Landers wanted every inch of it mowed twice. She wanted it mowed only every other week, because she didn't like the sound of lawn mowers and thought that somehow mowing it twice in one day made up for that. It never seemed to occur to her that over the summer she was getting the same number of minutes of lawnmower noise. But maybe she needed two weeks to recover from it.
Papa parked the truck along the driveway and we unloaded the mowers. I would mow the back yard, Papa the front, and then we would switch. It was less boring that way.
As I pushed the mower across the lawn, the grass seemed to resist the blades, even though they were freshly sharpened. My arms ached, and soon felt as rubbery as the hose coiled perfectly at the faucet by the back door. I lumbered from the sunshine to the shade and back to the sunshine. When I was done with the back yard, I headed toward the front, and met Papa on the way.
"Time for a break," he said, holding up the thermos of lemonade. "It's going to be hot today."
I flopped down on my back in the shade of the old oa k tree standing in the side yard, and stared up at the parasol of leaves that protected me from the hot sky. I curled into a half-sitting position when Papa handed me a cup of the lemonade. The sweet, cold liquid felt good on my lips, tongue, and all the way down my throat. "Ah, that's good."
"Jâ," said Papa. "Your Mama makes a fine lemonade and this old thermos keeps it nice and cold."
We kept our break to ten minutes, because there was a lot of work to do and because customers always fretted that they would be charged for break time no matter how many times Papa assured them that they wouldn't.
We finished the Landers' lawn and moved on to the Parton's yard. There Papa mowed and I trimmed the hedge. It was one of the smaller ones, because Mr. Parton "liked to see what was going on." When we finished, we loaded the equipment into the truck. Papa closed the tailgate, but then, instead of getting in the truck, just stood there. He was sweating heavily and his breath came in short gasps.
"Papa, are you all right?"
"I-I'll be okay. I just feel a little dizzy, and my stomach is upset. I must have gulped my last cup of lemonade too quickly."
"Maybe we should sit a moment in the shade."
"No, no. I ... I feel fine now." Papa walked to the front of the truck and climbed in.
I got into my side and locked the door, trying to look at Papa without him knowing. He did look a little better, but I was still worried. "Maybe we should go home for a while."
"No, no," Papa said, as he checked the rear-view mirror before he started backing up. "We have only one more yard in this neighborhood, and then we can go home for some lunch, and you can take off for the rest of the day."
"Papa, I can work this afternoon. I don't mind."
"No." Papa waved off my concern. "This afternoon the work is not so hard. And you have to babysit tonight. You'll need your energy for those Kukk boys!"
"I can't argue with that," I said. Even though they had an early bed-time, in that hour before bed they were at their most rambunctious, as if they couldn't bear to give up play time for something as tiresome as sleep.
It was just a short drive to the Pierson's house. It stood on a ribbon of land that jutted out into Long Island Sound, regal and solitary and proud. Here the sun danced across the water and touched rocks that stood guard along the shore. While Papa mowed, I pulled weeds. Before too long we were done and heading back home. Papa seemed to be breathing easier, and I decided he'd just pushed himself a bit too hard for such a hot day.
When we got home from lunch, there was no sign of Karl, or his car, so I would not have any wheels that afternoon.
"Karl and Caprice, they went to the Durham Fair," Mama said. "They'll be gone all day, but they'll be back for supper."
I did not feel as happy as Mama sounded at the idea of Caprice being here for supper, but I tried not to show it.
"Just fruit and cheese
Papa parked the truck along the driveway and we unloaded the mowers. I would mow the back yard, Papa the front, and then we would switch. It was less boring that way.
As I pushed the mower across the lawn, the grass seemed to resist the blades, even though they were freshly sharpened. My arms ached, and soon felt as rubbery as the hose coiled perfectly at the faucet by the back door. I lumbered from the sunshine to the shade and back to the sunshine. When I was done with the back yard, I headed toward the front, and met Papa on the way.
"Time for a break," he said, holding up the thermos of lemonade. "It's going to be hot today."
I flopped down on my back in the shade of the old oa k tree standing in the side yard, and stared up at the parasol of leaves that protected me from the hot sky. I curled into a half-sitting position when Papa handed me a cup of the lemonade. The sweet, cold liquid felt good on my lips, tongue, and all the way down my throat. "Ah, that's good."
"Jâ," said Papa. "Your Mama makes a fine lemonade and this old thermos keeps it nice and cold."
We kept our break to ten minutes, because there was a lot of work to do and because customers always fretted that they would be charged for break time no matter how many times Papa assured them that they wouldn't.
We finished the Landers' lawn and moved on to the Parton's yard. There Papa mowed and I trimmed the hedge. It was one of the smaller ones, because Mr. Parton "liked to see what was going on." When we finished, we loaded the equipment into the truck. Papa closed the tailgate, but then, instead of getting in the truck, just stood there. He was sweating heavily and his breath came in short gasps.
"Papa, are you all right?"
"I-I'll be okay. I just feel a little dizzy, and my stomach is upset. I must have gulped my last cup of lemonade too quickly."
"Maybe we should sit a moment in the shade."
"No, no. I ... I feel fine now." Papa walked to the front of the truck and climbed in.
I got into my side and locked the door, trying to look at Papa without him knowing. He did look a little better, but I was still worried. "Maybe we should go home for a while."
"No, no," Papa said, as he checked the rear-view mirror before he started backing up. "We have only one more yard in this neighborhood, and then we can go home for some lunch, and you can take off for the rest of the day."
"Papa, I can work this afternoon. I don't mind."
"No." Papa waved off my concern. "This afternoon the work is not so hard. And you have to babysit tonight. You'll need your energy for those Kukk boys!"
"I can't argue with that," I said. Even though they had an early bed-time, in that hour before bed they were at their most rambunctious, as if they couldn't bear to give up play time for something as tiresome as sleep.
It was just a short drive to the Pierson's house. It stood on a ribbon of land that jutted out into Long Island Sound, regal and solitary and proud. Here the sun danced across the water and touched rocks that stood guard along the shore. While Papa mowed, I pulled weeds. Before too long we were done and heading back home. Papa seemed to be breathing easier, and I decided he'd just pushed himself a bit too hard for such a hot day.
When we got home from lunch, there was no sign of Karl, or his car, so I would not have any wheels that afternoon.
"Karl and Caprice, they went to the Durham Fair," Mama said. "They'll be gone all day, but they'll be back for supper."
I did not feel as happy as Mama sounded at the idea of Caprice being here for supper, but I tried not to show it.
"Just fruit and cheese
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