by Jan Smolders
Sonya showed a quick smile.
The door looked uneasy, framed from top to bottom by an inverted U-shaped band of paper showing a plethora of intense, bright colors.
“Our two budding artists chose them,” Mary explained, her eyes big.
“I wrote ‘HOME!’ on the top, Daddy,” Jimmy sounded very proud. “All by myself.”
Andy declared he did the “WELCOME!” and “DADDY!” on the sides.
“We used the big ladder,” Sonya said.
“And I ‘helped’ just a tiny little bit.” Mary laughed.
Inside, coffee and cake awaited Joe. Sonya served him as soon as he sat down, and then Mary, whom she admonished that she had to take five minutes of rest. “Sit next to Joe. He deserves a big kiss!” she quipped.
“Another one?” Mary shot back, laughing and nestled herself close to her man. She winked at Sonya.
The boys had patiently waited their turn and now wolfed down their cake.
“You see, I’ll have to go to the hospital more often,” Joe joked.
Mary sighed. Two weeks ago she had started collecting medical bills from her mailbox.
“When can you play soccer, Daddy?” Jimmy looked ready as he rubbed remnants of chocolate cream off his upper lip.
“Later,” Joe said. “Later I will. But not yet. Maybe I’ll go for hockey first. I brought my stick.” He showed his cane.
“Daddy!” Andy’s and Jimmy’s mutual tones of disapproval left no doubt they had trouble appreciating this type of humor.
Mary beamed. “Finally!” she said, her hands praying.
“No more trips to Cleveland,” Joe completed her sentence.
“No. At last I’ve got you back with me.”
“And more or less in one piece. I’ll toss that cane in no time. Just watch me.” He kissed her as the boys and Sonya looked on.
***
When Mary returned from school the next day, Joe told the kids they should go play outside and handed her an envelope. “I didn’t want to bother you at work,” he said, looking concerned. “From the School Board. I had to sign for receipt.”
“Oh, my God!” Mary leaned her head against his sturdy chest.
“You’re not going to read it?” he asked, sounding subdued. “I have. You’ve got until the end of the month. Then it’s…vacation.”
She shook her head. “I knew it was coming. I’m so sorry. All I try to do is be honest with myself to save our happiness and our lives.”
He nodded.
“I’ll find other work, Joe. I have two weeks.”
“Read it, Mary,” he said soothingly. “You’ll see you don’t have to blame yourself. It’s pure hardball, dirty business, lies and innuendo.”
She raced through the text, feeling Joe’s breath on her neck as he leaned over her shoulder from behind. His presence reassured her; she wasn’t going to be alone in this.
“… Many of your declarations, actions and demonstrated sympathies inside as well as outside the school have shown a lack of loyalty to the Noredge community and represent a significant impediment to the effective achievement of our educational goals….”
“So I’m a lousy teacher because I have an opinion. A correct one!” She was defiant.
Joe kissed her neck. “Read on. It gets worse.”
“Your active participation in the Sierra Club network; your involvement in the drafting of a petition harmful to the prosperity of Noredge; your scientifically unfounded public statements against an industry that brings employment to Noredge; your frequent—”
“Enough!” She started tearing up the single sheet.
“Don’t!” Joe shouted.
She stopped and looked back at him, holding the half-torn document.
“We’ll need this, Mary. We’ll sue the pants off the bastards for—”
She raised her hand to interrupt him. She wanted to say a scornful “Good luck with that,” but decided to just sigh. “We’re in trouble, Joe.”
“Sit down darling. I made coffee. We’ll manage.” He walked to the sitting room, his cane steadying him. She kept a watchful eye on her man.
“I haven’t wanted to scare you, Joe,” she said as they were both seated, “but we already have a pile of medical bills.”
He nodded. “One came today from Doctor Toro. I’ll have to check with Supren why we’re not fully covered for my accident. And I’ll have to do paperwork to get onto worker’s comp, I guess.”
“We owe more than four thousand, so far.”
“So now we’ll be well over five.” He pursed his lips.
They discussed their meager savings, the possible sale of their—her—house and cherished land, the necessity of two cars, Mary’s jewels—their emotional value much higher than the price they would fetch. There was also the remote possibility of a loan from her cash-poor parents. Needs were very immediate, debts higher than savings. She considered tutoring, temporarily working as a nanny, or another teaching job far enough away from Noredge. “My bad press!” She rolled her eyes. She started to apologize again to Joe, but he waved her off. “You and me, we’ll make it. And we’ll get our kids into colleges. Good ones. I learned first-hand why.”
She called Mayor Sanders.
“This isn’t my thing, and what happened…it’s not because of me, I can assure you.” That’s how the politician cut her off when she started voicing her surprise and distress over the letter she received from the School Board.
“But, Mr. Mayor, you have some influence—”
“I have none. I wish I had,” he stated firmly, although he had to realize she knew it was a flat-out lie.
“I thought you’d understand my situation with Joe and the kids, and the medical bills piling up. Would you mind explaining to the School Board that—”
“I think you understand, Miss Jenkins, that you haven’t made many friends in the right circles. If I may say so the chickens—”
“I get it.” She hung up.
“Heard him?” she asked Joe.
“Yeah. Fat Sanders chickening out.”
Minutes later her phone rang.
It was Frank. “I heard the big boy made it home! Congratulations. Is he out on the soccer field yet?”
“I’ll let him tell you, Frank.” She put the phone on conference and handed it to Joe.
“I heard you, buddy. Got to work off some belly fat!” Joe sounded enthused.
“And get rid of his cane!” Mary shouted. Then she shook her head: the little medicine bottle on the table rudely reminded her that Joe would never get off antibiotics. Milos had made that clear.
“Good going!” Frank paused. “I’ve got another love letter from dear Mike. Registered. He cut my severance by ninety percent to zip. They’ve paid ten. ‘Non-compliance with the articles of the agreement.’ You can figure which ones,” he laughed. He hadn’t sounded bitter. He had good job prospects and probably a sizable egg nest to boot.
“Yes, I can, Frank. Got my love letter too. Fired,” Mary said flatly. “Joined the club.” She didn’t mention their own meager savings.
“What? You? It’s Doyle, the bastard. I’ll….” He paused and lowered his voice. “I know what injustice this creep has inflicted on you guys. I’m with you. Call me anytime. For anything.”
She sighed, emotional and overwhelmed. “How kind of you, Frank. But we won’t bother you. We’ll manage, we think.”
“Don’t be bashful about asking for assistance, okay? Heard me? And I’ll keep plodding, digging into Mike’s business. Looking for his Achilles heel. May find more than one.”
“Not more than two,” Joe joked, shooting an encouraging glance at Mary.
She didn’t appreciate the banter. “Achilles heel?” she asked. “You think so?”
Frank chuckled. “Yes. No joke, Mary. Remember I said it. By th
e way, how about getting together, you guys, Joanna and me? Quietly. At your place? We’ll bring dinner. I’ll take care of it. Tomorrow night? Six-Six-thirty? Okay?”
“We’d both love that. You’re too much, Frank, but thanks. See you tomorrow.”
She clicked off.
Chapter 31
Two days after he found out about his wife’s affair with Mike Doyle, Vince got a call at the Beta site from Frank around four-thirty in the afternoon. The drilling proper had ended weeks before and the complicated completion work on the well was in full swing. The banging and clanging were still so loud that he had to shout. “Is it urgent?”
“Yeah. Kind of.” Frank sounded more intense than his words suggested.
“Give me half a minute. Call you back.” Vince headed for the parking lot, nervous, his strides long and fast. Maybe Frank already knows about Susan and Doyle. Maybe all of Noredge knows. When he reached his Explorer, he looked to his left while opening the door and noticed Doyle stepping away from his BMW about ten vehicles down the line and heading for the site.
In no mood to dignify his boss with even a single word, Vince dove into his SUV. He shut the door noiselessly, suppressed his reflexive impulse to start the engine and then called Frank. “Got to make this short. The elephant is hanging out here.”
“Oh. I see. Him. You sound a little short of breath. Did Hathi trumpet loudly as usual?”
“Hathi?”
Frank laughed. “Disney language. Or Kipling. One of my many silly habits.”
“Hmm.” Vince kept silent for a few seconds, looking to his left. Then he said, “I managed to stay out of his sight, for now. Afraid he’ll catch me when I get back to the van. I’m in my SUV.”
“Okay. You mean ‘my SUV!’”
“Yes. Thanks for breaking it in. What’s up?” Vince was in a hurry. He now realized that Doyle might be looking for him and make a scene about his absence.
“Sorry, you sound like you’ve got to run, the boss waiting. Nothing good I’m afraid. Something fishy’s going on with Beta. Trouble. Don’t know exactly what, but you’re the man at the site and Mike’s up to no good.”
“You know?”
“The grapevine.”
Vince was dumbfounded. “Huh? Grapevine? Who’s that?”
Frank said calmly, “Can’t tell you, Vince, but you should believe me. I’m trying to help you. Mike’s after you now, for Beta.”
“After me?” Susan dumped him. The jilted adulterer seeks revenge. Vince feared the worst but didn’t feel he had to level with Frank about personal matters. His cheekbones trembled but he forced himself to speak loud and indignantly. “How silly! I did just a couple days of the drilling here. The first days. Preparatory work. Mister Big took over, remember. He, Hathi himself banished me to Carrollton. Beta’s his baby.” He turned his head ninety degrees and stared at the busy site. A couple of crewmembers were gesturing playfully, apparently having a good time joking around.
“So what, Vince? You and me, we weren’t born yesterday, were we? You know Mike’s been lying like hell about the Alpha logs, right? On paper and on tape.” Frank sounded ominous.
“Yes.”
“So, would elephant Hathi have any problem lying about Beta? And screwing you? The man has no shame.”
“Everything was fine when he took me off Beta.” Vince was furious with Doyle and sadness over Susan inundated his heart again, waves of hurt hitting him.
“Something else—”
“Yes! Keep it short.” Vince shouted, irritated, convinced he was going to hear about Susan.
A pause followed. “I know you don’t want to confront him—”
“That’s my decision, isn’t it?” Vince snapped. He was close to the boiling point.
“Of course. But listen. I don’t believe that we know for sure what happened in Carrollton. How it happened.”
“Huh? Why?” His damn Carrollton again.
“Just my gut feeling buddy.”
Vince sighed, feeling listless. “Thank you, Frank. But I have enough on my plate already. I’d better go now.”
“I understand. No sweat. Just know I’m ready to back you up if you want me to.”
Vince felt empty after the call. His boss had to be waiting for him in the van, but he sat back a minute, took a drink of water and fiddled with his iPhone. To hell with Doyle. He temporarily forced himself to forget he had to hurry. He had to let it all sink in. Think. A few minutes longer.
Should he make peace with Susan after a weekend of bitter arguing, explaining, reproaching? Wednesday night had been his only one on the couch, but in bed they had avoided touching. Breakfasts had been painful affairs, conversations limited to the strictest necessities. When he came home yesterday evening he found her on the couch, a People magazine in her hands, her eyes swollen.
By now he had given their relationship a lot of thought, envisioned all kinds of scenarios for life without her. None came even remotely close to making peace with her. He was ready to wipe the slate.
When he arrived in the control van Henry, the young IT wizard, shot him a strange glance. “Vince,” he said after a cough, “I’m sorry. Mr. Doyle stormed in here ten minutes ago. I don’t know what’s going on but he wanted me to block all access to the logs.”
“The logs? We have to halt operations?”
“The drilling logs. Only. No access to them, for nobody, for the next three weeks. Except for him. He shouted his orders and ran out. I already changed the passwords.” He shook his head and opened both palms.
Vince stared at him. “Did he ask for me?”
“Nope. He was in too much of a hurry to get out of here.” Henry seemed to suppress an eye roll.
Vince tried not to frown. “Oh. I see.”
“You see?”
“I think so. Never mind.” He walked out and strode back to his car, convinced Doyle was ready to somehow make him into a scapegoat.
Upon his return from Carrollton to the Beta site at Harriet’s, Vince had noticed that Doyle had worked at remarkably high speed: during the drilling process Doyle had used very limited time between drilling successive portions of the well—much less time than considered safe by most experts.
After drilling each portion of the well cement had to be applied, between pipe and soil, and it needed enough time to set. The time spans Doyle had allowed for setting were extremely short. That was a risk neither Vince nor most experts ever would have taken.
Had Doyle applied a special new technique or a secret new cement composition? Vince hadn’t commented, afraid to insult the boss, but he now feared the man might have created Noredge’s water problem.
“Why did he rush things like that? Why such dangerous haste?” Vince wondered in disbelief, talking to himself as he drove home. “Just to get another feather in his hat? Or an even fatter bonus check?”
He shrugged and didn’t bother to answer his own questions. “Screw Doyle. Screw Supren!” he mumbled. “I have a life too. I’m going after him. He’s toast!”
He parked his car in the garage, next to Susan’s little Chrysler, and opened the door into the kitchen.
He found Susan on the couch in the sitting room. She had been crying again. Tears were something he always had trouble dealing with. He looked away.
“What’s wrong, Vince?” she asked, sounding subdued. “I mean, you’re early,” she quickly added as she stood up. “And…relaxed.”
Her words surprised him. He supposed he had talked himself into a better mood during his short ride home. He had even caught himself whistling. Letting it all hang out, saying “to hell with the creep” apparently had worked wonders for his mind. But, at the top of his list of remedies, he had discovered a miracle drug: revenge. Frank had set him on the path and Henry, the IT guy, had put him in motion. Vince was going to go for it. “Beta,” he had kept repeating. “Goin
g for broke.”
He was ready to straighten out matters with his wife. “Let’s talk, Susan.” He spoke softly.
Slowly rocking her head, she put her hand on his waist and buried her head in his shoulder. “Will you forgive me, Vince? I want to live the rest of my life with you. No one else, ever.”
It was the fifth or sixth time she had told him that. He had refused to give her a clear answer, doubting her loyalty. This time he wanted to forgive, even if she hadn’t asked. “You’re my wife, Susan, and my love,” he whispered.
“Oh! Thank you, Vince. I love you so much.” She smothered him with kisses.
His tears flowed as freely as hers. “I forgive you, but not that bastard who got your precious head spinning. I’ll kill him.” He had spoken his threat almost inaudibly.
She jerked her head back, eyes wide. “Don’t hurt him. You’ll go to jail.”
“No, no. Just a way of speaking. But he’ll pay! I’ll sue the pants off him. For sexual harassment!” He immediately realized she wasn’t an employee of Doyle’s. “No,” he added, “for much worse.” He pulled her toward him and embraced her.
They kissed and whispered sweet words.
“I’m ready, Vince.” She squeezed him harder.
“To sue?”
She shook his body. “For you.”
“Me too. But I’ll need a shower.”
He let the water wash away his aches and pains; as he bowed his head and let the pulsating waves hit his neck, he felt his anger toward his wife rush down through his body, form a vortex at the drain and spool downward, spiraling away into the past.
***
Late in the evening, Mike Doyle felt a vibration on his left leg as he lay on his couch browsing through the Wall Street Journal. He looked at his watch. Ten p.m. Some people are shameless. He dropped his paper and reached into his pocket. Dave Broderick. Doyle was in no shape, and had no desire, to get into an uncomfortable conversation.
Two minutes later he checked his voicemail.
“Mike, wherever you are, this is getting out of hand.” Dave sounded exasperated. “We’re friends, and I deserve better from you. No need to tell you what I mean. I look like a fool. This methane stuff got to Don before I’d heard about it from you. It’s been going on for days, it seems, but I haven’t heard shit from you. Call me back. I fear Don’s going to go after you. And me. I was dumb enough to stick my neck out for you.”