ON’S CLOCK READ SIX-THIRTY when he heard Alan get up and begin his morning ritual-shuffling from room to room, waking children, shaking cobwebs from their sleepy heads. Don knew the house would be a hornets’ nest before long. If he hurried, maybe he could grab a hot shower before the run on the bathrooms started. A half hour later he ate breakfast and helped wipe down the kitchen as the children started for the bus, packs on their backs, sack lunches in hand. Danny was still in full swagger as he left for school. Christina was one of the last to leave. “Bye, Daddy,” she said, picking up her lunch and planting a kiss on Don’s cheek.
“See you after work, Hon.” Don smiled as he watched her race toward the front door. Just then came a honk. “That must be my ride,” he breathed to himself, drying his hands on the towel hung by the sink. He turned to leave. “Thanks for everything, Kate.” Then he turned back a moment and gave her an affectionate pat on the arm. He really did appreciate all her help.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” she said, pushing the last bag across the counter.
“Thanks again!” He was a little surprised. He’d figured to go hungry a few days until he got a check.
Cecily honked the horn again as Don stepped out the front door. “No time to waste. Don’t wanna be late your first day,” she yelled over the blast of the radio. Don climbed into the Jeep.
What with the radio blaring, and wind, and traffic whizzing past— or, rather, Cecily whizzing past traffic—there wasn’t much talk until they pulled into Cobblecrete’s parking lot. Cecily gestured toward the back of the building. “We’ve never had a man last more than a few weeks in the powder shed,” she said. “We’ll see what you’re made of.”
“I’ve got it,” he said, a bit testily.
“Yeah, we’ll see!” She reached for the lunch bag in his hand, but caught part bag, part hand. She held on tightly. “If you’ll let go of your sack, I’ll put it in the fridge for you.”
In the lunch room she swiped her time card through the clock. “You’ll have to get a card from Parker later today. ’Til then, write your hours on this exception sheet,” she said, drumming her fingers on a sheet taped next to the time clock. “I’ll take you out and introduce you to Jeff, the plant manager.” She opened the door and waited for Don to finish writing the time on the sheet.
A rack of dirty safety glasses lined the wall just outside the plant door. “Better put some on. Shop rules.”
The clunky plastic lenses looked out of place on Cecily’s tanned face. The plant itself was a beehive of activity. Inside a glassed-in area off to one side, an older man was cutting with a saw. Cecily tapped him on the shoulder and cupped the other hand to her mouth to ward off the racket. “Rex, meet Don Rodriguez, our new powder man.” Rex shut off the saw, raised his bushy arms, and removed a set of ear plugs from beneath a dusty mop of white hair.
“What‘d you say?” he replied, slapping dust from his pants and hands.
“This is Don. He’s our new powder man,” she repeated.
Rex made one last sweep of his hand, then stuck it out at Don. “Nice to meet you, Don.” His handshake was firm yet sincere.
Don knew who Rex was—and hoped he hadn’t been recognized. “You too, Rex.”
“New powder man?” A sturdy, clean-cut man in his late twenties sauntered into the room.
“Yup, and ready to go to work,” Cecily said, swiveling back and forth on her heels. A subtle grimace formed on Don’s face; here she was, speaking for him like he was a little kid or something. “I’m Jeff Hardy.” The man shook hands vigorously.
With one parting shot, Cecily said, “Jeff’s the plant boss. Well, see you at lunch,” and she headed for the office.
Jeff motioned toward an open bay door that led outside. “Come with me.” They made their way to another, smaller building at the south end of the complex. Don noticed its overhead door was crooked and bent. The building itself was an arched steel structure, probably a World War II quonset hut. Its small warehouse was cluttered and disorganized. A layer of dust hugged every surface. “In the summer it’s at least a hundred and ten degrees in here,” Jeff said. “Areal sweat box. So you’ll probably want to start as early as you can.”
A large mixing machine sat in the back corner, accompanied by a mishmash of pallets stacked chest-high with bags of concrete mix. Empty buckets lined the west wall, and an army of broken pallets leaned more or less at attention along the back. A thermometer on the wall registered a comfortable sixty-five degrees. Don couldn’t imagine being in such a place on a blistering-hot day.
Jeff took another 15 minutes to instruct Don in how to operate the equipment. Don listened patiently, though a little practice was all he really needed. Then before leaving, Jeff handed over a respirator, a coarse, red-colored apron, and a clipboard, and flashed his new employee a sympathetic grin. “Here are the orders that need to be filled by noon.”
Don worked all morning, hoisting hundred-pound bags from pallets and dumping them into the mixer. He checked his watch occasionally to see how he was doing for time. The thermometer on the wall continued to rise as the morning passed.
“Rex Brandon,” Don thought as he muddled through the names of the employees he’d met. “I hope he never remembers who I am.”
Meanwhile, Paul and Nancy sat down to a late breakfast. They’d spent nearly the entire morning “making up” from their squabble the night before. His first class at the college didn’t start until noon. Besides, they were newlyweds. Sleeping in was something they hadn’t been able to enjoy at his parents’ home. It just didn’t feel right—“doing it” there in the bed of his youth. They’d both waited to have sex until they were married. Adherence to their religious beliefs had kept them “pure” for each other. They’d spent the last three weeks figuring it all out.
After breakfast Paul headed out for class. “If you need the car, you can drive me,” he said, giving her an affectionate kiss.
“No, I’ll finish unpacking and take you tomorrow.” She reached behind him and squeezed a handful of his buttocks.
Paul winked as he turned to climb the few steps leading up to the door. Nancy stood in the doorway watching him drive away.
“Good morning!” their landlord’s shrill voice startled her. “Off to a late start I see.” He raised a brow and looked her up and down.
Nancy, still dressed in a sheer nightgown, stepped back out of range of his gaze. She wondered how long he’d been there. “Good morning to you, too,” she muttered as she closed the door. He was a creepy little guy. He seemed nice enough, but she wasn’t sure she could trust him.
By noon, Don was eat-a-horse hungry and drop-dead weary. He removed his breathing mask and toweled the sweat from his brow. The thermometer on the wall read a bit over eighty degrees. Jeff wasn’t kidding about it being a sweat-box.
He stepped outside and ambled toward the main building. His clothing was soaked with sweat. The cool breeze felt good on his skin. The man at the shipping desk looked up as he passed. “You must be the new salesman,” he taunted.
“I’m the powder guy.”The shipper chuckled and shook his head. Don continued toward the restrooms. Plastered in powdered pigment, it was obvious he was the grunt worker.
Further down the hall, another employee picked up the banter. “You must be the powder guy....” he snorted. This time Don merely nodded.
When he reached the office door, Cecily stepped out. Seeing him, she, too, began to laugh. “Nice color,” she managed between giggles. “You’re decorated to the hilt!”
Don, in an attempt to elude her, reached for the door as Cecily regained her composure and stepped in his way. “You can’t go in the office like that,” she said firmly. “You need to use the shop restroom.”
Back behind a row of shelves, Don found the restroom door. His first gaze into the mirror surprised him. He was covered from head to foot with a rust-colored soot. No wonder everyone laughed, he thought to himself as he washed up.
Semi-clean—and by now ravenous—he found his way to the lunch room. “Everyone, listen up. This is Don Rodriguez,” announced Cecily after he’d retrieved his lunch and was about to take a seat. A small sea of faces turned in his direction.
“Hi,” Don nodded. “In case you’re wondering, I’m the new vice president of marketing.” The stab at himself succeeded in breaking the ice. Then he added, “I just haven’t been promoted yet”—and he found himself laughing along with them.
“Sit down and enjoy your lunch, Mr. Big Shot,” snorted Cecily. She slid out a chair next to her. Soon everyone was introduced. He did his best to remember names and faces.
“So where’d you work before?” Ryan, the shipper, asked. “Ashrock....”
Rex sat quietly off to one side, slowly chewing his lunch, which
consisted of a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and a banana. At sixty-five, he was Cobblecrete’s oldest employee. Had worked for Ralph more than 20 years. Now a bread-crumb smile creased his lips. Eyeing Don, he said, “I knew I’d seen you before. Used to work for Grangers, right?”
Don cringed. “I was hoping you didn’t recognize me.” “Why not?” replied Rex. “You were a good driver.” Don sensed that Rex wasn’t just talking to him, but carefully directed his remarks to everyone at the adjoining tables. “It was in the early days of the company. You always got out of the truck cab to help us, especially when we fell behind schedule. Your dad worked for the same outfit.” Don smiled over at Rex, but inside he felt a stab of pain—even though Rex hadn’t said a word about the accident.
Don shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe he forgot about it.
“How’s your dad these days?”
“He retired and moved to Idaho a few years ago,” Don replied. “He has cancer, you know.”
“No, I didn’t. Sorry.”
The next few minutes brought a smattering of small talk. Rex finished eating and stood to leave. “Glad to have you with us, Don.” Then he pivoted on one foot and walked from the room, a slight limp in his step. Hardly enough to notice, thought Don.
Cecily caught his attention just as the last few stragglers left the room. “What was that all about?”
Don hoped to dodge her question. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Don Rodriguez. I won’t tell anyone. What didn’t you tell us?” Cecily reached out and fastened onto his forearm.
An earlier victim of her vice-like grip, Don caved in. “Okay, okay. Did you notice his limp?”
“Yeah. He got hurt on the job several years—”
Don finished her sentence. “And it was me who ran over him!” He stared down at the table top, his fingernail scratching at the fake wood grain. He then slumped slightly forward and took in a breath. “It was my first week on the job. I was only eighteen, just two days out of training. Rex and the rest of Ralph’s crew were pouring the foundation of a home. Rex was kneeling on the ground, his back to me. I didn’t even see him. Drove my truck right onto his foot. It took a few seconds to figure out why everyone was yelling at me to back up. When I did, he was in serious pain. But he didn’t put the blame on me—in fact, he was more concerned about finishing the job. Even told the police that it was his fault for being in the way.”
“That sounds like Rex.”
“Well, the guys teased me for months. Whenever I showed up on the job they’d say, ‘Watch your feet!’ but Rex never once spoke badly about me.”
“We love the old man. He keeps telling Ralph he wants to retire. Ralph won’t let him—figures he wouldn’t live long. His wife died of cancer....three, four years ago. They’d been married since they were seventeen. Broke Rex’s heart. We’re Rex’s family now. His daughter lives in Florida, he only sees her once or twice a year. Keeps to himself pretty much, but I’m sure if you ever wanted to talk to him about your dad, he’d be a great listener.”
Don nodded. I just might do that, he thought.
Cecily stood. “I better get back to work.”
“Me, too. If I’m going to train for that V. P. job, I can’t be caught slacking.”
The thermometer registered ninety by the time he reached the powder shed. Don wasn’t sure if he could stand the heat and dirt. He’d rather be driving.
By four-thirty Don had filled all the orders, each stacked neatly in rows on pallets. He reported to Jeff, who shook his head. “You’re kidding. Are you sure?.... You finished the Northland order?” he quizzed, clearly pleased.
“Yes, and the three for Classic, too,” Don said, pointing them out on the list.
“You’re kidding,” Jeff repeated. “Do you know that you’ve done nearly twice the amount anyone else has done in a day? Oh, by the way, I was only joking when I said they had to be finished by noon.”
Jeff gave him a pat on the back. “Why don’t you clean up and take it easy ’til quitting time?”
Don went to the back restroom. The shop was dark and empty, except for the mold room where Rex was still working.
Don stopped to visit. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
Rex glanced up. “They start at seven and quit by four.”
“What time do you start?”
“I usually get in before seven.” Rex, head down, kept at his work.
“Then why are you still working?”
“Guess I lost track of time,” he said modestly. He’d made it a lifelong habit to work harder and longer than anyone else. And anyway,
he didn’t enjoy going home to an empty house, eating supper alone. Don decided to get it over with; get it off his chest once and for
all. “You remember what I did to you, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Rex replied, lifting his face from his work, “but that happened more than ten years ago. It was an accident and you were
young. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I see you still limp a bit. Does it hurt?”
“Not much. Only a little arthritis now and then.” Then Rex, satisfied that the subject was laid to rest, said, “Tell me about your dad.” “The doctors think he has a week or two. His wife doesn’t think
he’ll last more than a few days. Says he seems to have given up.”
Don’s words made it sound as if he’d come to grips with the imminent loss of his father. Rex knew better. Losing a loved one wasn’t
easy, no matter how prepared you were.
“Is he on medication?”
“They let him have his own morphine drip. At this stage the doctors don’t worry about addiction.”
Don hadn’t been close to his father when he was young. His parents had divorced when he was five. Afterwards, he went to live with
his mom. Then when he turned 18, his dad got him his first job driving a truck. He was the youngest driver in the fleet. The accident
with Rex could have cost him his job. He always thought it was because of his dad that he was able to keep it. Little did he know that
Rex had called the owner of the batch plant and asked him not to
punish the boy.
“I know, my wife died of cancer four years ago last month,” Rex
said solemnly.
“Cecily told me. I’m sorry.” Don wasn’t sure what else to say. Cecily poked her head in the doorway, the characteristic grin seemingly etched across her mouth. “Ready to go?”
Don glanced up at the clock. Five, already? The last minutes had
passed quickly. Rex seemed like such a mild-mannered person. Don
realized he could learn a lot from the old man, if given the chance.
On the drive home, Cecily left the radio off. “I saw you talkin’ to Rex. Nice guy, isn’t he?”
“He is. Sure is a mild-mannered sort. I seem to be just the opposite.”
Don knew when he let the part about his own personality slip that it would be a long ride home. Sure enough, Cecily began to pry.
For his part, Don tried not to say much. Instead, he let his mind review the past. Years of wild living; a temper that could heat up and boil over in an instant, just like his father’s. Then the questions hit him: Would his own life, like that of his dad’s, end early? Would anger be the cause of his death? Or would he be able to reign in his emotions in time? Maybe Rex could help. Don knew that if something didn’t change, if he kept going the way he was, he not only might snap, but he wouldn’t be able to keep his daughter.
Before he knew it, Cecily had pulled over to the curb. “See you tomorrow, Don Rodriguez.”
“Oh,” he said, surprised by her abruptness, “Thanks.” He got out.
He went through the garage door and removed his shoes before entering the house. Kate hardly recognized him as he came through the doorway. “Kate, I don’t know if you want me in the house with all this crud on me.”
She just smiled. “I do have seven children, Don. Tiptoe in the laundry room and put your dirty clothes in the empty washer. You can use Alan’s robe that’s folded on the dryer.”
“Thanks.” Don shuffled across the floor, leaving a trail of sock prints on the tile leading to the laundry room. He put on the robe and was headed toward the stairs, when the door clicked open from the garage and in stepped Alan.
Crap! Don froze. “Oh, hi, Alan,” he said sheepishly.
“Hi, Don,” Alan muttered dryly, his eyes unable to tear away from what Don was wearing.
Moments later, Kate, a wash rag in her hand, traipsed into where they stood. “Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted. He turned to her, stonefaced and tight-lipped, as Don plodded on up to his room.
Alan waited until he thought Don was out of earshot. “Why’s he in my robe?” he grumbled tersely.
“He was covered with dust,” explained Kate. “I had him change in the laundry room so he wouldn’t get the house dirty. It’s no big deal. I’ll wash it again tomorrow.”
Don stood just inside the bedroom door, straining to hear what was being said. Alan’s muffled voice, however, could not hide its intent. “How long will he be here?” he groused.
“Only a week or two more.” Kate was getting a little impatient with Alan’s complaints. “You could treat him a little kinder, you know.”
“I don’t like the example he’s setting for the children.”
Kate’s tone turned defensive. “He hasn’t done anything even remotely improper,” she snapped.
Suddenly the back door swung open. The arrival of children ended the conversation.
Don showered, thinking how important it was to find a place for them to live. He felt guilty for having to mooch off his ex-wife’s family, though he helped around the house as much as he could.
After the supper dishes were finished, Don and Christina went for their usual evening walk. He couldn’t dislodge from his mind the argument he’d overheard. He needed to find a place, now more than ever. But how he could afford the rent, much less pay a deposit and hook up utilities, he didn’t know.
“Ashley came back to school today,” Christina reported. “She seemed okay. She doesn’t say much, but she must have been pretty scared.”
Ashley...the 11-year-old girl from Christina’s grade school. The one who had been abducted shortly after moving with her mother from a neighboring town. Don shivered at the thought of his ‘Tina getting snatched like that.
“They’ll get him, won’t they?” she asked.
“Sure they will,” Don said confidently. “I hear they have the best police in the state, right here in Mapleton.”
“I don’t know if she’ll ever be the same,” she said sadly. “She’s afraid everyone is watching her.”
“How would you feel if you were in her shoes?”
“I don’t know. Pretty bad, I guess.”
They continued on up the street, hand in hand, talking, sharing the moment.