“I’m not lying,” Michael said. “I don’t lie.”

“Yeah, you seem like a straight shooter. Look, I know what you’re thinking,” Shaw said. “I’ve got a beautiful house, a beautiful life. Who am I to complain? It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. But tell me, Michael, what’s all this for?”

How was Michael supposed to respond? He said nothing. He wasn’t a therapist. He knew nothing about this guy’s life. He didn’t want to know.

Michael looked down the road to see if Jason’s truck was anywhere nearby. He said he’d be there around nine o’clock to drop off the rake and mower. He’d spent enough time alone with this guy.

“So how about that sister of yours,” Anthony said, lingering on the word “sister,” like it was the punch line of a joke.

“What about her?”

“She’s something to look at, huh? Must be hard to sleep under the same roof.”

“It’s not.”

Anthony slapped Michael on the back. “Oh, come on.”

“I don’t look at her that way.”

“Sure you do. I saw the way you just looked at her, just now. You’re the bug, she’s the windshield. It’s OK. You look at her the way any man would.”

Michael felt a heat rise up in him. Then he thought of Jason: Don’t fuck up. I need his business. Don’t fuck up!

“I know she’s not your real sister. Anyone could tell you’re not related.”

What had Ann told Shaw? Had she felt sorry for Michael—was that why he was here? Because Ann said he needed the money? Had her parents asked her to find work for him to get him out of the house, out of their hair?

“I’m just here to work, all right? I don’t want to talk about Ann.”

Anthony winked. “She ever put the moves on you?”

God, Michael wanted to land a punch right on this guy’s nose. Judging from the looks of it, he wouldn’t be the first person to break it. Don’t fuck up.

“Look, I think of her like she’s my sister. She thinks of me like I’m her brother.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I just want to get to work.”

Sometimes, after a deluge of rain in Milwaukee, the pressure would build enough to pop three-hundred-pound manhole covers into the air. That was how Michael felt, like at any moment he might blow. Who the hell did this guy think he was, looking at Ann the way he did, talking about her like she was a piece of ass?

“Hey,” Anthony said, his voice softening. “No offense. I thought we could be honest with each other. We’re not so different, you know, you and me.”

“We’ve got nothing in common.”