It seems like hours pass before Kent starts
to nod off. With him sitting right in front of us, I don’t dare say
much to Luke, I don’t smile at him or even look his way, not when
every fiber of my being is screaming for his touch. Kent will see
the desire in my eyes if I look at the boy, he’ll hear the lust in
my voice. It’s only from the corner of my vision that I see Luke,
his knees pulled up to his chest, arms crossed and chin resting on
his wrist, and when he speaks, it’s in clipped tones that belie the
excitement I know must still course through his blood.
“Fix the wheelbarrow tomorrow,” he
says, and I nod, yes, we’ll do that. He laughs nervously, runs a
hand through his hair to push it from his eyes, glances at Kent and
then looks away into the night. “Doesn’t like me none
