“Probably. I tried talking him into changing into a long pair of Pa’s pants and shirt, but he said it was too hot.” We had all gotten tobacco sickness once or twice when the heat won out over our better judgment to cover up to cut down on so much tobacco exposure.

An hour later, the first tractor puttered up with a trailer full of beautiful fat tobacco leaves glistening in the early morning sunshine. Boss and Vance rode on the back end, all smiles. They hopped off so Pa could back the trailer behind us and the conveyer belt, close enough to put the tobacco within arm’s reach. As we got started loading a single layer of leaves, topping it with a stick and then another layer of leaves, Vance stood on the other side of the conveyer, filling me in on how easy the morning was going.

“It wasn’t hard at all.” He grinned ear to ear.

“Yeah . . .” I straightened a crooked row, slinging another handful of leaves on top. “Let’s talk again later after, say . . . ten more loads.”

Vance’s grin dropped. “That many?”

“More than that,” I warned, twisting around to grab more leaves.

He pulled his hat off and dried his face with the hem of his already-stained shirt. “If there’s that much left to do, then what am I doing up here?”

“I’m giving you an out, boy. I suggest you take it,” Pa answered before I could. He finished unhitching the trailer from the tractor and began climbing onto the seat.

Vance sidled up to the tractor in three long strides. “But, sir, I told you I was here to help today.”

“And you did. Now ya free to go spend the day with Miss Malorie Fitzgerald. Heard you two were an item.” Pa arched one thick eyebrow as he looked over at me.

I quickly glanced away, not wanting him to read the hurt his comment pushed on me.

“No, sir. We’re just friends, is all.” Vance laughed it off.

“Ain’t what folks around town are sayin’.” Pa put the tractor in gear; the puttering sound grew louder.

Vance jerked a shoulder up, his lips flattening. I waited for him to rebuke Pa more, but he didn’t. Just hopped into the empty trailer Pa was hitching to the tractor. They headed back to the fields and I didn’t see another glimpse of Vance until four trailer loads later.

This time, he wasn’t sitting on the edge with his legs swinging, smiling away. Nope. This time he was laid out on top of the tobacco, as green as the leaves surrounding him. The pink polo shirt was gone and his exposed chest was speckled with black tobacco gum and something slimy. Vomit, if I had to guess.

Pa parked the tractor and hopped off the side. He unloaded Vance and propped him up against the side of the barn.