Chapter 2

I'm the first to show up at the highway shops on Monday morning so Cindy Franklin checks my name off her list and gives me a choice of which section of highway I want to work on. I pick the section near the upper crust part of town, figuring there might be less trash in that area. I don't know if that's true but it seems logical.

We'll be working in teams of two assigned to a specified stretch of road, each taking one side. We're given Day-Glo orange vests, backpacks full of plastic bags and graspers, then we're loaded into a van and driven to our locations. The road behind us will be checked throughout the day to insure we're doing the job right.

I'm surprised when Cindy brings us box lunches at noon. At the end of the first day, my hands are sore from squeezing the grasper and my back is achy from bending over about a million times. The second day isn't any more fun than the first.

By Friday, we've picked up a mountain of trash and I develop a whole new hatred for litterbugs. Would you believe it, there are asshole slobs who will drive by and throw trash out their window right in front of you. In my opinion, those are the shitheads who should be on life-long highway cleanup duty. I'll bet their houses look like the insides of dumpsters.

Near quitting time, I'm picking up bits and pieces in front of this beautiful colonial-style house on a huge expanse of land near the edge of town when a black Lexus SUV pulls up next to me and stops. When the tinted window slides down, I see it's Her Honor.

Judge Hightower smiles and says, "Cindy tells me you get high marks for your work this week. I just wanted to thank you for making a good effort, Randall."

"Oh, uh, you're welcome, Your Honor."

"No need to be so formal outside the courtroom; Mrs. Hightower will do. I've got a question for you." She kills the engine and steps out of her car. I've never actually stood beside her before and I'm struck by what a tiny woman she is. Somehow, when she's looking down at me from her perch behind the bench, she seems larger than life. I get this silly picture in my mind of her sitting on a phone book. I'm five eleven and the top of her head only comes to my nose, even in high heels, making her just over five feet by my estimation. A very nicely proportioned five feet though, from what I can see.

Mrs. Hightower walks around to the front of her car and sweeps her hand across the breadth of the property we're standing in front of. "What do you think of this place, Randall?"

"Well, it's big, if that's what you're asking. A lot more grass than I'd want to be taking care of."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too. It's mine, you know."

"No, I didn't know. It's a very nice house. I guess you must have a gardener to take care of the grounds."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. What are you planning to do with yourself now that you're out of high school?"

"Don't know for sure. Dad made a pretty good living in construction so I thought I might do some of that. Of course it'll be a little harder now that I don't have a driver's license." I cast a sideways glance at her to see if she's moved by my dilemma. She isn't.

"I can offer you pretty much full-time employment for the summer, at least. Since you wouldn't have to be carrying tons of tools, your bike would suffice for transportation. Are you interested?"

"Um, sure! What kind of work are you talking about?"

About that time, Cindy drives up in the van to take my fellow draftee and me back to the highway shops. A dump truck is following along to pick up the bags of trash we left on the side of the road. She waves out the window at Judge Hightower.

"High Rose Ann! Randy, have you had enough of this job?" "Hi, Cindy!" The Judge hollers back, "I'll take Randall home. I need to talk to him about something. Randall, toss your stuff in the van and get in the car. I'll drive us up to the house."

She pulls into a four-car garage populated only by her Lexus and some lawn tools. We enter a huge kitchen that makes the one at my house seem like a closet. She instructs me to lose the shoes at the door.

"Would you like something to drink? A soda or some iced tea?"

"Ice tea would be good, thanks."

"Sugar?"

"No, lemon if you have some."

"Ah, a man after my own heart."

She hands me the tall, frosty glass and says, "Let's go into the living room."

We wade through deep-pile carpet into an opulently furnished room and plop into very expensive-looking chairs. She curls her legs under her and gets comfortable. "Well, Randall, here's what I have in mind. Mr. Hightower always insisted on taking care of the grounds here but he has departed the scene with someone he likes better than me. I'm not nearly as enthusiastic about cutting acres of lawn as he was so I need to farm it out. There's a lot of other work that needs to be done as well. Now, a lot of that grass out there is going away but I haven't decided what to replace it with yet so, in the meantime, could I interest you in being the groundskeeper and general handy man through the rest of the summer? It'll be Mr. Hightower's money that's paying you so I can afford to be generous, say fifteen bucks an hour. It might not pay as well as a construction job but it's a lot more reliable."