“I need to get back a box I accidentally threw out.”
The shorter man shook his dreadlocks. “If we’ve already emptied your can, it’s too late, lady.”
“Please—you just picked it up.” I pointed to Gran’s empty can. “Can I look in your truck? I’m sure it’s on top of the pile.”
The larger man—he was the size of a mountain, wearing a dirty black T-shirt that read “If you don’t like bacon, you’re wrong”and a colorful do-rag—cocked his gloved thumb toward the cab of the truck. “Ask the driver.”
I ran to the window and looked up at the weather-beaten man behind the wheel. He chomped on a piece of gum, his expression bored. “Please,” I begged. “I accidentally threw out some of my grandmother’s photos.”
He cast me a disinterested glance. “Sorry. Too late.”
“Please—if I can just look. You just picked up her trash—it was the last house—and I’m sure...”
He really looked at me for the first time. “You talkin’ ’bout Mizz Addie?”
“Yes.”
“She took my sister’s wedding photos and didn’ charge no fee.”
I’m not named Hope for nothing. I gave him my best smile. “Well, then, you know how sweet she is. It would mean a lot to her to get her pictures back.”
With a sigh, he looked at his watch. “I’m not supposed to do this, and I’m runnin’ behind schedule. But seein’ as it’s Mizz Addie... you got three minutes.”
“Oh, thank you!”
“Three minutes, hear? That’s it, then we gotta roll.”
I raced back around the truck, grabbed the railing, and hoisted myself up the tall step. When I stuck my head inside the garbage bay, I was hit by a stench so strong and foul that I gagged. I pulled out my head and took a deep gulp of air. My eyes watered, making it nearly impossible to see.
The large garbageman took pity on me. He climbed up besideme, his weight making the truck dip. “What’s it look like?” he asked.
“It’s an old box.”
The shorter worker spit on the pavement and let out a coarse laugh. “Oh, that really narrows it down.”
“It says ‘bed linens’ on the side,” I added. “You just picked it up.”
“Should be on top. Let’s just pull out all the boxes we can reach,” said the larger worker.
He heaved out two boxes. I held my breath, reached for one, and threw it out. Packing peanuts sprayed all over Matt’s lawn. The worker hurled three more boxes. I tossed one, spewing what looked like rotten lettuce. The man grabbed another box.
“Hey, this is supposed to trash pickup, not delivery,” said an angry male voice from below. “What the hell are you doing?”
The trash worker blocked my view, but I immediately recognized Matt’s voice. My stomach, already tight and queasy, seized into a fist. Why, oh why did he always show up when I was doing something weird?
“Sorry, man,” said the trash worker on the ground. “Your neighbor threw away something by accident, and...”
I spotted Gran’s scrawl on a box in the large trash worker’s hand. “That’s it!” I yelled. “The box you’re holding—that’s it!”
“Yeah? Well, then, here you go.” He handed me the box. The top half was dripping with something that smelled like decaying shrimp.
I held it upside down, not wanting to get the bottom wet, and turned around to climb down, only to realize the step was too high for me to manage without hanging on to something. If I just threw the box on the ground, I might get the pictures wet. If I jumped holding it, I was likely to crush the photos by landing on them.
Matt stepped into my line of vision, a dark scowl on his face. I hesitated. “I, uh...”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Matt reached up, grabbed me around the waist, and swung me down as if I were a doll. When he set me onthe ground, I realized I’d coated his suit jacket, tie, and dress shirt with wet, fish-scented goo.
“Th-thank you,” I said to Matt.
