very pretty. I heard your dad say it . . . your nana . . . Ray. Maybe Khalil said it too.”

  “Him too? Khalil? Why—were you guys talking about me?”

  Maybe not a wise decision to have included Khalil in that list.

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I know he hates me. Everyone at school does. My nickname’s Bett but everyone calls me The Beast at CG.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “And I don’t even believe it. Everyone couldn’t hate you at your school. I saw you walking with a group of girls, so you obviously have friends.”

  “They’re my technical friends but not my actual friends,” she said. “I don’t have any actual friends—not since last year.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  I cinched the very last tie leading up to the gate. I was done and, judging by my watch, it was time for lunch. I was hot. I was tired. I was ready for a break.

  “What happened last year?” I sat on the earthed-in trench and leaned back against the snake fence.

  “They turned me into a beast,” she said.

  “Why’d they do that?”

  “I dunno,” she said, and I’m not sure if it was the kitty cat shoes or the hat or the braids in her hair but she looked like a sad little girl just at that moment. “Maybe because they think I am.”

  Twenty-Three

  Bettina stood up.

  “Isn’t it time for your lunch break?” she asked.

  “Yep, I was just about to do that.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I guess I’ll just go eat in my truck.”

  And then she disappeared in that maddening way she had of appearing and disappearing without warning.

  Before I could leave, Ray came by to check on things. “How do you like the work?” he asked, apparently satisfied with what I’d done.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I have the hang of it so it’s starting to go faster.”

  “I need to move some of my guys to the avocado grove this afternoon,” he said. “If you feel like doing something different, we could try you out there picking. You game?”

  I was fairly certain Bettina wouldn’t follow me to the avocado grove, so I’d have the advantage of being alone. And I was tempted to say yes, I really was. But was it actually such an advantage to be alone? Might it not get a little dull out there in the grove, just me and the avocados—my next closest human neighbor probably too far away to talk, and possibly not at all interested in talking to me? What was the music policy in the grove? Were earbuds that blocked out all incoming voice commands acceptable?

  “My dad busted his hip and leg and collarbone falling off a ladder picking oranges,” I said. “He’s pretty much housebound right now. Couch-bound, in fact. He’s basically an invalid.”

  Ray drew in a sharp breath and let out a slow whistle. “Well, okay, I’m glad you brought that up. We’ll keep you away from ladders while you’re working here.”

  “No problem, your decision,” I said, although if I was honest, it was the decision I’d been angling for. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “Go on and take your lunch break. See you back here in an hour.”

  Twenty-Four

  Iwalked back to my truck, all the while doing a mental calculation of how much time I had left to go before me and the Diaz Ranch had seen the last of each other. I needed to work a total of four full days, four half days. I’d done a half day and, counting today, one-and-a-half full days. That left me with two-and-a-half fulls and three halves. I started to calculate all that in my head using algebra when my thoughts headed off in a different direction. It wasn’t so bad at the Diaz Ranch and there was a positive side, which was missing all the wedding prep going on at my house during weekends. Angie had dress fittings and Jason usually came along with her. If I was home, I’d be expected to seem interested in all that fretting about table settings and flowers. Or at the very least I’d have to talk to Jason and maybe get on the wrong end of his verbal barbs. I decided the Diaz Ranch was as good a place as any to wait out the pre-wedding weeks. As good a place as any, where I had no say in the matter.

  I got to the gravel lot and was looking forward to a quiet lunch break. Maybe listen to some music while I ate the sandwich Maman made that morning. Maybe take a look at that new graphic novel a friend had loaned me last week. But when I saw my truck, I could see Bettina’s brand-new truck parked right alongside it. And not only that but her tailgate was down, and there was a small white plastic table and two molded chairs set up in the bed. Bettina was sitting in one of the chairs and she waved me over. I bypassed my truck and went over to hers.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I parked so close,” she said. “You were hogging all the shade.”

  “Oh, no problem. I was . . . just coming to get my lunch. I was going to . . . take it over . . . there.” I pointed vaguely behind me.

  “You said you were eating lunch in your truck.”

  “I’d been thinking about it, yeah. But t
hen I thought it being such a nice day and all I should maybe just take full advantage, you know?”

  “But I planned a surprise,” she said, “ . . . for you.”

  It wasn’t until that moment I took the time to observe everything on the table. There were real china plates with potato salad and fried chicken and slices of fruit in a bowl in the center. Real silver forks and knives and spoons. White cloth napkins. Real glasses filled with something that looked like iced tea, and hopefully wasn’t spiked with vodka like the lemonade had been. And Bettina—she was wearing a short dark-blue dress with white butterflies. Her hair was loose and brushed out, and she wasn’t even wearing a hat or sunglasses. I never realized until that moment she wore practically no makeup like some of the other girls, at least not that I could tell. And that she looked pretty amazing if I had to be honest.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Most people might not have had that reaction to such a nice surprise, but the whole thing was so damn overwhelming and inappropriate. “Do you know what your dad would do if he came out and saw us having a little tea party in your brand-new truck? His darling daughter and the guy he doesn’t even know who’s working off a debt. Do you know what Ray and the guys would say? I’d never hear the end of it. They already tease me and say I’m your boyfriend ’cause they can’t figure out why the hell I’m even working here. They’d skewer me. I’d be dead meat. Toast. Done for. Ruined.”

  But with each new declaration of what I’d be if Ray and the guys saw me, the corners of her mouth drooped a little more and I thought I saw her chin kind of tremble.

  “It’s not a tea party,” she said. “It’s just lunch.”

  Her voice was so small, which made me feel like a villain. I knew in her strange alternate universe, she was making a nice gesture. All I was trying to do was allow her to see it through the lens of reality. And I wasn’t succeeding.

  “It’s too much.” I was exasperated. “You’re too much. We don’t even know each other. We’re not even friends, technical or actual. I’m a worker, get it? I’m here because I’m forced to be here.”