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"Looks like they're putting in a sump."
"I say it looks like hell, considering what I have to pay to join this place." Mick smirked up at the cemetery on the slope. Ancient concrete crosses, weathered angels, and lichen-encrusted tombstones. "How picturesque," he said sarcastically. "Hope they plan on improving the view."
"The local ghosts no doubt feel much the same way—whenever someone like you plays through." Josh opened the door. "It's why I'm here, Putz. To solve the social dilemmas of the country club crowd, beginning with why their damned ‘windbreak' won't grow." He took another bite. "I'm all that stands between you and that view."
"So get out and figure, while I go learn how to play."
Josh patted the steering wheel affectionately. "This is my car."
"Don't remind me. A exercise in unhygienic, if I've ever seen one. Glad you make your fungus feel right at home."
"Fuck you, too," Josh said genially. He climbed out, then took a hand spade and some plastic bags from the trunk.
Mick tilted his head to eye Josh appraisingly. The man was looking a little white. "You feeling okay?" he asked hopefully. "'cause if you're not, I can drive you home."
Josh flushed. "You could drive me crazy. Go, so I can get some work done."
"Fungus." Mick's voice was thick with distaste. He'd never understand it, if he lived to be a hundred.
Josh's eyes lit up. "Pythium, if I'm right."
"That's right—qualify it," Mick retorted. "As if anyone cares."
Josh went on as though Mick hadn't spoken. "Soil samples, grass samples, that kind of thing. Keeping it all nice and green for the goofers." Josh tossed Mick his keys, then rummaged in the glove box and shoved two packages of Milk Duds into his pockets. "See ya."
Mick glanced at his watch. "I go on duty at four." He held up his phone. "No cellphones on the course..."
"Don't worry. I'll need a chocolate fix by then. Bring Rasputin down and—"
"—crinkle candy wrappers?"
Josh grinned. "I was gonna say ‘honk the horn'. But, whatever works." He walked away, then turned back quickly, as Mick was starting the engine. "Don't forget—"
"I know," Mick cut in impatiently. "‘Park in the shade'." He snorted. "I'll hide your trashmobile in the bushes, so nobody can see it. Wouldn't want to ruin my rep." With a wave, and a cheerful honk of Rasputin's horn, Mick sped away up the drive.
***
Josh wandered up to the cemetery first, aware that he was being morbid. He strolled between the plots, considering what it would be like to be under the soil, rather than atop it. Wondering what it would be like to have no control over a mouldering body, and be no more substantial than the wind which flapped his shirttails.
It was something he never would have done if Mick had been here. Dr. Carmichael Dodds—AKA Mick—knew him too well. He would have seen something in his expression.
And then his life would no longer have been his own.
Don't think...
It was getting hard not to. Because lately he'd been making excuses he'd never had to before. And there were times when he'd just like to let it all go...
Either that or vanish some place else, where he wouldn't have to live with their concern.