ON MADE HIS WAY TOWARD the business district. The morn ing chill lay like a blanket over the still-sleepy city, masking the sunlight filtering upward from behind the snow-capped mountains to the east. His body tingled with exhilaration. His newly-won freedom, the fresh air in his nostrils—he was alive again.
Still, finding a job that would pay enough for food and rent wouldn’t be easy, especially without his commercial drivers license. The cement plant he’d worked for wouldn’t even consider rehiring him until his driving privileges were restored. Besides, he’d be back on the bottom rung, no seniority, no extra benefits. Yes, a new opportunity would be his best option.
At lunchtime he stopped by the job center and began filling out the pile of applications he was given. He didn’t have the money for lunch, and returning to Kate’s house was out of the question.
He read down the row of questions. Have you ever been convicted of a felony?
Don fidgeted and filled in “Yes.”
A bit further down the page: Do you have a current driver’s license?
“No.” It seemed all but hopeless. He stood, gathered up the papers, turned on his heels and strode out the door.
From behind a chain link fence halfway down the block, a red and blue sign, its lettering bordered in white, caught his attention. “Cobblecrete International, Inc.” it read.
He remembered pouring the foundation for their new building six or seven years earlier. In fact, he’d poured and worked concrete for them ten or 15 times over the years, back when they were still a small, struggling outfit. He’d watched them grow from a three-man service company to a large manufacturing plant.
He doubted the owner would remember him. But with nothing to lose, he pulled open the front door and stepped inside. No one was behind the counter—though a remote camera kept watch from a corner location to his right.
“Hello!” Don called out through the doorway that led into the back.
“We’re back here!” a pleasant voice replied.
Don worked his way toward the sound of the voice, past a copy room to where a woman in her mid-twenties sat. She wore a headset phone. Lights blinked on the switchboard in front of her. “Hold on, I’ll connect you.” She pushed a button and paused long enough to pop her gum. Then before reaching out to punch another of the flashing lights, glanced up, smiled, and mouthed the words, “Be right with you.”
Don smiled back. She seemed nice enough. Obviously a go-getter. Cute, but not necessarily sexy.
Don scanned the office. It appeared she was the only woman there. A dozen or so men, most with phones stuck to their ears, sat at other desks scattered about the room, taking orders and answering questions.
“He’s not in. Would you like his voice mail?” the woman asked. “One moment, I’ll connect you.” She transferred the call and turned to face Don—when the switchboard lit up again. She lifted her hand as if to say “enough already!”
“Hi, how are you?” she grinned. “Sorry you had to wait. We’re kind of shorthanded around here.”
Don shrugged. “I’m looking for a job, anything available?”
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out an application. “Here, fill this out and I’ll ask the boss.”
Don had heard the same line all day. He was tired, with at least an hour walk to get home. It was a few minutes past five. “I’ll fill it out and bring it back tomorrow.” Once more the phone rang, and the secretary picked it up as Don turned to leave. “Cobblecrete...one moment, I’ll connect you.” She hit the hold button. “Wait!” she called after him as he disappeared around the corner. Don stopped and stepped back into the room. She connected the call. “I mean it. Sit down and fill it out.” She tossed him a pen. “It’s okay. He won’t be back today.”
Don looked over the application. Name...address ...phone number— all the usual.
Education. “High school.”
Previous employers. Don penned in the most recent: “Ashrock, Inc. May 97-Feb. 99.”
“Cecily, I’m off.” A man in his mid-fifties, skin tanned and leathery from years of outdoor work, stepped out of the corner office. He glanced over at Don seated at the desk and, a bit surprised to see someone there, gave a cursory greeting.
“Hi, Ralph,” Don replied.
The man squinted his eyes. “I know you...but I don’t remember you,” he said to Don as he rentered his office. Cecily winked. Once inside, Ralph motioned to a seat, then reached for the application in Don’s hand. “Let me see that.” He began to read. In less than a minute he looked up. “If you drove for Ashrock, you have a CDL, the commercial driver’s license.”
“Actually, I don’t.” Don, briefly explained his situation. Ralph exhaled. Then after a phone call to Ashrock, he said, “I’ve got a job. It’s hot and dirty, pays seven-fifty an hour. We start at eight.” “I’ll take it.”
“Good, get the paperwork from Cecily on your way out. Good to have you aboard.”
Back outside Ralph’s office, Cecily, herself about ready to leave, was in a teasing mood. “I told you all you needed to do was fill out the papers.” This time her smile melted away a little of the heartache Don had built up over the past months. She turned, opened her drawer, removed a folder, and handed him an employment packet. It was nearing five-thirty as Don trudged down the long road leading from the plant. If he hustled, he’d make it home by six-fifteen.
Constructed in a heavy industrial area between the interstate and the railroad tracks, Cobblecrete’s main building was backed by several smaller businesses zigzagging their way to the freeway. Don kept his head down. The road was hard-packed base, so each time a car drove past, the dust billowed up, filling his mouth and nose.
Just as he reached the main road leading into town, another car— another dust-launcher!—pulled up from behind. Don stepped aside. Then “honk!” The driver hit the horn.
He swung around, about ready to clobber the jerk...Then he stopped short. There behind the wheel of a black, dust-coated Jeep sat Cecily.
“Scared you!” she laughed as she pulled alongside him.
“Nah,” he muttered.
“Yes, I did!” chirped her singsong voice. “Saw you jump.” It was almost a childlike tease, the way she hunched her shoulders and tipped her head back. “Say I did and I’ll give you a ride to make things better,” she pressed.
“Okay, you startled me.” Casting a last glance down the long, dusty road, Don climbed in. Then the Jeep, its doors off, its soft-top on, let out a roar. He buckled his seatbelt as its tires spun in the loose gravel, making tracks for the main road.
Cecily reached down and turned up the radio. “Do you always drive like this?” he shouted over the din.
“No. I’m taking it easy so I won’t scare you.” She flashed her seemingly constant grin and swatted at her short, blonde hair as it whipped about her well-tanned face. Slightly crooked teeth glinted white between full lips, high cheekbones and softly-tapered nose and chin. She was endowed with below-average-size breasts, and her hips and thighs were a little ample for Don’s taste.
Don, a little defensive, sat sullenly for most of the ride. He couldn’t help but press his foot to the floor when they screeched to a stop at an upcoming red light. Cecily broke the silence. “Where do you live?”
“Mapleton, Third and Apple.”
“The tree streets,” she yelled over the blast of the radio. But Don had long since decided not to compete with the noise.
They passed Christina’s school. As they sped past the apartment with the skinny landlord, Don noticed the moving van was gone. Minutes later, they turned onto Apple. “Third house on the left,” Don said, pointing. Cecily pulled up to the opposite curb and turned off the ignition. The music stopped.
Don unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out. “Thanks for the ride.” “Anytime.”
He could have left it at that—actually wanted it left there. But his curiosity got the best of him. “Why did you offer me a ride?” he blurted out.
Cecily’s reply was equally direct. “Because you needed one.” “No. I mean, I’m a stranger and you offered me a ride. Why?” “You’re not a stranger. You work for Ralph, he’s a really good judge of character. See you in the morning, seven-forty-five?” She started the Jeep.
“Seven-forty-five? I thought work started at eight?” “It does. We need to leave here by quarter ’til to be on time.” With that, the Jeep lurched from the curb. Don shook his head, amused. She’d just offered him a ride. And he didn’t have much say in it. Still, he was home early. It was only five-fifty, and he’d just been given some precious extra minutes to spend with his daughter.
Supper was ready when he walked in the door. Kate was incredible. It was a mystery how she managed to tend to her children, keep house, and still have time for a few hobbies. Her family was her life. “Someone needs to set the table,” she hollered.
Don smiled. “I’ll get it.”
Passing the study on his way to the dining room, Don could see that Danny was at the computer, still hard at it. He popped his head through the doorway. “Any luck?”
“It’s tough, but I think I almost have it.”
In the kitchen Don began to open cupboard doors, looking for the plates. “Left of the sink,” Kate called out without looking up from the salad she was making. A minute later, though, she drew near where Don was sorting silverware. “I got a call from the assistant principal at Brookside today,” she said. “You and Christina need to have a talk after supper. It’s nothing serious; something about a boy stealing the ball from her.”
Don nodded. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
Just then Don heard the garage door open and a car pull in. It was Alan, home from work. Don drew in a breath. He never felt as though Alan approved of him, though he was always cordial. A big man, light brown hair, heavy around the middle, Alan had never said anything to make Don believe he disliked him; it was just Alan’s general tone. Kind of standoffish. Once a bishop in his church, he strictly adhered to his religious beliefs; Don didn’t. Alan had made a lot of money; Don hadn’t. Don knew Kate wanted him and Christina in her home—and that Alan didn’t.
Kate’s voice derailed Don’s rather circuitous train of thought. “By the way, how was the job hunt?”
Don smiled and shared what had happened at Cobblecrete. She was delighted, of course. But he hoped she wouldn’t say anything to Alan. Seven-and-a-half bucks was barely more than minimum wage. Alan made 20 times that amount.
“Shiz,” Danny’s muffled voice came from the other room.
“I won’t hear that kind of talk in this home!” Alan yelled back.
Danny hadn’t known his father was home. “Sorry.”
“What’s for supper?” Alan asked. “Smells great.”
“Sour cream potatoes and teriyaki chicken.” Kate never used recipes, but seemed to always get things right.
Suddenly from the study came a yelp. “Woohoo! I got in!” Don made a move toward the room, but then deferred to Alan, whose face instantly had taken on a serious expression, one registering complete and utter disbelief.
Minutes later, gathered round the supper table, the conversation mostly centered around Danny’s successful security breach. Alan, still in shock, told how he’d recently paid tens of thousands of dollars to upgrade his system after the company had had problems with industrial espionage. Now he was eager to put the blame on the new system.
In contrast, more than anything, Danny just longed for his father’s approval.
Supper dishes finished, Don asked Christina if she’d like to take a walk. He wanted to get out of the house, spend some one-on-one time with her.
“Watch out for that maniac,” Kate cautioned as they wandered out the door and up the street, retracing their steps from that morning.
The last thing Don was worried about was someone hurting him or his daughter. No one could protect her like he could. Monica surely couldn’t. She had won custody during the divorce, even though she wasn’t a fit mother anymore. The only reason she kept Christina was for the child support. Then when Don went to jail, the support dried up. From what Kate knew, Don didn’t need to worry about Christina being taken back. At least not until he made a better living.
Don put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Tell me about the trouble at school.”
“Oops, I was hoping you wouldn’t hear.”
“Well?”
“My friends and I were playing foursquare and this boy, Tommy, kept taking the ball. I warned him three times, then when he did it again I went berserk. I—I chased him across the playground and...kinda beat him up. It was so embarrassing; he’s almost twice my size.”
“You beat him up?” Don half smiled—then his brow furrowed in worry that his daughter might have inherited her temper from him.
“Yeah...I made his lip bleed.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe he likes you?”
“That’s what my friends told me...“ Then she gazed up at the western sky and hurriedly changed the subject. “Look, Daddy,” she said, pointing at the sunset. “It’s beautiful.”
True, the sky was aglow in brilliant hues of orange, purple and red, with a blaze of sun rays stretching upward from a slender bank of clouds that hovered on the horizon. “A lady named Dr. Wendy came into our class today,” continued Christina. “She told us that Ashley is coming back and how we should treat her and stuff. I have another friend named Amber whose big brother and his dog saved her.”
Don tried to mirror her enthusiasm. “That sounds real neat....Just don’t beat up any more boys, got it?”
“Got it.”
Passing the newly rented apartment, they glanced over and through the window. There at the kitchen table sat the young couple, seemingly content. Lights on, all the blinds open, they could see the husband reading his newspaper, now and again pausing to speak to his wife.
The newspaper headlines still focused on the manhunt. But the young couple had moved to town from out of state and hadn’t heard of the all the commotion—just yet, that is.
As they moved on down the sidewalk, Don couldn’t help but ponder how distinct the upper-floor apartment was from that in the basement. How odd: every blind on the upper windows was shut, each drape drawn.
“He’s still at large,” Paul told his wife. “Seems the captain was nearly suspended without pay after the city council’s emergency meeting....The department sent the blood sample they found to Salt Lake for testing. It’ll take days to get back the results.”
The young bride was more concerned with things domestic. “How did you like the meal?” she asked.
“Real good....” he muttered. “....They found her on Fir—just a few blocks from here.”
Nancy lifted an ear toward the ceiling and listened. Someone was stirring around up there.
Paul didn’t seem to notice. When she brought it to his attention, he shrugged and said, “I don’t think this house has much insulation between floors.”
Seconds later, Nancy let out a soft sob. “I think I burned the corn.”
Again, Paul didn’t catch what she’d said.
“Did you notice?”
“It was good.”
At that, Nancy rose up, slid back her chair and cried, “You’re not even listening!” then stomped from the room.
Paul looked up from his paper, his face suddenly registering what he’d done. Here they were, finally in their own home after living with his parents for a few weeks, awaiting their move to Utah, and he’d all but ignored his new wife. And this had been the first meal she’d cooked for him alone.
“Nancy,” he called after her, following her into the bedroom, “I’m sorry, dear....”