“I’m thinking we have two possible options,” he announced as he swept his hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair. For once, it wasn’t sweaty from outdoor work, but it didn’t diminish the impact of the action. The gentle hum Brandon had been experiencing since pulling in the driveway kicked up two notches.  “We could infill all of this and make the slope gentler. That would broaden the swale and make it a little less like a u and more like a shallow bowl.” He illustrated the cross-section change with his hands. “I don’t think we’d have a capacity issue, but that would make it possible to get the mower in there and keep things tidier.”

Brandon mustered a contemplative look as he diverted his gaze to the lawn. It was weedy and patchy at best.  A fresh wave of damp silt had surged from the downspout opening, and he felt something within him go ‘ping’ when he pictured one of those leather boots getting in on some squelching action. “Okay.” He turned to Kyle. “Option two?”

Kyle nodded in his typical vigorous bob. “Yeah, so option two is we scoop out the entire thing and turn this whole side—” he indicated the section of slope just before them with the downturned palms of both hands—“into more of a level slant. Then we put some kind of retaining wall at the other side just at the edge of the field. Imagine it’s more of a skewed v.” Again, he formed a model with his long fingers. 

Brandon frowned. “Sounds like more work. Is there some benefit to doing it that way?”

Kyle looped his thumbs into his belt and gave a small shrug. “Yeah, well it would direct the water further out away from the house.” He glanced at Brandon who stared at the area.  “Do you ever have water in the basement?”

A quick, sharp laugh escaped him, coming out almost like an indignant ‘huff.’  “You mean like this morning?”

“Uh-oh.”

Brandon gave his head a small, sad shake. “The sump pump didn’t kick on. It wasn’t too bad.”

Kyle glanced back at the house.  “Then maybe we need an option C.”

Brandon grinned. “I think you mean option three.  What would that be?”

Kyle returned the smile. “Right,” he agreed. “Three. Uh, yeah…weeping tile,” he concluded after a moment. 

Brandon’s eyebrows shot up. “Weeping tile?”  After standing in close proximity to Kyle’s boots for the last three minutes, he suspected tile wasn’t the only thing starting to weep.

“Yeah. Drainage pipe. We’d bury a length of perforated pipe in a gravel ditch. It would ensure that the water in the swale is actually being directed further down the yard, and not just saturating the ground around the house.”  He swept a hand along the row of corn that bordered the property. 

Brandon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That sounds like even more of a can of worms. But I do wonder if that’s what we actually need.”  

Just then, his cell jangled in his pocket. Through the sunlit glare on the smudged screen, he saw Sam Vogel’s name.  His heart sprang into his throat. “Hey, sorry. Now it’s my turn. I’ve really gotta take this.”  He flashed an apologetic look as he raised the phone to his ear and backed away. Kyle gave a nonchalant wave. 

“Hey, Sam!” Crap. Sam? Mr. Vogel?  Just nameless ‘hey?’

“Brandon, hi.  Glad I caught you.” The sound of the voice was like sitting behind a phoropter and having the optometrist clink down the perfect lens. Brandon’s memory of Sam’s appearance, which had become fuzzy and distorted, suddenly snapped into focus. With renewed clarity, he could see the tousled hair, Sam’s broad grin, and the ruddy cheeks that made him look like he had just showered after a run. 

“What’s up?” He attempted to sound casual, but he could feel the phone bumping against his earlobe, keeping time with his pulse. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I have another interested party in Prescott.”

Brandon struggled to lift his feet as he moved back to the patio and away from Kyle. “Oh.  I see.”

“I’m calling to see if you’ve gotten loan approval.  You still have first dibs.”  God. What was he wearing? Brandon could almost picture him talking into a Bluetooth earpiece whilst kayaking, his cell phone strapped to a thick bicep…he shook himself and began to mindlessly pluck spent petunia blooms from a planter. 

“The short version of that answer is ‘yes.’” He heard a soft chuckle.

“Okay…what does that mean?”

“It means the bank didn’t come back with the figure I was looking for, but I’ve gotten an investor who will cover the difference.”

“Great! How soon can you get me proof of funds?  I need to see that you can cover the up-front costs and at least three months of rent beyond that.”

Brandon cast a handful of withered flowers onto the patio. They fluttered like ashes, softly scratching along the flagstones as a warm breeze scattered them. “Soon. Days.”  The truth was, he didn’t really know. He hadn’t formalized his agreement with the Kosers yet.  There was a pause on the other end. 

“Look, Brandon,” Sam’s voice finally came. It was softer. “I want you. I think you’d be a great fit in that building. Just prove to me that you’re a sound tenant, and it’s yours.”  

I want you. Brandon felt his insides pull taut.  It didn’t matter the context—those words looped around him and squeezed. 

“I’m there,” he replied importantly. “I have a meeting with my investor later this week. I’ll do whatever you need. I’m worthy of it.”

“I have no doubt. I just want to get this locked down so I can pull it from the market and end the inquiries. Think you’ll be ready to sign by end of week?”

Brandon rubbed his forehead. This was all happening so fast—the idea had only been conceived weeks ago. But when would he have another opportunity like this?  He turned a gazed across the grass. The shadows were lengthening. The corn field stretched jagged purple fingers toward the house. Kyle’s coral shirt gleamed in the golden light and then winked out as he strode into the shady avenue between the garage and the woodshed…and right toward the trap. 

“Yeah, Sam. I think I can do that. Look, I’m really sorry to cut this short, but I’ve gotta run. Let me call you and update you in a day or so.”  He hustled across the yard and barely waited for Sam’s goodbye before punching the end button.

---

A filthy, dazed Brandon sat up feeling the echos of an intense orgasm.  It was like a swing that had not yet come rest long after launching off of it. But the lingering pleasure was tainted by a sudden shock. Dread. He scrambled back to dirt pile and plunged his arms up to his elbows into the muck, frantically feeling for the lost Nikes. 

Even after grabbing the shovel and lifting leaden masses of slop to the side, he only managed to find one. It was miserable-looking shoe, so smashed and soiled that no amount of water seemed to revive it. It collapsed in on itself, the once stiff canvas having lost all structural integrity.  The white outsole was now pocked and stained by bits of shale and, even after vigorous scrubbing, resembled the color of yellowed teeth. 

Sickened by what he had done, Brandon threw the irredeemable GTS into a shady ditch in the woods. He carefully piled the dirt into a cone shape that more or less looked as it had before, knowing that the other GTS was still entombed somewhere within. He returned the overturned wheelbarrow to its position, carefully rinsed the shovel, and swept his dried muddy footprints from the garage.  Finally, he turned the hose on himself, washing what evidence he could from his clothes and skin.  

But the disbelief.  The horror.  They had left a seemingly indelible residue.  

The McHales never asked Brandon to housesit again. Perhaps it was because they had someone else to ask. Maybe they never went on a long vacation again. But Brandon always suspected that it might have had something to do with a pair of brand new skate shoes that Mr. McHale could have sworn he had placed beside the kitchen door and couldn’t find anywhere. Or worse—he had found them. 

Brandon was chastened by the experience. He had learned his lesson: to never allow himself to be seized by the moment like that again. 

But some lessons have to be learned and relearned, again and again, don’t they?