“What kind of problem? Can’t Becky handle it? She needs to learn how to deal with administrative issues.”
I look at the book in my lap, pretend to read, and provide some semblance of respecting his privacy.
“That’s one of the problems. Becky just up and quit. Walked out and—”
“What! She did what? She was just texting me with questions. She’s only been with us for two weeks. What could have gone wrong?” He sighs heavily, pushing his hands against the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten.
“Yeah, she got called into Mark’s office; when she came out she cleaned off her desk and left.”
“You sure he didn’t he fire her?” He bangs his hand against the steering wheel.
“No from what I could hear, he just chewed her out. But we’ve got other problems.”
“Like what?” McRae’s tone is clipped.
My attention is drawn to his jaw and the popping of muscle that tells me he’s clenching and unclenching his teeth.
Hell with reading, I totally tune into this drama.
Two
“What other problems do we have?” The car accelerates and the energy in the truck shifts from curiosity to urgency, and the budding sexual tension gives way to anxiety. I close my book.
“That pilot the boss hired didn’t show up today,” the kid, Smitty, whispers.
Static comes across the line and for a second I wonder if the connection is lost until it sounds as if the phone is being fumbled. Muffled voices break through, and McRae groans. I’m sure he’s figured out what’s about to rain down on him.
“Brinn?” a man says, clearly holding the phone too close. Brinn’s name sounds garbled.
Vann looks at me over his shoulder and mouths, “His boss.”
“Dammit. What the fuck is going on here? You said you could handle this business. If you want any part of it, you’ll figure this out ASAP. How am I supposed to sell part of it to you when shit like this happens? Don’t fuck anything else up. You understand me? You are zero for two.” The words reverberate off the walls of the truck and blend together.
The rate of twitching in McRae’s jaw increases. I wonder if he counts to ten to calm himself or if his ability to yield easily comes naturally.
“Listen...” McRae says.
I admire that his voice is more resigned than pleading, as one might expect in an ass-chewing situation. The fumbling sound returns and the kid comes back on the line.
“It’s me,” Smitty says. “Just a second.” There’s a pause. “Ok, he’s gone.” Smitty breathes a sigh into the phone.
McRae glances at me in the mirror, and I’m unable to look away. I know I should but I just can’t, and it has nothing to do with those avocado-colored eyes.
His glance darts back to the road and he continues the conversation.
“We have Becky quitting and the pilot not showing up? Do you happen to know why not?”
“I called him, and he said no one provided any information after the big boss called and offered the job,” Smitty squeaks.
“Motherfu— Is that all, Smitty?”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing the pilot didn’t show up because no fuel’s been delivered yet and we don’t have enough for the lessons schedule today. Not that there’ll be any lessons, so there’s that.”
McRae groans. He leans back into the driver’s seat and tries to loosen the tension by shrugging his shoulders, but just as soon as he lets them relax, they tighten back up and the vein in his neck pops back out. Poor sap. If only he’d recognize there’s a different way to live. I give a silent thanks to whatever higher power or universal force helped me see the light when I did. Maybe this guy will catch a break too.
The conversation continues as the miles speed by. “Did you call the fuel company?”
“I did, they said nothing’s been scheduled and they won’t be able to get to us for another two days. I’m guessing you want me to start calling the students and canceling their appointments.”
“That sounds about right. Thanks, I appreciate you stepping up.” McRae thumps his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. At least he doesn’t take it out on the messenger.
“Brinn.” The timid voice comes across the speakers, and I sit up. The bottom is about to drop out, and I can’t help but bear witness.
“Judas Priest, what now?” McRae growls.
“Mel walked off the job. Said something about calling his union.”
I tap Vann’s shoulder and he mouths, “Mechanic.” With a nod, I sit back and wait. There’s no purpose in hiding my interest. I can smell potential legal issues a mile away, an inherited trait, and this train wreck is an ambulance chaser’s wet dream.
“Is that it or did the building burn down, too?” McRae’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if he ripped the wheel off the column and threw it out the window.
“Nope, that’s it. Anything special you want me to do?”
“Nah, just finish canceling the appointments. We should be there in about two hours.”
“Roger that, boss.” He disconnects the call.
Wow. Boss. Of what, I’m not sure. Today it must suck to be him.
“I told you that you were taking on too much.” Vann snaps the laptop cover closed and smiles smugly at his brother.
McRae punches him in the arm, causing Vann to flinch and rub the spot on his bicep that took the impact.
One simple interaction—a sentence from one sibling to another—and I’m left feeling a loneliness I’ve managed to push aside for the last two years. I was never close with Stuart but Will... I drop my eyes to my lap and remember how Will made everything wrong in my life right. It was Will who covered my back and got me through those terrible middle school years, who made me feel normal and not like a grade-skipping freak who had no business existing, much less messing up the grading curve.
The sound of a phone being dialed grabs my attention. Pushing aside the constant ache for what I’d lost seven years ago when Will left, I wait, dare I say excitedly, for the dumpster-fire drama happening before me to continue.
The call goes straight to an answering machine and at the beep, McRae starts in. “Mel, it’s Brinn. I just heard from the office that you walked out. I’d like to talk to you about it. I don’t think there’s anything that requires union involvement. I know you’ve been unhappy with the work schedule and—”
“Hello,” Mel says over the line.
“Mel, it’s Brinn.”
“Yeah, I know. Listen. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me change my mind. I’m gonna file a grievance.”
“For what?”
“My list is endless. Work place conditions, heck, it’s almost like harassment.” Except he says harassment like hair-s-ment.
“Harassment?” McRae looks at me in disbelief, as if I have any clue whether that statement’s valid or not.
“My wages are a disgrace; my last performance evaluation was a farce—”
“None of that’s harassment, Mel.”
“But it’s discrimination. Against an old man who’s close to retirement. You’re trying to chase me out instead of doing the right thing.”