Cesspool by Phil M. Williams Page A

diseased tomatoes to the backyard and tossed them in the woods. He heard a twig snap and instinctively looked in that direction. He saw a flash of white in the woods. James crept toward the forest edge. Once inside the wood line, leaves crunched under his feet, negating any surprise.
    “Is anyone there?” James called out.
    The young woman he saw in the domestic dispute stepped from behind a large hickory tree. She wore a soiled white sweater, no bra, baggy jeans, and a scarf.
    “Hi. I’m James,” he said as he walked toward her.
    “Hi,” she said, frozen to the forest floor with her head down.
    James closed the gap, getting a closer look at the woman, only to realize that, if she was a woman, it was just barely. She looked young, sixteen or seventeen maybe. She was short, five feet tall, thin, and smelled like cigarettes.
    “How are you doing?” James asked within arm’s length.
    “I’m fine,” she said to the ground.
    “I think I saw you earlier, a couple miles from here. Was that you in front of the trailer with the older man? Is that your father?”
    She shook her head, her stringy brown hair stiff and dirty.
    “That wasn’t you?”
    She looked up through puffy eyes. “That’s not my dad.”
    Despite her disheveled appearance, she had pretty blue eyes, full pink lips, and an attractive symmetrical face.
    “Can I help you with something?”
    She was unresponsive.
    “How did you get here?”
    She turned around and pointed. “Trail back there.”
    “The older man, is he a friend or a relative?”
    She turned back to James, her eyes glued to the forest floor. “He takes care of me.”
    “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
    “I’ll be nineteen on Christmas.”
    James chuckled. “So you’ve been getting ripped off for eighteen years.”
    She looked up at him with wide eyes.
    “With presents,” James said. “People with Christmas birthdays always get ripped off with presents. People say they’ll give you separate presents for your birthday, but it all gets lost in the Christmas madness.”
    The corners of her mouth turned up for a split second. “That’s true.”
    “So, are you still in school?”
    “I just help Mr. Harold. Whatever he needs.”
    “I teach at the community college. History. I moved here from Virginia this past spring.”
    “I seen you when you moved in.”
    James raised his eyebrows. “You did?”
    She blushed. “I go on the trail a lot. We don’t get too many new people around here.”
    “I’ve noticed.”
    “How come you ain’t had nobody help you move in?”
    James smiled. “You can always tell how many friends you have by how many people are willing to help you move.”
    She giggled.
    “When I saw you, I was throwing out diseased tomatoes. I’m about ready to give up on gardening. I have a serious black thumb.” James took a couple steps and picked up one of the bad tomatoes. He held it out to the girl. “See? This is what they look like.”
    She took the tomato from his hand. “It has blossom rot. You’re prob’ly waterin’ too much. Too much water washes all the good stuff out. My grammy used to say rain’s enough. She said, if you give plants too much, they’ll be weak, just like people.”
    “That’s good advice. Your grandmother sounds like a smart lady.”
    She nodded.
    “Could you take a look at my garden and orchard? I could really use some pointers from an expert.”
    Her mouth turned up for a split second. “I ain’t no expert.”
    James chuckled. “You are in comparison to me.”
    James led her to the front yard.
    “This is the orchard,” James said. “Something’s eating my fruit trees. The bark is torn off the trunks. The ends of the branches are chewed up.”
    “Deer,” she said. “They love fruit trees. You have to fence ’em.”
    James nodded. “That makes sense. It all happened in one night.”
    “A herd prob’ly came through.”
    “The garden is over here,” James said as he walked toward the