Lawless (King #3)(48)

“Like that helps,” I muttered.

“Didn’t catch that,” Bear said, although I had a feeling he had.

“I’m perfectly capable of driving,” I said.

“I’m sure you are, but you’re with me right now, and as long as you’re with me, I drive.”

I turned my head toward my window and rolled my eyes.

I watched the orange grove pass us by as we made our way down the road and past the spot where Bear had raked over the dirt to erase any and all traces of the crash from the night before. Oranges were stacked high under the trees. The sickening sweet smell that had been permeating the air for weeks before THE NIGHT that changed everything had turned into something that smelled like takeout left in a refrigerator for a week too long.

“Why does it smell like something died out here?” Bear asked.

I shot him an obvious look. “Maybe because something did?” I replied sarcastically.

“Not what I meant, Ti. You know it. I mean, why are the oranges rotting?”

“When Sunnlandio pulled their contract it became pointless.”

“Why?” Bear asked, looking genuinely concerned. He lit a cigarette using the old push-in lighter on the dash. He rolled down the window and leaned out with his elbow on the ledge, his hair blowing in the breeze.

I shrugged and tried not to launch into the evils of the Sunnlandio Corporation. “Short story is that they discovered it was cheaper to import from Mexico.”

“But why let the oranges rot?”

“Harvesting costs a lot of money,” I explained. “And when you don’t have buyers lined up it becomes as much of a waste as the oranges to attempt a harvest. Chain supermarkets and big juice companies already have their own contracts or their own groves, or like Sunnlandio, they’ve switched over to importing. It’s cheaper to let them rot which sucks because it’s such a waste. Can’t even donate them because that still means that someone has to pick and deliver them.”

“You’ve been doing this all on your own?” Bear asked, taking a drag of his cigarette. I’d told him what had happened with the grove before but being face to face with thousands of rotting oranges made the situation even more real. Even more disturbing.

“Most of it. Dad had his hands full with Mom. I did what I could. Farms all across America are in the same boat. Whether it’s oranges or another crop. Letting it all rot right off the trees because they can’t afford to pick them. People are starving all around the country and I’m sitting in the middle of tons and tons of dead fruit.” I shook my head.

“How the f*ck old are you again?” Bear asked suddenly. When he’d asked me previously I’d said seventeen but that was before Mr. Carson so nicely reminded me that I’d missed my birthday.

“Eighteen,” I said for the first time. Bear raised his eyebrows like the math didn’t compute. “I had a birthday, recently. VERY recently.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been doing all this shit on your own.” Bear ashed his cigarette out the window. “Where I come from most eighteen year olds can’t string two sentences together, especially the girls that hung around the club, and you’re out here running a f*cking orange grove.”

I laughed. “You make it sound like an accomplishment. When in reality I haven’t accomplished anything. Just the opposite. Maybe if I knew more, did more, I could have saved it.” I sighed. “There isn’t anything impressive about that.”

“How have you been living? Your family?”

“I got a job at the Stop-N-Shop a few nights a week.”

“THE Stop-n-Shop?” Bear asked.

“Yeah, the very place that started it all,” I sang, staring out the window as we passed row after row of my failure.

“I also used to drive over to Corbin to clean motel rooms on the weekends,” I said. “After I paid the grove’s expenses it was enough for us to get by…sometimes.”

“You realize that’s crazy right? You have two jobs to support your other job?” Bear asked.

“Turn here,” I said, pointing to the slightly wider road hidden behind an overgrown bush. Bear turned the wheel and the truck jumped and swayed from side to side as it navigated the bumpier cut through the road that led into town. “And don’t call me crazy,” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I take back ever thinking that you were mature for eighteen, because right now you’re pouting like a little kid,” Bear said as we passed the first sign that we’d reached the edge of town, Margie’s Used Appliance Warehouse which was more junk yard than warehouse.

“Am not,” I argued, looking straight ahead. “You can park there.” I pointed to the empty street in front of the Stop-N-Shop.

“Logan’s Beach isn’t exactly a big city, but this place is like a ghost town.” Bear turned off the truck and got out. I did the same and when I hopped down he’d already met me on my side.

“Yeah, ever since they closed the exit of the highway the only people left here are farmers, and more and more of those are disappearing, abandoning their farms and moving where the work is.” I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked around. Two trucks and a John Deere were parked across the street in front of Mickey’s Bait Shop and Bar. Two bicycles were tied up on the post in front of the Tick-Tock Cafe. “Looks pretty busy to me,” I added.