June Bug by Chris Fabry

and I wondered if those teeth were really his or if somebody had put them in for him.
    Sheila introduced me as the daughter of a friend, and the old man didn’t ask questions. “Well, it doesn’t matter who you are in my book, as long as you’re willing to work.”
    “That’s me,” I said.
    He told me the troughs hadn’t been cleaned in a long time, so I set to work chipping away and scrubbing at the wooden thing that looked like it was older than the barn itself. Sheila and Mr. Taylor went inside the stalls and moved the manure around so it wouldn’t get too deep in there. That probably sounds disgusting, but to me it seemed like a lot of fun to get down in there. I wanted to help but Sheila said I should wait until I got some farm clothes and boots and I agreed with her because I just had one pair of shoes and they had tears in a couple of places.
    A mouse hopped from underneath a bale of hay and bounced along. That thing could jump about a foot off the ground. I let out a scream and the old man laughed. He said it was a kind of jumping mouse that lived in the fields and that the Walmart almost didn’t get built because of it. I thought it was funny that a little mouse could slow down a thing as big as Walmart.
    Dad came running into the barn and the horses moved back from him and Giselle nearly stepped on my foot. Mr. Taylor coaxed her over to a stall, and Sheila made the introductions.
    “You’ve got quite a little worker there on your hands,” Mr. Taylor said.
    “She’s a keeper, isn’t she?” Dad said. He turned to Sheila. “The part’s in. Do you think I could run over to the place in your car? I’ll bring it right back.”
    Sheila looked like someone had dropped an anvil on her head. “Oh, sure. No problem. Let me get the keys.”
    “I know where they are,” Dad said. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. How about a cookout tonight to celebrate? I’ll pick up some stuff for the grill.” He looked at Mr. Taylor. “Enough for the four of us.”
    “Oh no, I couldn’t,” the old man said.
    “Sure you could,” Sheila said. “It’ll be nice to have some company.”
    “I’ll go on strike if you don’t come over,” I said.
    That made him laugh. “We’ll see.”
    “See you soon,” Dad said and he was off.
    Mr. Taylor bent over and raked some dung out of the corner of the stall. “Your daddy know how to cook up a good burger?”
    “He makes the best. He stuffs the inside with cheese and mushrooms and whatever you like. We haven’t cooked out in a long time—ever since the grill we had broke.”
    “How long ago was that?” Sheila said.
    “Maybe a year or two? All I know is I can smell that charcoal and my mouth starts watering.”
    By the time we finished at the barn and went to the house, Dad was back and had climbed underneath the RV, his legs sticking out, working on the part. There were white bags filled with buns and vegetables from a different grocery store.
    Sheila had me take my shoes off outside and told me to come upstairs. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
    I couldn’t imagine what it was, and my heart jumped like one of those mice when I followed Sheila to her bathroom. She had a big bathtub that almost looked like a swimming pool.
    “The only luxury I’ve allowed myself here is this Jacuzzi,” she said, turning on the water and running her hand underneath. She took a plastic bottle from the shelf and poured in some thick liquid, and the bubbles starting foaming. Then she turned on the jets, and the whole bath rumbled and shook the floor. I thought the bubbles were going to lap over the top of the tub. When the water was high enough, she stopped it and said for me to get undressed and get in while she got me some clothes.
    I closed the door and put my clothes in the corner and stepped in. The jets felt funny against my skin, but the water was warm and the bubbles smelled like the field of lilacs we had walked through when we’d stopped at a rest area in the Midwest. It