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“Here you are. And ya’ll have a blessed day,” Becky said.

“Uh huh, thanks,” the man said, completely missing the subtext. He returned his wallet and snatched up his beer.

“Slow service, but at least the beer is cold,” the other man said as they turned for the door.

Will audibly heard the breath Becky let out when the doors closed behind them.

“You ever wanted to beat the shit out of someone?” Becky asked, under her breath.

“Not until very recently,” Will said.

“Fuck,” Becky grit out. “Whatever they’re paying Adrián, it’s not enough.”

Will couldn’t agree more.

In the break before the dinner rush, Will went and sat outside on the smoking bench, sipping a soda. The sand truck had been dumped on one side of Mercale, and the real workers–half a dozen Mexican day laborers in sun-bleached, long-sleeve shirts–were trying to shovel it into the road ditches to soak up water.

The suits sat under an umbrella in the parking lot, drinks in hand. They were clearly drunk, talking in too-loud, over-exaggerated movements.

Will watched the suits, then watched the Mexican men sagging over the labor of shoveling sand in this heat. If they had any food or water for the day, they hadn’t gotten it from the grocery store.

That evening Adrián returned and told them to close an hour early. Neither he nor Becky argued as they hurried through their closing duties, collected their pay, and got out of there.

Customers hadn’t been difficult today, but the depressing show happening right outside their windows had drained the both of them. They hadn’t discussed it other than shared looks, but Will knew exactly how Becky felt.

The sky was red and orange as Will walked down the crumbling road that lined the orchard. At the smell of citrus, his stomach growled.

Normally, he would’ve grabbed an orange. Now, the possibility that it might be rotten inside stopped him. The taste had stayed with him long after he’d scrubbed out his mouth. He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Will had eaten a cup of noodles in between rushes, but it wasn’t enough. Maybe he could splurge and order a pizza for dinner. Or–

Will’s foot caught on something, and he stumbled. He caught himself before falling, but his foot came down off of the cracked sidewalk, and plunged into wet muck.

He groaned and looked down.

There was water.

He turned to look more closely at the grove. There was water all over, at least two inches had flooded the area. He could see rotting oranges floating on the surface.

Will looked back the way he’d come. All along the sidewalk there was water.

Had to be from the spring.

Will stepped back onto the sidewalk, shaking his shoe to get some of the muck off.

Then he stopped, staring down at it. It was a mushy green, and undoubtedly smelled of chlorophyll.

He remembered then the way those men had talked about it. Like the naturalness of this place was something to be fixed. Will kept walking, some of it still on his shoes. A little decaying plant matter was leagues better than the oil and chemicals they were putting into the soil.

Will sighed. At least he was off tomorrow, so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of that.

Except he would be dealing with his father, instead.

“Ugh,” Will groaned, kicking a loose rock into the road.

He didn’t want to do it. The thought of walking five miles there and back made him angry. Between grocery shopping and food prep, it was an all-day affair.

But he couldn’t not go. He’d been doing it once a week since he’d moved out, because he knew if he didn’t, his dad would likely just drink himself to death in his La-Z-Boy.