Page 25 of Sweet T
“Sorry. I know it’s confusing.”
“I’ll figure it out.” Evan smiled. “And to answer your earlier question, I don’t have a problem with it at all.”
“I hope not... considering you’ll blow a stranger for a ride to Atlanta.”
“It doesn’t sound as practical a solution coming from you—especially in the light of day.”
“I don’t judge.” Tucker cut Evan a bit of side-eye. “Well, that may not be exactly true. When I was in the hospital pharmacy getting your prescription filled, I picked up an STD test. In case you need some peace of mind. It’s in the sack with your pills.”
“Thank you. I mean it. For everything. I was just surprised, that’s all—about your parents.”
“It’s all good. I think you’ll like where you’re going.”
* * *
When they reached an enormous wrought-iron gate with the letter S at the top, Evan was even more surprised. The last mile or so there had been nothing, just pastures, corn, and the steady crunch of dirt and gravel beneath them. Evan was beginning to think he was being taken to some shack out in the woods where he would be dinner for Tucker and his inbred family. But when they turned into the driveway and he saw the giant gate, he realized nothing could be further from the truth.
Tucker punched a numbered access code into the metal box on the pole outside his window. There was an electronic humming as the tall gates opened. They pulled through, and the gates closed behind them.
There was no house visible, though. They drove another mile before it came into view, past endless split-rail fences lined with gorgeous shrubs and flowers the whole way.
“This is beautiful,” Evan said.
“You should see it in the spring, when the azaleas are blooming.”
The driveway split and Tucker veered right. Like he’d said, there were two houses, a larger farmhouse on the left and a smaller guest house on the right, separated by an enormous well-landscaped yard and pool.
Tucker parked just outside the pool house and shut the truck’s engine off. “Home sweet home.”
Evan opened his door.
“Hold up,” Tucker said, exiting from his side and rushing around the truck. “Let me help you.”
“It’s OK, Tucker, really. That wheelchair wasn’t necessary. I’m fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Tucker put his arm around him. It felt good to Evan, like at the hospital, so he let it ride. They walked up the small pathway toward the door of the house—beds of varicolored impatiens on both sides. The door was unlocked. Tucker opened it, and they went inside.
The first thing Evan noticed was the air conditioning. It was hot as blazes outside. His head was hurting again, and the cool air felt good on his skin.
Tucker gestured from left to right. “Kitchen, den. In the back there’s a bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room. It’s small, I know.”
There was a giant television in the den and the room was divided from the kitchen by a table. Atop the table were several small piles of clothing that Evan assumed were Tucker’s laundry. Tucker unfolded a t-shirt and held it up. It was old and faded, but you could still make out the monogram of TSA—Torres, Shepherd, and Abernathy Landscaping. “These are for you,” he said. “Daddy P is a little bigger than you. But his hand-me-downs will fit you better than mine or Daddy’s.”
Evan was still wearing the same tank top and shorts he’d left home in. He hadn’t even thought about his clothes being gone, too.
“We don’t need to be shopping for clothes just yet,” Tucker said. “P told me he’d leave you some stuff out here for the time being.”
“What did you say P stands for?”
“Pedro.”
Evan took the t-shirt from Tucker. “TSA?”
“It’s Pedro’s Pro Landscaping now. Long story. I’ll tell you later. I’m hungry. I’m gonna make us some lunch. You want to lie down?”
“No. I’m OK. I’d like a shower, though.”
Tucker studied Evan. “How about a bath instead? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you on your feet in a shower.”