Page 42 of Smoke and Roses

“Shut up, Novak.”

“I love it here,” Novak says to nobody. “I love it so much.”

At 1300 Caleb lines the four of us up in front of the turnout racks with a stopwatch. Full gear, air packs, run a line to the cone at the end of the lot and knock it over with the water. Two teams. Losers wash the trucks.

Novak picks Devin. That leaves Nate and me.

“The two guys who don’t talk,” Novak says. “How are you going to communicate? Morse code?”

“Yes,” Nate says.

Half the crew drags lawn chairs out onto the apron to watch. Cassia has her own stopwatch.

“Go,” Caleb says.

Novak is talking the entire time. “Pants, pants, pants, who moved my damn helmet, Fish, is that my⁠—”

Somebody knocks a spare air bottle off the bench behind us. It hits the concrete with a bang like a rifle shot.

Novak stops talking. It lasts about one breath. Then he’s moving again and talking louder than before. “Who’s throwing stuff? Is that legal? Cassia, write that down.”

I saw it, though. So did Nate.

Nate and I hit the hose together. I take the nozzle, and he feeds the line out behind me so it doesn’t kink. The line goes hard in my hands, water hits the cone, and it flies.

Behind us, Novak goes down on his butt in the middle of the lot, and Devin’s stream misses the cone by a yard.

“Ugly,” Caleb says. “All of you. Again tomorrow.”

Novak and Devin wash rigs until five.

That night I lie in Lindsey’s bed with her head on my chest and tell her about it. Fish. Doc. The miss and the air bottle. Romeo.

“He called you Romeo?” She’s shaking with laughter. “To your face?”

“To my face.”

“What did you call him?”

“Nothing yet.”

“You should call him something.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

She slowly traces the scar on my shoulder with one finger. “Rob texted Cassia. He said you looked happy.”

I put my hand over hers on my chest and hold it there.

“Travis?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you?” she asks, and she’s careful. “Happy?”

I think about the eggs. The note. The four of us in Rocco’s booth with a dog under the table. The way she waved at me through the glass.

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”