“I’m looking for the rental manager,” I said.

“I’ve got a certified check for the tent setup.”

The young man let the heavy brass nozzle of the hose drop into the grass.

Ice-cold water spat from the metal fitting and soaked the dark dirt by his black work shoes.

“He went around front to the driveway,” the boy said.

“I’m Leo.”

He talked very quietly, in short bursts.

He wiped his hands on his apron again, glancing nervously at my practical brown loafers.