Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Go. I need to get too.” I climb the steps toward my office and try not to dwell on the fact that Kirk won’t be here. “Have a good one.”
“Call me if you need me.”
I smile. “Thanks, Val.”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Bye.”
I open the door and intentionally don’t look into Kirk’s office. I just march to my desk and toss my keys on it. But when I turn around to grab coffee, my gaze lands across the room.
Kirk’s office is dark, almost haunting. I squeeze my eyes shut and remember his face as he met me at the door last night when I brought the casserole I’d made them.
God, please be with them.
I suck up my courage and grab my notepad. Then I head out the door again.
The walk to the shop is quick and muddy, and for some reason, I appreciate it. It would be wrong to feel this desolate on a pretty spring day. At least the universe is giving me that. It’s giving me an overcast, shitty day to wallow in my misery.
The shop goes quiet as I enter. The scents of orange hand soap and grease meet me well before the stares of the guys do. I overlook the mountain of invoices on Burt’s desk that should’ve been turned in last week and don’t say a word about Fred’s missing gas receipts from running parts last month. I just look at the gang of them and focus.
“Hey,” I say with as much authority as I can.
I’m met with a round of grumbles and mutterings that I can’t quite make out.
I practiced a speech on the way to work this morning before Val called. I gave a lot of thought about how to approach things and rally the troops, so to speak. But as I stand in front of my coworkers, all my preparations go by the wayside.
This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought it would be.
Looking back at me are seven men who seem as nervous as I feel. The robust, capable men have a thread of anxiety about them that fuels mine. I pick at the hem of my shirt and try to hold it together.
Burt stands, crossing his arms over his chest in his trademark style. I can’t read it. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“You guys . . .”
I lose sight of what I was going to say by the softness in their faces. What I see looking back at me isn’t just concern for Kirk and Charlotte or for our jobs. They have concern for me.
Puzzled and unsure how to process this, I bow my head and wipe my eyes as discreetly as I can.
Fred ambles around the corner of the desk in the same blue and black flannel that he wore every day last week. He looks at me for approval. When I give him the slightest nod, he pulls me into a tight embrace.
He smells like Old Spice and tobacco, exactly what I think a grandfather would smell like. It’s comforting and welcoming, and even though I told myself, promised myself, that I wouldn’t cry, I find myself sobbing softly into his chest.
“This stinks,” he whispers as he lets me go. “This really stinks, doesn’t it?”
I nod, wiping my nose with the sleeve of my shirt.
“We’ve been talking,” Burt says.
My insides flip-flop. “About what?”
He leans against his desk. Those big, burly arms of his flexing in the yellowish light. The others defer to him, their leader, as Fred makes his way back to his desk.
“Were you in here yesterday? In the office, I mean?” he asks.
“Yes. Ethan and I came by for a couple of hours after I went to Kirk’s. I took them a casserole,” I say, even though it’s none of their business. “Shamrock always sends their orders on Sundays for some stupid reason, and Kirk usually is here to get them. I was afraid no one would think about it.”
Burt almost smiles. Almost.
“What were you talking about before I got here?” I ask. “Me?”
He nods. “We were just saying how you’d be marching your ass in here and barking out orders as soon as you got to work. How you’ll come over and tell us some big plan you have to save this place.”
My jaw drops. He can’t be serious.
“You’re damn right,” I say, my tears drying up at his brisk attitude. “I do have a plan. We have to try to save Skoolie’s—not just for Kirk but for us. For our families. For the town.”
I pause, giving myself a second to rid my voice of the wobble that was starting to surface.
“If he decides to close the doors, there’s nothing we can do about that,” I say. “But we can try to make things so easy for him that he doesn’t want to.”
Burt does it. He smiles. It’s not an “Oh, go fuck yourself” kind of thing that I’ve seen from him before, but it almost has a hint of respect in it.