Henry sat on a stump. He put his chainsaw down and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. His old lab flopped down beside him, panting to beat the band. He stared at Betty sawing logs on her tanning blanket. “I should’ve seen it coming, Floydy Boy, the day I bought those damn cyclopedias from her. For chrissakes—I don’t even read.”
Bird gibberish took the edge off of Betty’s snoring. The shade began to climb up the back of her thighs. The afternoon was turning into a cooker, just like the day he and Betty did it for the first time.
It happened a year ago--the day she delivered the books. She came at lunchtime so he offered her a sandwich. “Bologna and bread? What kind of a freakin’ meal is that?” she asked. Rummaging through his refrigerator, she pulled out a chicken and a can of beer. “Got a grill?”
He lit the charcoal and she took over.
They picnicked on a blanket she laid out in the shady backyard. Henry gobbled up the best damn chicken he ever tasted. After lunch, she stretched out. “Henry, be a dear. Untie my top and massage my back,” she said.
He fumbled the ties open and skidded his palms down her back. Her doughy flesh yanked out of him urges he'd never had. “Your hands are rough as loofah sponges,” she teased, then begged him not to stop.
Henry fell for her like a tree struck by lightening. A few months later, he trembled while working a gold band over Betty’s knuckle after she said, “I do”.
For a wedding present, Betty asked Henry for a new wardrobe. She also asked him to cut down the trees on their land. “How do expect me to get any sun in that jungle out there?” she asked, primping herself at bedtime.
Her skin, white as Floydy Boy’s snout, couldn’t hold color for the living. But, anxious to please his bride, he hastily agreed so he could get to the business of lugging her into the sack.
At daybreak, Betty went shopping and Henry fired up his chainsaw.
Day after day, Henry carved wedges out of trees, dropping them one by one. With Floydy Boy at his side, he buzzed off limbs and burned brush until he worked his way to a virgin pine scratching at the clouds. He kinked his neck running his eyes along its trunk. A pinecone dropped, knocking him in the forehead. A chill ran down his spine. “She ain’t ready to get laid, Floydy Boy. We best leave her be,” he said.
By the time the snow stuck to the ground, Henry had cut and split the logs into firewood and had wheelbarrowed it to woodshed.
“Honey, let’s buy a propane furnace. The smoke from the wood stove bothers my allergies,” Betty said, coughing.
Henry sold the firewood and put the money towards a furnace.
During the winter, Betty kept the house so warm he slept on the floor with Floydy Boy, alongside the bed. One night, she lit a candle before crawling under the covers. He got excited and climbed up into the hot air and joined her. “Looking for a little lovin’ tonight sweetie pie?” he asked, pawing at the flannel tent twisted around her body.
The candlelight flickered on her forehead and into her little eyes. “Not really,” she said.
“Why’d you light a candle?”
“To mask the dog stink. Would you mind sleeping with the mutt in the living room for now on? His smell makes me sick, Honey. And your snoring is enough to keep the dead awake.”
As expected, when summer arrived she started whining about the old pine Henry left standing.
“Sweetie pie, that’s a virgin pine you’re talkin’ about,” Henry said.
“It’s nothing but a freakin’ tree. It blocks my afternoon sun and bother’s my allergies.” She sneezed as she whipped out her tanning blanket. “If you can’t do it, I’ll hire someone to do it for you.”
It’d be a cold day in Hell before Henry would let another man touch his land. "Okay.
Okay. I’ll knock it down when you’re done tanning. Need your allergy pill?”
“Please.”
“Want a glass of lemonade to wash it down?”
“I’d love one.”
“You got it, sweetie pie.”
“You’re such a dear Henry.”
* * *
The shade had reached Betty’s back. Nope, Henry didn’t see it coming last year but things are as clear as day now. Sooner or later she’d find out he owned 500 acres. Then what?
He got up and started his saw with the first pull. She didn’t stir one bit. The extra allergy pills he put in her drink zonked her pretty damn good. “Looks like she’s done tanning, Floydy Boy.”
Copyright ©2005, Diane Dahlstrom All Rights Reserved