Page 72 of The Difference Between

He jumps, spins to face me, and puts a hand to his bare chest. “Wake me up, baby, here I am.” Even though his eyes are wide and verbiage ridiculous, he’s not mad. If anything, there’s a casual drag to his nasally voice. Like he has a head cold he medicates with marijuana.

He pulls his headphones off and knocks his sternum. “Bout stopped the ticker cold.” His gaze travels the length of me then his chin jerks back. “Yikes!”

I frown, looking down at my body. I’m at work and I look like I’m at work: black pencil skirt, black blouse, black pumps. I smooth my skirt and return my gaze to his.

“I’m Reese.” I do not offer him my hand. “I’m here to learn about the vineyard.”

He pulls a Walkman out of his pant leg and pushes a button to stop a tape. A cassette tape. Because that’s how a man named Banyan listens to music.

He gestures at me with the Walkman. “Vines love sexy music.”

“They tell you that?”

“Ha!” His bright eyes dance. “They did. See these?” He points at a cluster of grapes with his shears. “Physical manifestation of my own sexual energy.”

I blow out a breath. “So you and the vines mate?”

“Nice thought.” The sicko chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be something? The vines and I have a relationship,” he says, snipping a leaf. “I play music for them—sometimes I bring the ocarina out—and they grow for me. Like making love with your soulmate, know what I’m saying?”

I look at the vine, half expecting to see a vagina sprouting. “No.”

He makes an O with his mouth, sticks his tongue out, and starts flicking it back and forth as he hums.

“Stop that,” I snap. “What is that?”

“Tongue singing.” He grins. “Try it.”

He continues tongue singing, disturbing the hell out of me.

“Stop,” I demand. “None of that.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He offers me his hand. “I’m Banyan, by the way.”

Reluctantly, I take it. “Reese.”

“Banyan Shanti Errosen.” We’re still shaking hands. “Most people call me Banyan.” Still shaking. “Whatever speaks to you though.”

“Banyan works.” I pry my hand from his. “Quite a name.”

“Strength, peace, love.” He twirls a hand through the air. “Name says it all.” He snaps four times then points a finger at me before saying in a breathy, dramatic tone, “Fiery.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what Reese means.”

Okay.

“Nancy and Gavin told me you take care of the vines,” I redirect. “I want to spend the next two weeks with you to learn what you do, why you do it, and decide if you’re safe to expose to guests.”

“Hold it,” he says, gesticulating his hands as he speaks. “Step back, stop, and rewind, little lady. Banyan picked up on a tune he wants to sing from the rooftops.”

“Safety of exposure?”

He shakes his head, motioning for me to keep going.

“Two weeks?”

More head shaking and motioning.