The House

Chapter 20 - Day 3: Meeting Ron

After a warm shower, wearing my favourite long floral skirt and a mauve bell-sleeved top, my hair blow-dried and brushed, I'm ready to face Ron and his rudeness. 

I do not find him anywhere in the front yard or in the backyard. A spade dug into the ground three trees into the fourth row of the orchard tells me that he had definitely been working there.

In a clearing near the orchard is a heap of weeds in a large hole dug in the ground, probably left there, ready to be burned. No sign of Ron, though. If he decided to come into the house for something, perhaps to take a look at the clocks, it would probably be better if he wasn't met by my dirty footprints. 

Heading back into the house, I retrieve the bucket and the mop to, once again, clear up all the evidence of my nighttime adventures. I hate doing housework, and Luna is really providing me with way too much of it.

At least my last trip didn't take me through the entire house again while my feet were still wet; there are only footprints in the basement, the kitchen, the hallway and the tiny bedroom next to the kitchen. Still, I'm getting a little tired of cleaning up after Luna. She should really do this herself.

Well... she did make me one awesome painting... I'll forgive her... a little bit.

I'm pouring the dirty water down the drain in the kitchen when I see movement through the ivy strangling the kitchen window.

I smell smoke.

It is not easy to see much through the dense foliage, but it seems that Ron is in the clearing next to the orchard, probably burning the weeds.

"Right, I need his help." 

Showing my irritation with him is not going to expedite my quest. Time for a fresh start. I need to catch a big fly with some big honey. Well, if honey can be juice... I put the mop and bucket in the pantry and pour a large glass of cold orange juice. Taking a deep breath, I make my way outside.

He is standing with his back to me, slightly bent over. Old jeans, a faded loose shirt that might at some point have had a design in blue and black, work boots and a red rag hanging from his back pocket. Even from this strange angle, it is clear that Ron is pretty well-built.

He didn't sound pretty well-built over the phone; he sounded like a crotchety old man.

I'm suddenly uncertain about my approach; what if I scare him, and he falls over into the fire he's tending? I stop. I need to think about this.

Some of the rotting fruit and vegetables that welcomed me on my arrival are lying in a heap on the ground; he is probably going to use them as compost. He is burning the rest of it, along with the eroded bags they were in and the weeds. 

Awesome, he didn't mean that I was supposed to clean out the utility room!

I'm still shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to think of the best way to make my presence known without startling him. He looks bigger than I'd imagined. He doesn't seem old, frail and senile. Not that I can tell anything about his mental capacity from behind, especially not when he is bent over like this.

If he's startled and swings around, he could potentially launch me to the moon. If he's as grouchy in person as over the phone, he'd probably enjoy doing so.

He must sense my presence because I see him stiffen. I prepare my best smile and take a step forward, holding the glass out as an offering, when I see him start to turn. If he's going to strike at something, it will be better if it's the glass and not me.

"Hi, I thought you might like some juice since it is so hot outside and you seem to be working hard..." is what I plan to say. What I do say is:

"Hi... uuuuuuuuuuh..." And then I almost throw the glass at him in the momentum of my stumble. He drops the stick he'd been holding and grabs the glass with his left hand and me with his right arm. Very impressive! He doesn't even spill a drop.