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)
What’s happening here?
He plants his hands on the desk and looks right at me. “You are not coming in here and telling us how you’re going to save Skoolie’s.”
“Burt—”
“Because we are all going to try. Together.”
The room shrinks. The walls close in on the group of us as we stand silently in the shop office. The nasty orange smell subsides, and the acidity of the grease lessens. All I can think about are the people expecting me to respond . . . to that. To Burt’s words.
“You aren’t going to shoulder all of this,” he says, his voice gruff. “You always just take over like if you don’t do it, it won’t get done.”
“Well . . .” Well, that’s true.
He grins in a slightly cocky way. “We are capable, you know.”
I start to answer him but stop.
“Kirk put you in charge,” Burt says. “Smart move, if I’m being honest. You’re dependable and pretty quick on the computer. Customers seem to like ya too.”
Gee, thanks.
“We’re good with that because it’s the best answer to our current problem, and we all just want to save our jobs. Right?” he asks.
I nod warily.
“All we ask is that you trust us a little bit, all right? Give us shit to do, and then let us do it. Don’t go checking up on us or figuring we didn’t do it or haven’t done it and be ready to pounce.”
My world stops spinning.
He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, Burt is actually right. The guys over here, Burt included, are capable. And if I’m being honest, I do tend to do what he’s accusing me of.
I hope for the best, maybe, but I certainly anticipate the worst. My life has been filled with men who have let me down. Kirk aside. And I know that my knee-jerk reaction of expecting people to fail me—which I’ve unpacked in therapy over the course of my life—isn’t one I should apply to all people. And, as Ethan said, if a situation isn’t okay, I shouldn’t simply pretend it is. That’s something I can control.
Just because my father—and then Jared, then Charlie, and now even Cole—let me down every time I needed him doesn’t mean that everyone always will.
How many times in my life have I been let down because I expected it? How many people have been willing to help me, to hold me up, but I turn them down, not allowing them to help me before I even give them a chance?
I think about this as I stand in front of Burt. I know it’s true. Heck, it was even true with Cole. He had to break his way into my life . . . before he left it.
Forcing a swallow, I lift my chin. One thing at a time.
“You’re right,” I say, the words hot against my lips. “I’m sorry for not trusting you guys.”
“Wow. That worked,” Fred mutters, making them all laugh.
I look at him and smile. “I always knew you were a good egg, Fred. Don’t blow it.”
Their laughter gets louder, and I find myself surprisingly comfortable in their midst. Even Burt’s arms uncross for once.
“All right, then,” Burt says. “Let’s work together. You figure out what you need us to do, and we’ll get it done. You have our word.”
I blink back tears. “And you have mine. I’ll give you work and walk away. But if you don’t do it . . .”
They all laugh again.
“I’m kidding,” I say, relieved to have the pressure shifted off me. “Thank you, guys.”
“We want to save our jobs, too, you know,” Fred says. “I’m too old to find another one.”
“We’ll do our best,” I say. “That’s all we can do.”
They all nod and, slowly, begin to go back to their tasks. Within a few minutes, it’s just me and Burt alone in the office.
He comes around the corner and stands in front of me. Suddenly, he’s not quite as burly, not as rough as I usually paint him to be. Seeing him like this—a bit softer and a touch vulnerable—paints our previous interactions in a different light.
“I know we don’t always get along,” he says.
“That’s putting it nicely.”
He chuckles. “But that’s probably because we’re cut from the same cloth. Now, don’t get all violent about it,” he says as I start to protest. “I just mean we both like stuff done in our way and appreciate getting to call the shots. It helps us sleep at night.”
I can’t argue with that. It’s true.
Maybe Burt isn’t quite the jerk I had him pegged to be. Maybe he has a lot on his plate and a shop full of guys who rely on him, and maybe, just maybe, he’s doing the best he can.
Like me.
He starts to walk to the door, and I follow.
“You’ll hit an age, Palmer, when you realize that it’s not all about the job.” He holds the door open for me. “It’s about the people you work with. It’s about the freedom the job gives you to go home and enjoy your family because, believe it or not, my wife actually likes me. I think.”