by D. K. Wall
“What’s that?”
“Coffee. I figure it’s just you and Ronnie at the plant, and I wouldn’t want to drink the coffee either one of you makes.”
Nathan smiled and took the thermos. “Thanks. For everything.”
“See you at noon. I’ll bring the best news I can.”
“And I’m serious about the garage. If I’m going to change, maybe it’s time to change everything.”
“I’m serious too.” Danny shifted the van into gear and drove away.
15
Nathan navigated his pickup past his usual spot on the far side of the empty factory parking lot and took the space beside the only other car, Ronnie Mills’s old Buick, the same car he’d had when Nathan was in high school. True to his word, Ronnie would never ask anyone to show up on a weekend unless he did himself.
After turning the engine off, Nathan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it over and over in his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so long without hearing Jacob’s voice. He wanted to know how the sleepover at Luke’s went. Did they play Xbox all night? What was he thinking about today’s baseball game? The answers weren’t that important, but the conversation would be everything.
Even a simple phone call to say, “I love you.” Like that wouldn’t arouse suspicion in a twelve-year-old.
“Yeah, sure, Dad, thanks. Why did you call to tell me that?”
If he had broken down and bought Jacob that cell phone, he probably wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge. But knowing he would have to get through Matt or Colette stopped him. Even if they allowed him to talk to Jacob, a questionable outcome at best, the repercussions would be too great.
He stepped out into the cool morning air, shivering in his T-shirt against the breeze. He reached for his jacket before remembering he had left it at his house the day before. After a last glance at his phone—still no calls—he pocketed it and swiped his employee card through the electronic lock on the door. The lock popped, and he stepped into the darkened plant, the lone light shining from Ronnie’s office at the front of the building.
After punching his time card at the nearby clock, he walked across the cavernous floor to the boiler room, picking his way through the shadows. Using the keys hanging from his belt to unlock the door, he turned on the overhead lights and stared at the hulking structures. The operating panels were dark, an indication that Ronnie had powered them down when he’d arrived earlier.
Nathan gathered his tools and disassembled parts, stacking them neatly on the floor. As his mind concentrated on the task, he soon forgot his troubles and settled into the rhythm of work. Physical labor had always been that way for him. Moving. Working. Tinkering. All better than replaying troubles in his mind.
He didn’t hear Ronnie approach until he spoke.
“Good morning, Nathan.”
Turning in his crouched position, Nathan spied the Red Wing boots and blue work pants of the plant manager. “Morning. Got coffee in the thermos there if you want some.”
“Donna didn’t trust my coffee, huh? I don’t blame her.”
Nathan hesitated, not ready yet to explain all that had gone wrong since he had last seen Ronnie the previous day.
Before he could work up his nerve to start that conversation, Ronnie filled a cup with coffee and continued, “I’m listening for the FedEx truck. Even have a fork parked at the loading dock, ready to go. As soon as it gets here, I’ll bring you the parts.”
The need to confess seemed to have passed, so Nathan just muttered, “Great.”
Ronnie sipped the coffee, murmuring his approval. “So how was the afternoon off? Was Donna surprised? She okay with you being here this morning, or is she mad at me?”
Telling a boss was bad, but telling Ronnie was so much worse. Disappointing someone who’d raised him was a different level. “Very surprised. Had no clue I was coming. If she had known, she would’ve made sure Hank Saunders wasn’t in my bed.”
Ronnie jolted at the words, spilling coffee from his full cup. He brushed the spreading stain on his shirt. “Jesus, really? Hank Saunders?”
Nathan told him the whole story—the fight, the police, being arrested.
“You spent the night in jail? Why didn’t you call me for the bail money?”
“Danny bailed me out.”
“Yeah, guess he would know how that works.” Ronnie clucked. “Do you need a place to stay?”
“Slept on Danny’s couch.”
Ronnie sipped his coffee. “Your old room is available if you need it. We need to put clean sheets on the bed. More comfortable than Danny’s couch, and you would have a closet for your clothes. Especially if, well, if it will be longer than a few days.”
Nathan twirled the wrench in his hand. “It will be until I can find a new place to live or she moves out of the house. The marriage is over. I wish it wasn’t, but it sounded like the thing with Hank is more than we can fix.”
“I’m so sorry, Nathan. You don’t deserve that. So, what’s the next step?”
“Danny’s going over this morning to get my clothes and stuff and find out the temperature. She already lined up a divorce attorney, but there’s not much to fight over. My truck, her car, the house, and the crap in the house.”
“And Jacob.”
Nathan winced. “I will fight her to the end of the world over Jacob. I mean, your son, you’d do anything, right?”
Before Ronnie glanced away, his eyes watered. He sniffed and swallowed before nodding. “How’s Jacob handling it?”
“I don’t think they have told him yet. I can’t talk to him because they got a restraining order.”
“Ouch.” Ronnie slurped coffee, looking at Nathan over the cup. “Listen, son. Just leave it be now. Do nothing else. He deserved to get hit, but anything else makes you the bad guy. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean it.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” It felt like all those lectures in high school. Ronnie hadn’t just given Nathan a bed and food. He had treated him as firmly and fairly as he had his own son. Being an orphan didn’t give him any special favors in Ronnie’s eyes.
“Good. That’s settled.” Ronnie pushed off from the machinery. “Need anything else? You have a lawyer? How can I help?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll know more after talking to Danny at lunch.”
“Smart to let Danny do that. Don’t you try. Be cool for a few days. If he doesn’t get through to her, I’ll try.”
Nathan breathed deeply, steadying his voice before replying, “Thanks, Ronnie. I mean it. Not sure I could have handled you being mad at me.”
“You showed more restraint than I would have. Not sure how I would have reacted if someone had touched Nora.” Ronnie shrugged with a wry smile and started to walk away. He hesitated and turned back. “Look, Danny’s being a good friend. I know I’m harsh on him. It’s hard for me to look at him.”
“I understand, but he regrets that night. He would give anything to change what he did. You should give him a chance.”
“Someday. I just can’t yet,” Ronnie nodded and looked at the ground. “It’s good he’s letting you crash there, but his couch will get old. Remember the offer of your old room for as long as you need it.”
“I will. Maybe after tonight. I need to hear how things went with Donna.”
“Fair. The offer is open anytime.” Ronnie watched as Nathan busied himself breaking down the equipment. After a few moments, he turned and walked back across the dark plant floor to his office.
Nathan settled in to the repair work, his hands deftly handling tools. As promised, Ronnie brought the parts to him after they were delivered, and he offered to help, but Nathan declined and enjoyed the solitude of work. The machine slowly came back to life under the care of his talented hands.
Wiring, gears, pulleys—he had always had a natural talent with anything mechanical. Growing up, he grasped the most complex repairs with only basic instructio
ns from his mentors. The work always brought a sense of calm to him, shifting the rest of his mind into neutral while he concentrated on the complexity of the equipment. Time slipped easily through the morning before he heard Ronnie’s work boots echoing in their approach through the empty factory.
“How’s it coming?”
“Good.” Nathan’s voice was muffled from behind the boiler, tools clanking as he continued to work.
“Need a hand, or got it under control?” Ronnie asked.
Nathan appeared in the shadows, wiping his hands on a soiled cloth. “Just about wrapped up with all the connections and getting ready to run tests. All the new parts were good, so the repair has been straightforward. Unless I missed something, I should be done before eleven.”
“Good news. Thanks.”
“No worries. And I’ll get in early Monday to make sure all is humming before the suits get here.”
“I appreciate it.” Ronnie paused for a few seconds, glancing around the room. He stood and watched as the younger man finished checking the installation.
Nathan knew his boss wanted to say something more, but he could never rush the conversation. He returned to his work until he heard Ronnie clearing his throat to speak.
“Part of me hoped you wouldn’t show this morning.”
The sentence shocked Nathan, and he fumbled the wrench in his hand. It clanged to the floor, the echo reverberating off the walls. He stooped to pick it up and asked, “Why would you hope that?”
“I hoped you were the lucky one.”
Puzzled, Nathan said, “Help me out. What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard the news?”
“No clue.”
“Someone won the lottery.”
Nathan laughed. “Someone’s always winning the lottery, but it sure ain’t been me.”
“Maybe, but I never heard of someone from Millerton winning the big one.”
Nathan’s mouth gaped open. “Really? From here? The whole jackpot?”
“Yeah. According to the news, Abe sold the winning ticket, not even one of those corporate stores over at the interstate exit. Probably not some trucker or tourist if it came from Abe’s. It’s got to be a local.”
Nathan’s hand drifted toward the pocket of his jacket but found only his T-shirt. If only he had the winning ticket, he could afford the best lawyers in the world.
Don’t be a fool. The odds are crazy.
Out loud, he said, “I would be okay if a trucker with five kids at home who needs the money won.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” Ronnie said. “But it would be better if some local person won it. Anyone around here deserves it.”
Thinking of Hank, Nathan said, “Not quite anyone. But, yeah, I hope someone nice won it. And someone local would be cool. How much was it?”
“The TV was saying one hundred fifty-four million dollars. Can you imagine?”
“Yeah, but then there are the taxes, and it’s less for a lump sum and all.”
“I can’t feel sorry for somebody who has only fifty to sixty million after paying the taxes.”
Nathan laughed again. “Okay. You got me. I could scrape by on that. I would like to win a hundred bucks on one of those scratch-off cards just once.”
“I already checked my tickets. One of them won seven dollars. Might buy me a beer or two at Sammy’s.”
“Better than nothing.”
Ronnie stood in thought for a minute. “Doesn’t Abe get a big check from the state for selling the winner?”
“Yeah, I think he does. He deserves it.”
Nathan started powering up sections of the boiler system as Ronnie joined him, testing the repairs. They worked side by side in a comfortable silence. Once they were both satisfied everything looked good, they brought the system up. They sat back and listened to the hum, the well-tuned machinery purring along.
After Nathan packed up his tools and closed up his toolboxes, he turned back to Ronnie. “You’re more worried than normal about this meeting Monday. I can tell.”
The older man sat silently, contemplating his hands, before speaking, “Look, I trust you to keep this quiet. Word gets out, and people panic. They haven’t told me anything, but…”
“But what?”
“Chad and I submitted next year’s budget.”
“And?”
“Nothing. No questions. No revisions. No try agains. Nothing.”
“That’s different?”
“Very. Last year, we did twelve versions of the budget. Chad got so frustrated he told that weasel Wesley Gotham in accounting to just tell us what the numbers should be. It’s this crazy game you play every year where you are trying to guess what they want you to say, but they want to pretend you get to make your own budget.”
“And now… nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“And the weasel?”
“Hasn’t visited in months. None of the bean counters. They did some big financial analysis about three months ago, and I haven’t seen a single accountant since then. But lots of HR people have been here. The only thing you want to see less of than accountants—HR people. At least accountants don’t pretend to care. Those HR suits won’t look me in the eye, so you know it’s bad. And they keep huddling in our conference room with the door closed, on calls with corporate.”
Nathan sighed. “I’m sorry, Ronnie.”
“Yeah, me too. I keep hoping I’m wrong.”
“You aren’t. We have all known the plant closing was just a matter of time.”
“Yeah. Me too. I hope it will be longer. Some good people in here don’t deserve to be out of work.”
They studied each other before Nathan spoke, “We’ll be okay. Somehow.”
“You will be. You’re good. You can fix anything. Some people here, though, they don’t know how to do anything else. And I’m scared no one will give them a chance to learn anything else. Especially the older ones. That’s the part that sucks.”
“And you?”
The older man shrugged. “Who knows? Go fishing, I guess. Try not to get sick before Medicare kicks in. Best plan I’ve got.”
Nathan wanted to say something would come along, but they both would know it was a lie. And he respected Ronnie too much to lie to him.
Ronnie shrugged and continued, “Whenever they announce it, I will work for a few months, no matter what. They have to shut the place down, and that takes work. You and I will probably turn the lights out together. They need you to fix everything, and they need me because I know everything that’s broken. And they would rather have me here fixing it than out there telling the EPA where to look for the crap that would get them in trouble. That’s my big value. I know things they wish I didn’t.”
Ronnie paused again as he contemplated the younger man. “If something else comes up for you, take it. For Jacob. Just know you will have quite a few months, so don’t take something bad. Maybe you will end up making more money. Or open your own business.”
Nathan could only chuckle as the vision of the half-baked plan he and Danny had discussed flashed through his mind. Not even half-baked—just an idea. “My own business… right. No way I could afford to start a business. And no bank would loan me anything.”
“I’ve got some savings. I could help.” Ronnie pursed his lips. “Well, something good will happen. You deserve it.”
They stood in the silent darkness of the plant, lost in their memories of working in the vast structure. So many years of their lives were tied up in these machines. Thinking of the building sitting vacant was just too depressing, just another abandoned shell in an area filled with obsolete buildings, fading For Sale signs decorating the unkempt lots.
Ronnie sighed, staring off into the shadows of the idle plant. “Well, when you finish up, don’t punch out. Just leave your time card with me. I will punch you out so you get a full forty.”
“Thank you. It means a lot. I appreciate it.”
Ronnie shook his head. “
We should be paying you overtime, but at least I can make sure you get a full week.”
“No complaints here.”
Ronnie slapped him on the back. “I know. Thanks.” He walked away, the echo from his work boots disappearing in the distance.
16
With the boiler repairs complete and paperwork and timecard dropped on Ronnie’s desk, Nathan walked out of the factory into the warm midday sunshine, much as he had the day before. Rather than the lot being half full of other cars, only their two vehicles occupied spaces. And his thoughts were focused on divorce and the separation of lives, not flowers and candy.
He settled into the truck and rolled the windows down, letting the spring breeze chase the heat from the cab as he contemplated how much his world had shifted in the last day.
A glance at his phone showed no calls or texts, not even an indication from Danny whether the conversation with Donna had gone well or poorly—or if it had even happened at all.
But worse was the lack of a message from his son. He hadn’t left a voice mail sharing a funny story from the sleepover with Luke or even asking if he was coming to the game.
Nathan slid his fingers across the glass screen, reminding himself that Jacob not calling this morning was hardly surprising. He ached to call his son but knew he shouldn’t. He could hold out a little longer, at least another hour or two to hear Danny’s report before trying to call.
The clock on the screen showed 11:15, too early to head to Sammy’s Pub for lunch and wait for Danny’s arrival. If he hung out at the bar, he would be tempted to have a beer, which would lead to another beer and another, not that a few patrons wouldn’t already be bellied up to the bar. He couldn’t think of anytime he hadn’t seen at least one lonely soul nursing a drink at the bar.
But beer wouldn’t help him think. And whatever results Danny shared, Nathan would need to process it. Analyze it. Plan a strategy.
For now, he could only plan how to kill an hour of time. Going back to Danny’s trailer and sitting alone with Saturday-morning TV chatter rattling in the background had no appeal.
