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We were hot, we were sweaty, and we were both tired out as we broke for lunch that day. Being in the sun all morning had made the tops of Bubba's shoulders a bit sunburned even through his fur, and he radiated heat like a brick wall after sundown. "It's not even ninety degrees out there," I said, "What are you complaining about?"

"Hey, that might be a walk in the park for Texas, but for up here, it's God damned HOT!" Bubba said, wiping his face with a damp kitchen towel.

"Wuss." I grabbed the towel out of his hands and threw it into the hamper. "You get into the shower, I'll start lunch," I said. He padded off to the bathroom in stocking feet, the wooden floor creaking as if in protest under his weight. I chopped squash and threw it in the steamer, cranking the timer around to fifteen minutes. Then I sliced bread, corned beef, lettuce and onions, and put them on a tray for later assembly. A handful of thick sliced potato chips on each plate, a few slices of sweet pickle, and everything was as ready as I could make it until right before we sat down to eat.

The sound of running water had been coursing through the pipes for a few minutes, and I knew Bubba had to be in the shower by that point. I walked into the bathroom, turned to the toilet and had my fly halfway unzipped when I realized what I'd just walked past. The shower curtain wasn't completely opaque - you could see motion behind it. And the motion I'd walked in on wasn't one of a man washing his hair or soaping himself up. In fact, he'd been standing quite still except for his right arm. I was rather proud of the fact that I managed to finish unzipping my fly and pulling myself out without skipping a beat. It did take a few seconds longer than normal, however, to actually begin pissing.

He'd been jerking off. I knew that the right thing to do was to ignore it like I hadn't seen anything. Which, I thought, I actually hadn't. I knew he'd been masturbating, but I hadn't seen anything interesting. Still, just knowing what he'd been doing made it tough to finish my business. Hell, I wanted to help out! The fact that we hadn't said a word to each other was, by that point, incriminating. I'd become used to us talking casually while one or the other of us did our business. If one of us needed to take a dump we waited until the other was well clear of ground zero before we did it, more out of respect than a desire for privacy. Nothing ruins a good, peaceful shower like someone taking an obnoxious shit three feet away. But when we were just pissing, we didn't have any trouble talking to each other while we did it.

"Uh, Is lunch ready?" he asked, lamely.

"It will be soon," I said, wondering what else to say. I was not going to let this turn into a dirty little secret. "You know what?"

"What?" came the one word reply. I could see through the semi-transparent shower curtain that he his arms were scrubbing shampoo into his hair with determination.

"I do it too, you know," I said. "It's a bodily function just like pissing or taking a dump. You don't need to be embarrassed about it."

For a moment, the only sound was the water running in the shower. "You mean you wouldn't be embarrassed if I caught you beating off?" His tone was almost accusatory.

"It's not something I would prefer, no." I said, "All I'm saying is, we're in a small house without a lot of privacy, and we're going to run into that every now and then. We both do it, and I don't think we should act like it's some dirty little secret that we have to hide from each other. Let's just understand that it's going to happen, and not make a big deal about it, that's all."

"I don't want you acting all weird when I come out, " Bubba said.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," I said, zipping my fly and heading for the door, "why should I act weird?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was terse. "Come get me."

After our morning chores, Bubba had taken the four-wheeler to run the fence line in the back pasture while I renewed some of the seals on the milking machine. There was a sixty acre tract of land at the back of the property that was reserved for a small herd of black Angus cattle. With spring-fed water and naturally growing alfalfa hay to feed on, the cattle had some of the best tasting beef in the county. The night before, we got a call that some of the cattle had gotten out of the fenced pasture and onto the neighbor's land. They hadn't caused any trouble, but it was a pain in the ass getting them back where they belonged. We made temporary repairs to the fence, and Bubba had gone back this morning to do a permanent fix. "What's wrong?"

"The mule won't start, and I'm stuck. Bring the truck."

That surprised me. I'd seen him fix machinery that I thought would never run again, and I knew he must be frustrated by this. "I'll be there in five minutes," I said, starting to pick up my tools and put them away even before I hung up. I felt lucky that I'd been able to finish the job on the transfer pump before he called.

I put the truck in four wheel drive and slowly bounced my way across the pasture. By the time I got to where Bubba was stuck, he was clearly out of sorts and didn't want to talk about it. I backed the truck up and cut the engine off so we could work without breathing diesel fumes.

I'd wondered if I made a mistake by not bringing the ramps with me, but we didn't need them. We lifted the front tires of the mule up and onto the tailgate, then levered the rear tires up and pushed the four-wheeler into the bed, slamming the tailgate behind it. It was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. Either four wheelers were lighter than they appeared, or I was packing on some muscle.

To my surprise, Bubba walked around to the passenger side of his truck and got in. I quickly ran a single load strap around the back of the four wheeler to keep it in place and cinched it tight. I climbed into the driver's seat and twisted the key, feeling the big diesel engine under me rumble to life.

"I think this is a first," I said as we slowly bounced our way back through the pasture towards home,"I don't think I've ever driven you anywhere before."

"I'm just tired of fucking with it," he said, referring to the truck, the mule, or even the Angus, for all I knew.

When we got back to the house, I backed the truck up to the garage and said, "Listen, you've been out in the heat all morning. Why don't you help me get this thing out of the truck, then you can go in and fix lunch. I'll take care of things out here."

He gratefully helped me lift the mule out of the back of the truck, then disappeared through the garage door after tossing his muddy boots to the side. He didn't slam the door after himself, but he didn't exactly close it gently, either. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn't know what. That bothered me, because I didn't know if I had played any part in it.

I got the garden hose and washed out the bed of the truck, parking it on an upward slope to drain. Then I attacked the mule, which came clean more easily than I expected. The mud on the tires was fresh, quickly dissolving under the spray of water. On impulse, I grabbed a long screwdriver out of the tool caddy and opened the fuel bowls on the mule's carburetors. The small amount of gas that leaked out looked more like dirty water. Pulling the fuel filter, it was obvious why the mule had died. The filter was caked with powder-fine residue, a sure sign that the gas in the tank was probably years old. I pushed it into the sun to dry, put the fence-mending tools away, then followed Bubba inside.

The smell of beef stew greeted me like an old friend. He hadn't had time to make it fresh, so it must have been leftovers out of the freezer. As I passed the kitchen door, he called out, "Cornbread's gonna be ready in about five minutes, so hurry up."

I tore off my clothes and jumped into the shower, noticing on the way in that a clean towel had been laid out for me in thanks for my help that day.

Shampoo, soap up, rinse off, and I was done. I wrapped the towel around my waist and pulled shorts and underwear out of the dresser drawers. I was just pulling on a clean tee shirt when Bubba's voice boomed through the house, announcing that lunch was ready.

By the time I'd fixed my plate of two huge cornbread slices, greens and a big bowl of the delicious stew, Bubba was already waiting at the kitchen table. I sat down, and waited expectantly for my cousin to say grace. His family was much more religious than mine had been growing up, and every meal was blessed before anyone began eating. It was a custom I'd grown to appreciate, and I even looked forward to it. After this many years, Bubba had a formula for his prayers that worked pretty well for him.

"Dear Lord," he started, "Thank you so much for the blessing of this food." And then, he surprised me. "In the Good Book, you assure us that you'll send to us a helper, someone equal to and appropriate for us. Thank you for sending Jason to me. Amen."

The normal clinking of spoons in bowls didn't happen this time. I slowly looked up to meet Bubba's eyes. I'm sure my surprise registered on my face, because he said, "Thanks for coming to get me. And I don't know if I've said it often enough, but thanks for being out here and helping me every day." He looked a little uncomfortable, but continued on. "It would be a hell of a lot harder on me if you weren't here."

"Sure, buddy." I said, simply, "I like it out here."

Bubba groped for something to talk about, something we'd never had to worry about before. "Did you wash off the mule before you put it away?" He asked.

What an odd question, I thought. I'd told him I was going to take care of things. "Yeah, but you might want to drain the gas tank every fall, or at least put in a shot of fuel stabilizer to keep the gas from turning into lacquer. That's why it wouldn't start." I slathered my cornbread with butter from the dish, and spooned a generous dollop of honey onto the top. Sweet cornbread and honey was even better than cake for me.

Bubba grunted an acknowledgement. "I'd wondered about that. I didn't have the tools out there to drain the bowls."

A few bites later, Bubba spoke again. "You know," he said, sounding somehow uncertain, "we don't have all that much going on this afternoon. I was just going to change the oil in the truck, but that can wait until next week when we go into town again. I'll pay Harvey five bucks more to change it at the filling station if you want to just hang out this afternoon."

The thought was certainly appealing. I actually had more things planned than changing the oil, but they could wait. Bubba could obviously use the day off, and he wanted company, so... "Sure, that sounds great."

We cleaned our plates and bowls, then headed into the living room. Bubba pulled a couple of beers out of the refrigerator on his way past it, and handed one to me. It was a little earlier than we usually started drinking, but not too much so. At least, it was after lunch. I twisted the cap off and stuck it into my pocket, making myself comfortable on the loveseat while Bubba rearranged pillows on the couch so he could sit sideways, facing me.

"So what's up?" I asked, foregoing the small talk in favor of a direct frontal assault.

My cousin took a long pull on his beer to buy himself some time before speaking. Whatever he had to say wasn't going to be easy on him, and that made me nervous as hell. "I've had a lot of time to think this morning, and I want to run some stuff past you." He said. I nodded my head in understanding and waited for him to continue. "This morning when the mule went dead out there, I worked on it for five minutes before I gave up and pulled out my phone to call you for help." He looked at me as if gauging my understanding, and saw by the look on my face that I didn't comprehend what he was getting at so he started over.

"For the past fifteen years I've lived life by myself. I like being independent. I don't have to rely on anyone else to get the job done. When I gave up and started to call for help after just five minutes, it blew my mind a little bit. When I realized that I'm beginning to depend on you, it bothered me. A lot. I put away my phone and worked on that damned thing for another thirty minutes before I gave up and called you. I hate how easy it's become to rely on you. I hate seeing that sort of weakness in myself."

"So what would have happened if I hadn't been here?" I asked, not really wanting an answer from him. "You'd have walked the mile and a half back to the house in the summer sun to get the truck and used a winch to pull the mule into the bed. It would have taken at least two hours, you'd be exhausted, and because you didn't have help, something might have gotten damaged. As it was, it was over in fifteen minutes and we're sitting here with a belly full of stew. Isn't that a better outcome?"

"Sure it is," he conceded, "I like that you're out here, but I don't like that I'm beginning to depend on you."

I chuckled, thinking to myself what a bizarre conversation this was. It was disconcertingly similar to the "You're too good for me, so I'm leaving you" speech.

I tried to remember what I'd learned years ago in my college Psychology classes. "Every relationship you have, be it a romance or a friendship or whatever, is a transaction. You give something of yourself in exchange for something back. If it's a good friendship, each party gives something they don't mind letting go, and they get much more in return." Bubba nodded his understanding, and I went on. "In our relationship, you're voluntarily giving up a bit of your independence in exchange for a lot of help and companionship. You can always go back to the way it was, and you know you'll be able to survive. You've did it before, so you know you can do it again. Hell, I don't need you any more than you need me. I think we're a good match for one another, but I don't think I'd die if you weren't around."

And now, for the part I wasn't wanting to say. "And I know you'll eventually find a nice lady somewhere who can do everything I do for you, and more. When that happens, I'll have to bow out gracefully and let you live your lives together." I couldn't believe I said that. It was the last thing I wanted to happen, but inside I knew it was true. My place here was temporary, and would one day be taken over by someone else. It was a cruel truth, but the truth nonetheless. "I don't particularly like that I'm becoming dependent on you for my happiness, either. I'm an expendable commodity, and I know it."

Bubba seemed to think about what I'd said, and I was inclined to let him think. After a few minutes I got up and pulled another couple of beers out of the fridge. Handing him one, I settled back into my seat and waited.

"I've already told you that I don't need a woman around here to be happy." He said finally, "I've got everything I need right now. But what I'm feeling..." he trailed off, knowing what he felt, but unable to put it into words. "When you came over that hill in the truck, I felt like you were my knight in shining armor come to rescue me."

He sat up and looked me hard in the eye, his ears flattening slightly to the sides of his head. "But I don't want to have to be rescued."