Mulch Read Online Free Page A

still noticed an inescapable fact: The young man was beautiful. Brown, wavy hair and brown eyes. Why on earth was he in the moving business?
    She stood tentatively near the door. “Earl. It’s Earl, isn’t it? I just was curious…. How did you happen to get into this, uh, moving profession?”
    He looked up at her from his kneeling position, and the dark handsomeness of his face startled her. The knowing eyes, the shadows behind his high cheekbones—a little American Indian in his past? “It’s hardly what you’d call a profession, now, is it?”
    “Well, maybe not.” Louise looked down at her white tennis shoes, then back at the handsome young man. “You just seem so young, so …”
    Earl set the hammer on the floor, rested his forearm on his knee, and looked up at her. Softly, he said, “Something happened. Last year, when I was seventeen. My dad died after an accident. Fell off a ladder. I was going to go to college, but I’m doing this instead for a while. Money’s good.” He grinned. “I just hope I don’t strain my back. I discovered right away this business makes cripples out of good men.”
    Louise crouched down on her haunches, and her blue skirt puffed out around her. She was on eye level with him. “I bet it does … all this heavy old furniture. But couldn’t you piece together something … there are all sorts of tuition grants and work-study programs. Then you could start school with your friends.”
    “Well, ma’am, you’ve heard of families running out of health insurance, and racking up great big bills at the hospital? We’re one of those families. We owe ‘em about a hundred and fifty grand for taking care of my dad when he was dying.” He looked down. He gracefully picked up his hammer. “Didn’tsave him from dying, but sure was expensive. My mom
is
the type who takes bills seriously.”
    Louise rose up slowly. “That’s such a shame….” She heard the other movers approaching. “I know you want to get back to your work. Nice to talk to you.” She smiled at him. He had an odd expression on his face. Then she forgot Earl and went to find Bill, to see what the next task was on this moving day.

    Joe, the foreman, big, bald, sweaty, and satisfied, sat at the dining room table with Louise and Bill, his giant forearms cuddled protectively around a cold Michelob, a swath of papers in front of him. Around them stood large, opened boxes spewing wrapping paper. It was the time for settling up. Joe, however, was in no hurry.
    He leaned back and took a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from the limp pocket of his shirt. Then, thinking better of it, he put them back. He regarded Louise and Bill with a challenging look. “There’s one thing about you guys I wanna know,” he said. “I wanna know how you guys learned how to move so good. You’re like professionals.”
    Bill smiled ruefully. “That’s because we’ve had so much practice.” He looked at Louise. “Right, honey?” She nodded agreement.
    Joe’s assistants, Earl and the two older men, lounged in the kitchen doorway, drinking their beers but eyeing an open bottle of Weller’s bourbon glowing dark amber on the antique pine table.
    Noting this, Bill asked, “Would you like a shot? It’s mighty smooth stuff.”
    The offering, thought Louise, just like in church. She uncrossed her long legs and got up stiffly. “I’ve got some paper cups somewhere in the kitchen we can use.” The men stepped aside deferentially as she passed.
    “Thanks, ma’am,” said Joe. He poured himself a shot of whiskey and then passed it to the others. Louise could smell their sweat as they hovered over her to reach for the cups. She didn’t want to guess the last time they had showered. She pulled her own wilted skirt down a little. Bill, who came through life’s dirtiest experiences looking clean, had emerged immaculate, from his blond, disheveled hair to his white shirt and tan pants.
    Joe quickly threw back the shot, then heaved a sigh of