Chapter Five
Clint
“How are things going?” Mark asked me. I glanced up from the computer in the office where I was doing some research on heavy equipment operation. I may have a mind for business, but my inner kid loved watching the big machines work.
“Good, I think,” I replied. I was a week into my new role and starting to get my feet under me.
This company was very different than what I was used to. My father, for all his faults, ran a tight ship. Mark hired two people for the same job then provided no instruction on what to do. Suddenly, he was standing over me, seeming to care. “Good, good. How’s your dad?”
The question gave me pause. Mark and I had gone to high school together…but that was over twenty years ago. When he had reached out after dad’s arrest, I had been beyond grateful. I was used to ulterior motives though, and now I was wondering if I had missed one. “He’s good, last I talked to him.”
“Good, that’s great to hear. He, uh, he’ll find a way to get out of the charges right?”
I shuffled my chair so I was facing him fully. His eyes were too wide for someone asking a casual question. “I mean, he was convicted. If there is an appeal in the works, I don’t know how he’s paying for it.”
“He’s a resourceful guy. He’ll find a way.”
I shrugged and turned back to the computer. It didn’t seem like he was asking me a question so much as reassuring himself.
“Don’t forget timesheets have to be signed off on and sent to payroll before you go today,” he said over his shoulder as he headed out the door.
Normally, I liked talking to Mark, but I was happy to see him go. Until I clued into what he said.
Jessie bustled through the door a minute later, no doubt heading home for the day.
“Did you know timesheets were due by the end of the day?”
She shook her head. Strands of her auburn hair had broken loose from her braid and they danced around her collarbones.
“Me, either.” I sighed and slumped in my chair. “Guess we’re staying late.”
Jessie put her lunch bag back on the counter and turned to face me. “Office stuff is your world, Dimples. You should have them done.”
I flushed a little red. She wasn’t wrong.
I was supposed to be here because I knew my shit.
Why didn’t I think to ask about something as important as timesheets?
Probably because I’d never lived paycheck to paycheck before and it was all done electronically at my old job.
“Mark didn’t train me at all. I have just been figuring shit out since I got here.
You at least have worked here long enough to know when payroll is due. ”
She blinked. I had been Mr. Agreeable up to this point and I don’t think she expected me to have a pair big enough to talk back. “Do you at least know how?” she asked.
“They will want us to have double checked that the hours recorded match the schedule. And that the total hours for all employees matches the budget. I can’t believe Mark only mentioned it now.”
She cursed under her breath. It was nice to have her pissed at someone besides me for once. “Let’s just get this done so we can get the hell out of here.” She grabbed an overstuffed file from the cabinet and tossed it on the table between us. We each grabbed a stack of time sheets and got to work.
Jessie sat next to me, watching as I did the first few before starting in on the pile in front of her. Her skin was sun warmed and smelled like some kind of coconut sunscreen. With the joint goal of getting everyone paid on time, we kept our heads down for the next hour and got the job done.
“That’s the last one,” I said, putting the stack of papers in the scanner and typing in the email address for the payroll department.
“I hope that’s the only task that sneaks up on us like that.”
I nodded in agreement. “Thanks for staying late and helping.”
Her face softened. “This is Mark’s fault. Besides, it’s my job, too.”
I nodded, enjoying the uneasy peace between the two of us. “To a job well done,” I said, holding out my hand.
She took it and shook. “Amen, let’s go home.”
******
“Incoming call from Sage Valley Correctional Center. To accept the charges say accept.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and dropped down onto my sagging couch. “Accept.” There was a series of beeps and clicks before my father’s voice came over the line.
“Hey, son. Haven’t seen you in awhile.” He attempted to lay the guilt trip as if he wasn’t the one who had blown up my life.
“Yeah, sorry.” I cursed myself for apologizing.
“It’s a bit of a drive to get to where you are and gas is expensive.
” An awkward silence hung between us. My father and I had always been close but with an undercurrent of expectation.
From what my mother had said, she was planning and plotting in the background to get him out of jail.
I was supposed to be doing the same. Instead I was trying to keep a roof over my head and food in my fridge.
“I don’t understand why you’re paying for an apartment and working that menial job. Why didn’t you call–”
“I called, dad. Everyone who I could think of, I called. I was kicked out of my house. My car was taken. I had some clothes and a few grand in the bank. That’s it. Mom managed to sweet talk her way into a friend maintaining her lifestyle, but I don’t have that luxury.”
My mother was staying with a friend of the family that I was pretty sure she was having an affair with. Every time she called she made it sound like things would be back to normal in no time.
I had mixed feelings about that.
The stress of this situation was awful, but I was finally out from under my family name.
“Don’t talk to me like you’re a victim here. I taught you to win. I taught you to survive–”
“That’s what I’m doing. It’s just harder to do when you do it honestly.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying more.
“Sorry, I’m under a lot of stress right now.”
He made a dismissive sound. “You’re under stress? At least you weren’t hauled off in handcuffs. You don’t have to shower in front of a bunch of convicts.”
I resisted the urge to remind him that he was, in fact, a convict, too. “How are you holding up?” I forced myself to soften my voice. He was my father after all.
“Horrible, to be honest. Don’t tell your mother that. It is absolutely miserable in here.” His voice was quieter now and a pang of sympathy went through my gut without my permission. Great, now I had to deal with my life being turned upside down and feel bad for the man who caused it.
“I’ll put some extra money in your commissary when I get paid.”
“Thanks. How’s Mark? He treating you well?”
My father had never paid attention to my friends before. Not when I was a kid, and as an adult only in what they could do to help us get ahead.
My gut sank at the idea that there was more going on than I knew.
“Fine. The job’s fine.”
“Good, good. Don’t forget that commissary money.” He said a hasty goodbye and hung up.