times I warned her of the danger and of all the things that could go wrong.
I mean, consider what had already happened. She didn’t care. I insisted she stay by
the truck and not bother us.
Several hours later, after we’d unloaded the backhoe and Robichaud was driving it
around the location clearing extraneous debris, the remainder of the equipment from
the Odessa yard showed up, including two water trucks, an Athey Wagon, a corrugated
steel shed, and a small trailer house. Iraan isn’t much more than a spot in the road,
and it was over thirty minutes away. I didn’t want to waste an hour every day driving
back and forth to its one tiny motel.
The crew set up the trailer, connected it to the electrical pole, cranked up the air
conditioner, then hung around a while talking to my hands. I finally had to make them
leave. Whoever said women talk too much never hung out with oilfield guys. They can
shoot the shit for hours.
Conaway offered to cook some breakfast.
“Been away from home long enough to know how to cook eggs?” I asked.
It was a joke, really, but she didn’t take it that way. She stared at me soberly and
replied, “I’d bet the farm you really hate it when people allude to your family, about
you growing up with more money than God.” She nodded toward her video camera. “I bought
that with what I earned cooking eggs on a platform in the middle of the north Atlantic.”
She pointed to a small compact car, parked fifty yards away. “I paid for that with
tips I made serving beer to roughnecks in Alaska. I got up there by looking after
circus animals on a packet from Seattle.” Then she grabbed a fistful of the blue T-shirt
she’d changed into after her arm was dressed. “All of my clothes come from Goodwill.
Close to every penny of my school tuition I got through scholarships and work-study
programs.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Yeah. I can cook fucking eggs.”
“Then go cook some and lose that chip on your shoulder. It’s not very attractive.”
“Jesus, you’re a bitch.”
I smiled. “So are you, which means we’re doomed to be best friends.”
“Maybe.” She pointed at my boots. “But you’ll be my only friend who wears boots that
ugly.”
“They’re steel-toed so my foot won’t get broken when something heavy lands on it.
I have to get them made special because all the ready-made ones are for men.” I pointed
to my fire suit, then my hardhat. “Same with these. My boss likes to gripe about how
expensive it is to have a woman on staff.”
She eyed me curiously. “Why’d you pick a career with no women?”
“I majored in engineering because it interested me and I’m a math geek. I took this
job because it’s amazing and takes care of my latent desire to off myself in a blaze
of glory. As for the no women thing, it just worked out that way, but it’s okay with
me because women tend to piss me off. Men are so much simpler to deal with. What you
see is what you get.”
“Do I piss you off?”
“Not yet, but keep asking me questions and I could get there.”
“Yeah, some best friend you’re gonna be.” She traipsed off toward the trailer house
and I went to help Harley and Cash get the Athey wagon ready.
Cash had scarcely begun moving the boom of the Athey into the fire to retrieve the
twisted metal when a gigantic silver SUV pulled up. Dylan’s daddy, I presumed.
From a spot by the truck where I’d set up a small table and laid out our well specs,
I watched the man walk toward me. He was average height and weight, with ordinary
brown hair and uninspired clothes, but that was where average ended. The man had that
kind of face it’s hard to look away from, it was so handsome. And intriguing. He oozed
sexuality in the way he moved, in the curve of his smile. When he was closer, I realized
he was much younger than I expected. Dylan’s father didn’t look a day over thirty-five.
He’d
I mean, consider what had already happened. She didn’t care. I insisted she stay by
the truck and not bother us.
Several hours later, after we’d unloaded the backhoe and Robichaud was driving it
around the location clearing extraneous debris, the remainder of the equipment from
the Odessa yard showed up, including two water trucks, an Athey Wagon, a corrugated
steel shed, and a small trailer house. Iraan isn’t much more than a spot in the road,
and it was over thirty minutes away. I didn’t want to waste an hour every day driving
back and forth to its one tiny motel.
The crew set up the trailer, connected it to the electrical pole, cranked up the air
conditioner, then hung around a while talking to my hands. I finally had to make them
leave. Whoever said women talk too much never hung out with oilfield guys. They can
shoot the shit for hours.
Conaway offered to cook some breakfast.
“Been away from home long enough to know how to cook eggs?” I asked.
It was a joke, really, but she didn’t take it that way. She stared at me soberly and
replied, “I’d bet the farm you really hate it when people allude to your family, about
you growing up with more money than God.” She nodded toward her video camera. “I bought
that with what I earned cooking eggs on a platform in the middle of the north Atlantic.”
She pointed to a small compact car, parked fifty yards away. “I paid for that with
tips I made serving beer to roughnecks in Alaska. I got up there by looking after
circus animals on a packet from Seattle.” Then she grabbed a fistful of the blue T-shirt
she’d changed into after her arm was dressed. “All of my clothes come from Goodwill.
Close to every penny of my school tuition I got through scholarships and work-study
programs.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Yeah. I can cook fucking eggs.”
“Then go cook some and lose that chip on your shoulder. It’s not very attractive.”
“Jesus, you’re a bitch.”
I smiled. “So are you, which means we’re doomed to be best friends.”
“Maybe.” She pointed at my boots. “But you’ll be my only friend who wears boots that
ugly.”
“They’re steel-toed so my foot won’t get broken when something heavy lands on it.
I have to get them made special because all the ready-made ones are for men.” I pointed
to my fire suit, then my hardhat. “Same with these. My boss likes to gripe about how
expensive it is to have a woman on staff.”
She eyed me curiously. “Why’d you pick a career with no women?”
“I majored in engineering because it interested me and I’m a math geek. I took this
job because it’s amazing and takes care of my latent desire to off myself in a blaze
of glory. As for the no women thing, it just worked out that way, but it’s okay with
me because women tend to piss me off. Men are so much simpler to deal with. What you
see is what you get.”
“Do I piss you off?”
“Not yet, but keep asking me questions and I could get there.”
“Yeah, some best friend you’re gonna be.” She traipsed off toward the trailer house
and I went to help Harley and Cash get the Athey wagon ready.
Cash had scarcely begun moving the boom of the Athey into the fire to retrieve the
twisted metal when a gigantic silver SUV pulled up. Dylan’s daddy, I presumed.
From a spot by the truck where I’d set up a small table and laid out our well specs,
I watched the man walk toward me. He was average height and weight, with ordinary
brown hair and uninspired clothes, but that was where average ended. The man had that
kind of face it’s hard to look away from, it was so handsome. And intriguing. He oozed
sexuality in the way he moved, in the curve of his smile. When he was closer, I realized
he was much younger than I expected. Dylan’s father didn’t look a day over thirty-five.
He’d
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