The Year Money Grew on Trees - Aaron Hawkins [66]
In general, I avoided looking at myself much in the mirror, but when I did get a glimpse during those days, I could see my eyes had deep black circles around them. The rest of my face had a sickly color with my nose and the whites of my eyes looking a bloodshot red. My mom complained every night that I was working myself sick and looked awful. "Dan, tell him he has to stop spending so much time out in that orchard," she said to my dad one night. "He's going to kill himself."
"Oh, leave him alone. It's good he has a career he's so interested in," he replied. "He's got to learn what hard work is like. I'm not going to be the one to tell him to stop."
My mom gave him a dirty look and continued to nag me.
During those late nights alone, my mind would wan der away from the trees. I began to think that maybe it would be okay to just get 20 percent of the money. At least that was something and I could get some sleep. But I'd have to go beg Mrs. Nelson to reconsider after I'd yelled at her. Even if she didn't slam the door in my face, she'd probably make me take 10 percent or less. It would be humiliating. Tommy might be able to help. He seemed sympathetic enough but hadn't come around again since our last talk. No. My only hope was that contract. If I could just live up to my end of it, someone could enforce it—a judge maybe.
I even thought about getting my parents involved. I knew I couldn't ask them to actually help with the picking without explaining the $8,000 deal. And if that came out, things were bound to get even uglier with Mrs. Nelson. The last thing I wanted was my mom going over to her house screaming wildly about how she was killing her baby and she should give me all the money. My dad would probably just call me an idiot for not taking the job at the scrap yard. My brain hadn't had enough sleep to think about any of it very clearly. It seemed the only thing I could really do was to keep my mouth shut, hope for the best, and pick—pick even harder.
Lisa would make regular announcements about how much money we had made. She giggled in delight as the numbers climbed into the thousands. I tried not to listen, knowing we were falling further and further behind where we needed to be. By the end of week four, I was trying to push out even more boxes and only getting three or four hours of sleep a night. I instantly dozed off in Sunday school when I hit my chair. When class was over, I woke up to Brother Brown shaking me.
"You all right?" he said gruffly.
"What, uh, yeah, just a little tired."
"You look like you fell off a truck."
I forced a smile and walked out with him watching me.
***
On Wednesday of the fifth week, I began to get a little hysterical. During dinner I kept giggling at everything my sisters said and rocking back and forth in my chair. No one would make eye contact with me, and eventually we all sat in silence looking down at our plates.
After dinner I grabbed the lamp and started for the door. Jennifer followed me, putting on a coat and hat.
"I thought you might want some help," she said, looking at me with a worried face.
"Are you sure?" I asked her as I opened the door.
"Yeah, I'm not very good at picking, though."
"That's okay. I've got a better job for you," I said, feeling a little less tired. When we had reached the spot in the orchard where Amy and I had left the ladders, I said, "Here, can you hold up the lamp for me so I can see?"
"Sure," she said, and took the lamp from my hand.
"It's nice to have someone else out here in the dark."
"Do you ever get scared out here alone?"
"I think I feel too tired anymore to feel scared. It takes too much energy."
"So why are you coming out here every night, anyway? We've already made a ton of money. Me and Lisa don't know why you're so obsessed with making more."
I paused before I answered so that I wouldn't say anything dumb, although part of me wanted to confess the $8,000 deal. "I hate to see these apples go to waste or those boxes. I just want to see them all sold."
"I guess I do too," she said.
Picking