He mumbled something before dry heaving again. Man, his stomach muscles were getting a wicked workout. Foxy and I glanced at each other and then back to the contracting peaks and valleys of his abdomen, tilting our heads to get a better look.

“Is it wrong to enjoy the view with him in such misery?” Foxy whispered out the side of her mouth without looking away from Vance.

“So wrong,” I agreed with little conviction. Shaking my head and blinking out of the daze, I climbed into the truck and drove to the back of the farm, where fields gave way to acres of trees and the giant pond with a dock jutting out to nearly the middle.

A hidden oasis, this quiet place was a refuge of peacefulness. A treasure trove of happier memories greeted me every time I would venture out here alone late at night. The pond and the packhouse were the two places I’d begun to haunt during late hours of restlessness. It was a restlessness that always awakened as soon as I had everyone settled down for the night. I blamed it on the infant years of the younger twins, when my body adapted to receiving little rest and being on alert even in sleep in case one of them cried out with a need.

I pulled the truck in the shade beside the shallow part of the pond and prepared to take care of someone else’s need. “Scoot to the end of the bed and I’ll help you out,” I directed and patiently watched him roll, moan, wiggle, and dry heave until making it out of the truck bed.

“I can hardly walk. No way I’m up for swimming,” Vance rasped as he leaned heavily on me while I struggled to maneuver him to the edge of the pond.

“It’s only about two feet deep right here, so all you have to do is sit.” With one arm supporting him around the waist, I unsnapped his butchered jean cutoffs.

“I’m definitely not up for that.” How he managed a tease in this shape was beyond me.

“You got underwear on, right?”

“Yeah.”

I unzipped the pants and pushed them down to his bare feet, not even taking the time to ask what happened to those bright-white Adidas. And certainly not looking anywhere near his midsection. “Your pants are soaked through with tobacco juice. That’s what’s making you sick. Step out of them.” I held on to his wobbly body as he did so with a few staggered steps.

After propping him up in the water, I returned to the truck and grabbed the salt scrub and tea from the cab. With some coercing he took several sips while I sat behind him and scrubbed his body with the salt and eucalyptus mixture. Thankfully, it washed away the pungent odors of sweat, tobacco, and puke clinging to his stooped body, leaving behind a minty aroma.