Anthony crossed his arms tightly over his thick chest. He gazed at the vast slope of his grand property and sneered. “Jason’s last guy didn’t know a lawn mower from a toaster oven. Look.” He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. “You can see he didn’t set the casters on the mow deck evenly. See how there are lines on one side? It looks like he was planning to plant corn here, not mow a lawn. He didn’t get close enough to the trees or bevel the edges by the road. And the leftover grass cuttings, just look at them.” He reached down and grabbed a fistful of grass in his hand. “Don’t even get me started on the cuttings. Unacceptable. Entirely unacceptable.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Jason had warned Michael about using the Gravely on Shaw’s yard. He said you steer with the handles, and no matter what, you have to maintain a perfect line. “I don’t care if a horsefly is chewing up your arm, you don’t stop, you don’t swat it away. You keep the lines straight.”

Off in the distance Michael saw a tall, thin lady lean over the porch rail. “Anthony! Let’s go!”

“She wants us to look for furniture for the patio you’re going to build for me. Then she’s dragging me to a play.”

“The play sounds like fun.” Connie had already taken Michael to two plays in the little theater by the town pier. One was based on Death of a Salesman, but it was told from the mistress’s perspective. The other one was Three Sisters. He liked them both, or maybe he just liked having Connie to himself since Ann and Poppy were always busy.

“You’re young. You don’t have the first idea of fun yet. Tell you what, Michael: enjoy your youth. I used to be young like you, and now here I am, worrying about my yard, going to a play followed by another insufferable dinner with Janey and Bill Bingham. You know what she said the last time we went to dinner? She told me she makes a list every morning of all the things she thinks she should worry about. A goddamn worry list. She says it gives her control. That’s what we talk about. And Bill’s golf swing. Sometimes, at these dinners, I feel like I’m a character in one of those James Bond films who gets trapped in a room and all four walls move in on him. You say that sounds fun? You’re lying to me, and that’s OK. I respect that. You should lie to me, because you want me to keep you on the job so you can make some money, and I appreciate your work ethic. Tell me what you think I want to hear, that’s a good strategy.”