By the time Monday morning comes, the girls are bouncing with excitement. Despite the early hour, I don’t have to push them to get ready. They’re all waiting by the front door, backpacks slung across their shoulders, sweaters and sneakers on, big smiles plastered on their faces ten minutes before our scheduled departure time. Apparently, miracles do happen.
I text Ellie and get her to meet us next to her car so we can transfer the booster seats. When we pull up in her building’s parking lot, she’s leaning against the hood of her silver Jetta in the sunshine and I’m hit with a nice shot of well-being at the sight of her. Even if I’m practically an afterthought to her enthusiastic greetings for the girls, I relish the feel of her lips on mine.
“Morning,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Morning.” I give myself about a five second window to savor her with our foreheads pressed together before I pull away. “Do you have your keys? I’ll pull the car forward to get the boosters in.”
She hands them over and then gives her full attention to the girls. I unlock the car and get in. Looking around, I can’t help but shake my head at the mess, and it’s got a gym-sock smell to it that kicks my mild OCD into overdrive. Ignoring the urge to take the day off work to scrub her car down from top to bottom, I start it up. For a car that’s ten years old, it doesn’t have very many miles on it, but when the check engine light doesn’t disappear, I frown.
I pull forward and get out.
“How long’s the check engine light been on?” I ask her as I start pulling the seats from my truck.
Her shoulder ticks up. “A while.”
Irritation wiggles in my gut at her blasé attitude. “Don’t you think you should get that checked out?”
She laughs as she re-twists the elastic at the end of Daniela’s braid. “I can barely afford to put gas in it,” she says as if that explains everything. And I suppose she has a point even if it has me gritting my teeth.
With the seats in place, I re-park Ellie’s car and notice what the glowing yellow icon on the dash distracted me from the first time around; she’s got less than an eighth of a tank of gas.
I hug the girls goodbye, give them the standard warning to behave themselves and then turn to Ellie. “Call if you need anything, okay?” I say, pulling out my wallet and handing her forty bucks. “And fill up the car.”
Cue the stubborn mule glint in her eyes. “I’m not taking your money, Scott.”
If she thinks she’s the only one who can play hardball, she’s mistaken. “I’m not going to risk you running out of gas with the girls in the car. Take the money.”
Shit, now she’s horrified. I didn’t mean to freak her out, but I can’t have her driving all over the city on fumes. Still, she hesitates, so I push the money into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Carmen, can you remind Ellie to get gas later, please?”
Ellie squints, telling me I’ll probably pay for that later. Don’t care. Keeping all four of them safe is more important. If she doesn’t like that, she can kiss my Latino ass.
“Fine,” she huffs. “But I’ll pay you back.”
“Fine,” I huff back, leaning in to kiss her good bye. “Have a good day.”
Her icy demeanor melts slightly. “You too. But don’t think we’re not going to talk about this.”
“I look forward to it.” Squeezing her hand, I’m about to leave when I remember the girls have homework that still needs doing. “Can I ask a favor? They’re supposed to work on some school-wide project. Can you help them out with that a little? Please?”
There we go, icy demeanor gone. “Of course,” she says, “I’d love to help. Right, girls?”
“Right!” they all chirp back.
“Okay, I’ll pick them up around five/five fifteen.”
Driving away, I briefly watch them in the rear-view mirror, the girls following Ellie back inside like little ducks all in a row. Oddly enough, instead of dread at leaving them with her for the first time, I feel almost nothing but confidence.
My usual Monday morning meeting with my boss, Dean, goes smoothly. And then when I arrive on-site, I find my right hand guy, Thomas, has everything in hand. It goes a long way to helping me through the morning. Yes, I may glance at my phone a few times to make sure I haven’t missed any calls, but I’m chill.
I stay on-site to eat my lunch and fill out the paperwork for payroll hours. When I’m finished, I finally give in to the urge to check on them.
Scott: Everything going ok?
It takes about 7 minutes, 45 seconds to get a reply. Not that I’m keeping track or anything.
Opal: All good. We’re about to leave the public library. Heading over to my parents to have lunch and go swimming now.
The library?
Scott: Ok. Have fun. Love u
Opal: love you too
I’m idly wondering if Ellie would ever admit to things not being as peachy as she makes them sound when the guys start wandering back in from their lunch break. Doing a mental headcount, I come up two short. I almost groan aloud when I realize who’s missing; Jorgie, that lazy ass, and his new pal and my long-time pain in the ass, Harrison.
“Hey, boss, you smell that?”
I’m about to deny smelling anything when I get a good whiff of the unmistakable odor of pot. My heart plummets. He wouldn’t, would he? Jorgie can’t be that stupid. No one’s that stupid.
I follow a bunch of the guys up to the second level of this massive house we’re working on. In the far corner, on what will be the master bedroom’s balcony, Jorgie’s lack of all sense becomes official. For almost a minute, half the crew and I watch the two of them pass a joint back and forth before they even notice us.
From his perch on a stack of two-by-fours, Jorgie smiles. “What’s going on, guys?” he asks affably, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Well, right now, he probably doesn’t.
Pushing out a heavy sigh, I hang my head, hating what has to come next. Somehow, I say it calmly and firmly. “I’m going to need you to clear off the site immediately.”
“Relax, Scotty,” Jorgie intones, blowing out smoke and then trying to pass the joint back to Harrison. But Harrison seems to have a better grasp on the severity of the situation because he refuses to take it.
“The final decision rests with the head office,” I go on tightly, “but the policy is clear. No intoxicants on the job. Period.”
“What?” Jorgie sputters, laughing now. “This shit is legally available at the shop on the corner, Scotty.”
He and I both know he didn’t get it legally on the corner, but that’s beside the point. Plus, his use of my nickname is beginning to eat away at my self-control. “Get your things together and go.”
Harrison finally finds his voice. “You can’t do that, Scotty.”
“Dude,” Thomas says scornfully. “We all saw it. You’re so done.”
“Okay,” I say, rubbing my hand across my jaw, ignoring the wobble in my stomach. “Show’s over. Let’s get back to work.”
The guys and I file back downstairs. A few minutes later, Jorgie and Harrison follow, but do they leave quietly? No. They argue until I have to threaten to call the cops to have them removed, making me feel even more like shit. No matter what Jorgie’s done, I don’t think I’d actually be able to go through with it. I already feel like a traitor of the worst kind.