“The ten grand, Earnest.”
“It was no act of chivalry on my part. I’m part owner of the farm. It got everybody through a tight spot. The farm needed another hand. You needed some money.”
He watched as I processed that. Of course he was part owner! Brassard’s father willed it to Jim and Charlotte, Earnest was Charlotte’s husband, her half descended to him when she died. Another revelation. I thought back to the first day I set foot on the farm, the oil-smudged man who, when I asked if he worked for Mr. Brassard, had grinned and said, “Looks that way.” It had looked that way, but was not that way, just Earnest’s understated, self-deprecating humor, a joke just for himself.
The waitress came with our meals—Earnest’s huge slab of meat and two baked potatoes and separate bowls of coleslaw and peas, mine a half of a roasted chicken and a steaming mound of rice topped by slivers of toasted almonds and surrounded by green beans. “Another?” she asked, gesturing at my empty mug, and I nodded.
We tore at our food. We attacked those plates, ravaged them. I guzzled half my second beer in one swallow and by now the buzz of the first one, on an empty stomach, was filtering into my fatigue and it felt great. As he wielded his knife and fork, Earnest’s forearms seemed as big as my thighs.
“I figured Will Brassard would be on your agenda,” he said blandly.
“Why’d you think that?”
“Why? He’s your age, you’re single, he’s more or less single now, you’re both good-looking, he’s smart like you, and you’re both …” he paused and looked caught out.
“Both …?”
“Both don’t really want to be all that single at this time.”
I took that in. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugged, making light of it, tossed his head to one side, carelessly, Whatever.
“Just to be clear, I am not man-hunting or pining around for—”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I’ve been enjoying the hell out of my independence! I’ve got my agenda and I’m feeling stronger every day because of it. It’s—”
“I believe you.” He put his hands up: Okay already, I give up.
“I mean it, Earnest. Yeah, I came here in a sort of desperate state of mind, but it was to sort out some shit on my own. Which I’ve been doing. What, I’m gonna move out to the fucking wilderness to find a guy?”
He nodded, taking the point. “Still,” he said mildly.
We went back to eating, and my huff faded. The beer no doubt helped.
“Actually,” I said after a while, “he wasn’t. On the agenda. But as long as you brought the subject up.”
“What do you want to know? Always been the quiet type. He’s kinda mostly sorta divorced, his daughter’s six and is named Isabelle. Master’s degree. He makes good money, but with keeping up two households and child support, he’s as strapped as the rest of us.”
“Nice to have the vital stats,” I told him. “Should I be writing this down?”
“The thing about Will is, he’s not a good self-promoter. Especially with women, in my humble opinion.”
“Hence the joke book? Give him some ice-breakers?”
He ignored me. “He’s won awards for his videos—hasn’t mentioned that, has he? Ran track and field at UVM and took trophies at some interstate competitions. Plus, I’ve seen him coming out of the shower, and the guy’s what in polite company one would call very well endowed.”
“Earnest!” I glanced quickly around us, worried that other diners had overheard. “This is a little more information than—”
“I’m just saying. He’s not a great advocate for himself, especially around women.” Clearly Earnest was enjoying my discomfort.
“Anything else I should know?” I tried to say it scathingly, but I was getting looped enough that amusement trumped sarcasm.
Earnest pondered for a moment. “Let’s see. His political views are somewhat to the right of mine, so there are places we don’t go when we talk. But I like Will and he tolerates me pretty well.”
“Like what? Political, I mean.”
“Oh, he’s more of a mainstream capitalist, that’s all. Nothing as extreme as I am.”
“How extreme is that?”
“Want a discourse on Native American culture?”
“Sure!” By now I was just plain drunk, greatly enjoying my license to ask questions and digress on any tangent.
“The Oneidas have a little reservation up near Green Bay. Tribe owns all lands in common. Has its own health-care system, universal coverage—at least it did when I was a kid. It’s a corporation and if it makes money, like from capital gains on investments, the money’s distributed equally among the tribe’s members. I got a thousand bucks two years ago, my share of timber sales from tribal land. Works pretty well.”
“So you’re a communist?” I tried to look horrified.
“No. But I am pretty red, I guess, yeah.”
“That’s funny! Red—like Indian? Redskin?” I thought it was a scream. Two beers, not used to it, I was blitzed.
He made a sad face, a commentary on the sheer poverty of the joke.
Onward we ate. Then: “Even Diz mentioned it,” Earnest said. “That’s what it was.”
“Mentioned what?”
“Will. You. She detested Will’s ex and after one of Will’s visits she was expounding on the woman’s failings. Said something like why couldn’t he land a girl with more guts, ‘like Ann.’”
My jaw literally dropped.
Shrug. “Or to that effect. I don’t remember her actual wording.”
“What virtues could I possibly possess that would make me worthy?”
Shrug. “I don’t know. She’d been railing about the ex’s lack of ‘spunk.’ Or was it ‘grit’? Wait, I remember now! ‘Even Ann has more grit!’”
My pleasure deflated. Even Ann was simply a way of establishing the lowest imaginable standard of comparison: Even malaria wasn’t as bad as smallpox. Still, I felt vaguely flattered and I had to laugh at myself for momentarily thinking that Diz had thought I possessed even the slightest utility. Earnest laughed, too. I felt giddy and silly, alcohol in my bloodstream, a good day’s work under my belt, well-deserved fatigue creeping into every limb.
We continued chowing down, and I forgot
