Peaches

to do that day, where she rarely saw another worker and could turn in a 360 and feel like there was nothing but peach trees leading off the edge of the earth.
    Already she felt like the edge of the earth was exactly where she’d landed. Even in the dorms, but especially in the fields, Bridgewater felt like it had to be a thousand miles away. The orchard smelled thick: Scents of mud, buds, insects, and early-blooming flowers overlapped one another. Murphy had spent all her life breathing the aroma of fry grease and parking lot weeds. Squirrels darted up and down the trees, and rabbits and the occasional groundhog watched Murphy work, reminding her that the orchard was the world to them, that they’d never seen Taco Bell and would never be roadkill. It was actually comforting. It was still earth, but without the crap.
    Occasionally she’d get a glimpse of one of the other workers down a row, peeping out and disappearing. She paid special attention to glimpses of Leeda, who did her own brand of shirking by picking one hard peach at a time, rolling it around in her fingers gingerly as if it were an exotic jewel, and then gently dropping it to the ground. Murphy watched her curiously, wondering why she looked so tired every day, a little bitter that Leeda was able to do her shirking so openly. Under their feet the piles of hard, raw peaches grew so that you could hardly step without your foot rolling on one. By Friday, Murphy felt her feet rolling in her sleep.
    That night, like every night so far, the workers gathered in a group around the barbecue, talking and laughing. Getting up from her third nap of the day, Murphy tugged a pair of cords over her hips and went down to join them.
    The air was slightly chilly, and Murphy walked up to the grill, placing her hands palm out. Everyone was still sitting around staring at the fire, talking. Emma and the other women made a place for her, albeit a little less enthusiastically than they had the first couple of days. Murphy could glean a little bit of Spanish since she was taking Advanced French and some of the words were similar. But she was mostly lost. She sat for a while, listening to the buzz of the radio drifting from the windows of the men’s dorm and the buzz of voices. Every few minutes someone made an effort to include her, explaining the current topic in a few words of broken English.
    “We are talking about the frost,” one woman said, leaning in to her. Murphy couldn’t remember if she was Raeka or Isabel. “They say we might to get next week. Very bad for the trees.”
    Murphy nodded, feeling like this might be one of the most boring conversation topics of all time. While the workers continued talking, she swiveled to look over her shoulder and saw Leeda Cawley-Smith picking her way down from the main house, where, presumably, she’d been eating dinner each night. It made no sense to Murphy that she slept down in the dorms. She did everything she could to avoid the people who lived there. Without looking at anyone, Leeda edged to the side of the dorm and disappeared inside.
    After a while Murphy stood up and walked to where the light coming from Camp A met the dusk. She lit a cigarette and zipped up her hooded sweatshirt. It was just getting dark, and the crickets had started to chirp. The breeze gave Murphy a tingly feeling in her stomach. For a second it reminded her why she had liked the orchard and how she’d ended up here in thefirst place. The shadows made it look inviting and cool and restful. She decided to stroll over to the supply barn.
    Once she reached the barn, she picked up the phone and stared at the dial pad. She thought about calling her mom, but she couldn’t stand hearing more about Richard. They’d been on three dates in the few days Murphy had been gone. If Murphy called next week, it was more than likely he’d be out of the picture by then. So instead, she dialed Max, a hip neo-bluegrass musician she’d met at C.W.’s Smoking Lounge in Macon who was way too old for her. He was an amazing kisser.
    “Max, it’s Murphy. Feel like spending some time on a farm?”

    Two hours later, when everyone in the dorm had fallen asleep, Murphy was sliding out the screen door and trucking through the trees.
    She could feel her heart throbbing in different spots—her wrists, her throat, her thumbs. Murphy always liked to weigh the risks of anything she was doing, but in this case she couldn’t gauge what they were. She didn’t know how