Free The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh Page B

promised, though, and it was getting hotter by the day. Nights weren’t much better; the air was so humid, it felt stifling even when the temperature dropped.
    One night after work, when I’d been in Henbane about a month, I got in Crete’s truck, turned the air on high, and stuck my face right in the vent. Crete laughed at me. “Still ain’t used to the weather?”
    â€œTell me you’re not hot, too,” I said. “It’s like walking around inside a sponge.”
    He rubbed his hand over his stubble. I liked how he always looked like he needed a shave but never actually had a beard. “Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s one way to fix that. Wanna go for a swim?”
    â€œIn the river?” I asked. I’d been eyeing it every day when I left Dane’s, though I hadn’t taken a dip. The rivers I’d swum in back in Iowa were brown and murky, but the North Fork was perfectly clear, and you could see all the way to the bottom. “I’d love to. But I don’t have a suit.”
    â€œHell,” he said, grinning, “you don’t need one. It’s hot enough to jump in in our clothes.”
    â€œLet’s do it,” I said. It would be the first truly impulsive thing I’d done since I got to Henbane, and I considered that pretty good.
    He drove us out to a quiet spot on the river not far from his house and opened up a cooler on the tailgate. He cracked open a can of Budweiser and dug a second one out of the ice. “I know you’re not twenty-one,” he said, weighing the can in his hand. “But you’re old enough to vote, so I figure you can handle a beer.”
    He opened it for me, and I licked the foam that bubbled out. We sat together on the tailgate, sipping our drinks. The river was calm and flat on our side and made a shushing noise on the far side where it slid over the rocks. Trees crowded the opposite bank, thick with fireflies and the unceasing insect songs, which I was starting to get used to. Crete set down his beer and pulled his shirt off over his head, and I couldn’t help admiring his chest, the bands of muscle tapering to his waist. He caught me looking at him and gave me a crooked smile. “Okay with you if I get down to my skivvies?”
    I blushed in the darkness and nodded, remembering how I’d felt that first day when he called me beautiful. He hadn’t said anything like that since, though I did notice him watching me at times. He was charming and friendly, but for the most part, he kept things businesslike. He was my boss, after all. He stripped to his boxers and stepped to the water’s edge. “You coming?” he asked.
    I hopped down from the tailgate and unzipped my shorts, stepping out of them as they fell. I left my T-shirt on and tentatively stuck one foot in the water. “Yikes!” I said. “That’s cold.”
    He laughed. “That’s the point, right?” He walked out toward the current and sank underwater, then popped back up and shook himself like a dog. “Whoo!” he hollered. “Come on in.”
    I tiptoed into the water, squealing as it inched up my body. When I was waist-deep, I dove under and came up with a gasp. We bobbed around in the water for a few minutes, and then I had to get out.
    â€œNot hot anymore?” he asked.
    â€œN-no,” I stuttered, my teeth on the verge of chattering.
    â€œHey,” he said, sloshing out after me. “I’ve got something that’ll warm you right back up.” He rummaged around inside the cab and came back with a sleeping bag, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and two plastic cups. “Can you spread this out?” he asked, handing me the sleeping bag. I unzipped it and laid it out in the truck bed. Crete climbed up to sit next to me and handed me a cup, tapping it against his. “Cheers.”
    I choked down several gulps as quickly as I could to get