Elaine is standing in the wide open door of the barn looking across the empty space at a spot a few feet away from Turner. She’s backlit, wearing a summer dress with her face half in shade since the lamp on the floor next to Turner’s cot isn’t bright enough to reach her. It’s a hot night and brutally humid so Turner’s lying on top of the sheet in briefs and nothing else. Elaine says the bushes he planted last month are starting to look nice. She never saw them before and thinks he’s doing a lot of good things around the place, things she didn’t expect but finds herself liking pretty well.
Sometimes Turner almost believes he’s what he presented himself to be two months ago - a displaced laborer en route to the coast, abruptly pinned down by a wild pandemic. She lets him sleep in the barn in exchange for odd jobs. Sometimes he gets a little cash on top, which he doesn’t need considering there’s two backpacks full of stolen money up in the otherwise empty hayloft. He only takes her money for the appearance. He stashes it in a book with the intention of giving it back whenever time comes to leave.
Elaine takes a cautious step inside. She still doesn’t look at him more than a second or two at a time.
“What do you call them again?”
“Smoke bush,” he says.
“Oh. Right. Smoke bush.”
Turner’s hands are beginning to callous up like they were back when he did things like that – planting things, fixing things. He doesn’t know how he remembers half of what he knows.
“So maybe,” Elaine starts, taking another step inside that’s meant to look like any other kind of gesture but approach, “I was thinking … the house could really use some paint. I know it’s a bigger kinda job, but I think I can get you some extra money. If you’d wanna, that is. You don’t gotta, but if you wanna …”
“Elaine.” She stops talking, folds her arms under her breasts. The silhouettes of her thighs are faintly visible through the diaphanous fabric of her dress. Her legs make him think of saplings. There’s something raw in her face that comes off as pretty. She doesn’t wear makeup but pays attention to her brows and hair which is a color he doesn’t know the name of. She takes a couple steps closer and Turner can smell her shampoo.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll paint the house,” he says.
She pulls a bigger sigh than the drama of the moment calls for. She’s clearly pleased but thinking about something else.
“I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll see you’re fairly compensated.”
“It’s okay. The arrangement we have so far is working fine. I don’t need any extras.”
She nods, frowning like he said something more serious than he said. She turns away for a moment like she’s wondering whether or not to walk out but then turns again and walks up close. The dim lamp has her lit up like a dark painting.