Earthly Worlds
Page 3
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Mr. Richards said.
What was he going to tell Liz? He had just spent half a week’s pay on Cassie’s birthday present. And now he was unemployed. A sick mix of guilt and worry churned into the anger building inside him.
“Well? Speak up!”
He chewed on several words, but only one emerged: “Why?”
“Because there have been complaints.”
“From who? When? What job?” He didn’t believe it, and his tone conveyed that.
“That’s none of your business.”
More protests joined those already threatening to spill out, but the futility of it stopped him again. This was so unfair, so unreasonable—like getting kicked out of school for a fight that never actually happened—there was no defense against it.
“There aren’t any complaints,” Stewart said. “You’re a liar.”
Mr. Richards’ face flushed all the way to his collar. “Now see here—”
“I do my job and I do it well. You’re a liar and an idiot.”
“Get out!” Mr. Richards’ voice went so shrill it hardly sounded human.
“I want my last check. Right now.”
“The hell with your last check! I’ll mail it to you.”
“You just took food out of my kids’ mouths. I’m walking out of here with my pay.” He kept his voice as even as he could. He was easily double Mr. Richards’ size. All he had to do to look scary was cross his arms tighter and loom.
Mr. Richards’ voice was as brittle as glass. “Fine.” His hands trembled, fumbled with a check register and a pen. He scribbled an unreadable scrawl, tore it off. Stewart snapped it out of his hand before he could hand it over. Then he spun and yanked the door open. Back straight. Eyes forward. Shoulders back. Like an innocent man headed toward the gallows.
“Dude.” Eddie stared, wide-eyed, mouth agape. “I heard the whole thing.”
Stewart stalked past him to the back where his truck was parked, the old wooden floor creaking under his tread.
Eddie followed him outside. “That sucks, man. A really crappy thing to do.”
Stewart fixed him with a look. “Good luck, Eddie.” Then he climbed into his truck and started the engine.
Chapter Three
In his truck, with the beautiful golden gift bag next to him, paused at a stoplight, he considered going back to the Cabinet of Curiosities and returning the dolls. He could go buy a cheap plastic doll at the dollar store and that would have to be good enough. But it was already too late in the day. The shop would be closed, and the first thing he had to do was cash this check. The final check. The end of his income. It was too late in the day for Mr. Richards to call the bank and void it, so Stewart headed for the nearest supermarket to cash it.
Afterward, the modest wad of cash in his pocket pressed against his thigh as he drove home. It was all the money he had left in the world, and it didn’t amount to much.
Neither did all the years he had worked for Mr. Richards.
All those years of yes, sir and no, sir and now, nothing. There was no rhyme or reason for it. If Stewart had botched a job or been a bad employee, that would be understandable, but not this. How could he have worked for someone all these years and have it suddenly vanish, poof! Like smoke. Had he missed the warning signs? Mr. Richards had never been a nice man, or a good boss for that matter, but the work was steady and his paychecks never bounced. Richards had shown glimpses of internal instability and insecurity, but he had never been so capricious. Stewart felt like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone just in time to get sucker-punched.
Tomorrow he had to return the dolls and try to get his money back. Cassie would never know. But the thought of giving back that beautiful pair of dolls made his heart ache. He kept imagining the adorable, gap-toothed grin spreading on her face like the sunrise when she saw them.
But in the meantime, he had to tell Liz. He had to figure out what to do. There was no time to grieve for the loss. His family didn’t have time for that. They had no savings. Liz’s part-time job at the day care would keep them in groceries for the short term, but he didn’t dare miss payments on the trailer and lot.
When he arrived home, he sat in the truck for a few minutes outside the trailer house that was older than he was, tamping down his anger. He didn’t want Liz to see how angry he was, how stricken. He wouldn’t miss the job—in fact part of him was breathing a sigh of relief at never having to go back there—but that didn’t stop him from feeling like a failure. He wasn’t even good enough for an idiot like Richards.
Eventually, Liz’s face appeared behind the screen door, looking for him.
She came outside with a concerned expression on her face, prompting him to get out of the truck. The sight of her buoyed his spirits. That look of concern confirmed that he would never be able to hide anything from her. “Everything okay?” she said. “You look like someone dropped a bomb on you.”
“I lost my job.”
Every implication of that simple statement flashed across her face in a handful of stunned seconds. She just stared at him. “Oh, baby.”
She threw her arms around him and pulled him close. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through. We always do. I can go full time at the day care for a while. Someone will hire you...”
He stopped listening and just held her. The warmth of her embrace suffused him, strengthened him, made him feel like a mountain that could weather anything. But words wouldn’t fix this.
Inside the house, Hunter and Cassie were arguing about whether all unicorns had horns or just males, like deer. Their argument came through the screen of their bedroom window.
When she finally stepped away, she said, “So what happened?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Richards lost his mind. Completely blindsided me. I made it to work on time. Every job went fine. I came back to the office, and he gave me the boot. He wouldn’t give me a reason.”
She scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Mrs. Rodriguez—god, her grandkids are so cute, but anyway—she told me that her nephew was applying for a job there.”
“Why would he get rid of his best guy to hire someone new?”
“Someone cheaper maybe. Mrs. Rodriguez’s sister and her family just came up from Mexico on the hush-hush. They’re probably undocumented. I’ll bet that old skinflint thinks he can train a new guy and pay him half what he pays you. Or less. Since the kid is undocumented, Richards can pay whatever he wants, and this kid with nowhere else to go won’t be able to complain or push back. Richards could never push you around.”
Stewart’s memory flashed back to the job application he had seen on Mr. Richards’ computer screen.
A few chunks of puzzle fell into place.
Liz burst into a tirade, “Rack-a-frackin’-angel-farts!”
Stewart couldn’t help but chuckle. Liz’s unique brand of profanity never failed to amuse him. When she was angry, she sounded like Yosemite Sam.
She sighed. “Well, let’s go and let the kids cheer you up. I’ll make a salad. You can grill some caveman burgers. After dinner, we’ll burn Richards in effigy.”
Just then, Stewart’s phone chimed. “Eddie” appeared on the cracked screen.
When Stewart answered, Eddie gave a long slow, “Duuuude.”
“No kidding,” Stewart said.
“That was a really raw deal, bro. Want to go out for a beer or something to soothe the wound?” Eddie said. When Stewart hesitated, he added, “My treat.”
“I don’t drink,” Stewart said.
“Well, you can drink club soda or something.”
Stewart didn’t feel like going out tonight, but maybe he could get a little more information out of Eddie. “How about you come over here and we’ll chill in the back yard?”
“Done.”
After he disconnected, Stewart told Liz, “Eddie is coming over.”
“So, have you decided what to tell the kids?” she said.
He shrugged. “The truth.�
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“Is that gold gift bag in there what I think it is?”
He nodded and sighed. “I got a matched pair of dolls. Kind of expensive, but they’re gorgeous. After what happened, I should take them back and get something cheaper.”
“Let me see!” Liz clapped her hands before her.
Stewart pulled the bag closer, checking the trailer windows for spying eyes.
Liz pulled one of the dolls out and gasped. “Oh, dear Lord, honey, they’re gorgeous!” Her eyes glowed in the evening light. She pulled out the second one and gasped again.
“Yeah, the shopkeeper told me they were a matched pair. He wouldn’t sell me just one.”
“Don’t you dare take these back!”
“Really?” he said, then he told her how much he’d paid for them.
She deflated a little at that. “You’re right. That’s a lot. But they’re so gorgeous. Oh, look at those sparkly dresses! And those eyes!” A sigh escaped her. “Cassie would so love these. But I see your point. It’s going to be mighty tough around here until you get a job. Maybe the shopkeeper would let you put them on layaway for Christmas or something, make a couple of payments after you find another job. I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Okay.” He stuffed the dolls back in the bag. “I’ll leave them in the truck until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sleep on it,” she said with another sigh. “So, are you ready to tell the kids? Plus, I made enchiladas.”
His mouth watered at the mere mention of Liz’s enchiladas. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Four
The moment Stewart walked into the house, the mouth-watering aroma of Liz’s enchiladas set his stomach roaring.
Cassie threw herself away from the kitchen table where she was coloring and flung herself against his leg. “Daddy!” She barely came to his waist, so he hoisted her up as lightly as if she were a doll and kissed her. She had her mother’s honey-gold hair, brown eyes, and button nose. She flashed him a gap-toothed grin. “Want to see my unicorn? It’s made of rainbows!”
He chuckled and said, “Sure.”
She slithered out of his arms and snatched the coloring book from the table, holding it up. On the page was indeed a unicorn made of rainbows, colored occasionally outside the lines, but with great flair and airy beauty. What struck him about it was that she got the order of the rainbow colors correct. The sight of it buoyed the heaviness of his heart.
She was turning eight in two days. Where had all that time gone? How had she gotten so big?
“Hey, Dad,” Hunter said, only barely looking up from his Ninja Turtles comic book. At ten years old, he was a skinny kid, genes he must also have gotten from his mother, because Stewart had always been the biggest kid of his age. His face, however, favored his father, with curly brown hair and an earnest brow.
How could he tell these kids their dad was a loser who just lost his job?
Might as well get it over with.
“Kids, I—”
“Daddy, Hunter says unicorns only have horns if they’re boys. But I think girl-icorns have horns, too.” Cassie looked up at him hopefully.
He rubbed his chin. This was an easier realm of thought than the mess built up inside him. “Well, sweetie, maybe you’re both right. Maybe there are different kinds of unicorns. With some kinds of deer, only the boys have horns. But with reindeer, like Santa’s, the girls have horns, too.”
Cassie spun on her brother. “See!”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Deer have antlers, Dad.” His withering tone was so over the top that it was clear he was teasing. But he was apparently willing to concede the argument to his sister so he could peacefully go back to his comic book.
Liz said, “It’s time for dinner, kids. Cassie, time to clean up your crayons. Hunter, set the table, please.”
Hunter sighed, mightily put-upon, but he put the comic book on the coffee table in the living room—because the trailer was small, it was a short trip from the living room to the kitchen—and opened up the kitchen cupboard for dishes.
The boy was so tall, he could reach the cupboards now. Maybe he would grow into his father’s height.
Stewart sighed. Why was he so afraid to broach the bad news? He didn’t want to spoil dinner.
As they all sat around the small kitchen table, the sounds of cutlery and chewing settled over them all. Everybody loved Liz’s enchiladas, even Hunter, who was a notoriously finicky eater. Liz kept glancing at Stewart, obviously wondering when he was going to drop the bomb.
It was an unusually quiet meal, as if the kids could sense something in the air. He waited until everyone was finished eating before he cleared his throat. He had never been one for preamble. “I lost my job today, kids.”
Both children stopped in mid-chew and stared at him.
Mouth still half-full, Cassie said, “You look sad, Daddy.”
“I am pretty sad, sweetie.”
Her face crumbled into sadness for him. “Don’t be sad!” she squeaked.
Hunter said, “So where are you going to work next?”
“I... I don’t know. I need to start looking for a job tomorrow.”
“What happened? Did your jerk boss have a tantrum?” Hunter asked.
“Hunter,” Liz said, “that’s no way to talk about people.”
Hunter shrugged. “You and Dad call him that all the time.”
Stewart said to Liz, “He’s got you there.” Then he sighed again. “I don’t know what happened, Hunter. He didn’t really give me a reason.” Mr. Richards had been Stewart’s boss for the entirety of the kids’ lives. He had always been some nebulous figure, something “known to exist,” like the bogeyman. Mr. Richards had never been one to socialize with his employees, so the kids had never met him.
“Maybe you can be a blacksmith now,” Cassie said hopefully, still on the verge of tears. “And you can make swords and armor and horseshoes and...”
Liz laid a hand on Cassie’s. “That’s a great idea, honey, but it’s not quite that simple.”
“Why not?”
Stewart said, “Because we need money now.”
Hunter sat up straighter. “But all the stuff you make is so cool!”
Stewart said, “No one around here to sell it to. Not too many sword collectors or knights in the middle of the desert.”
“What about the internet?” Hunter said. “People sell all kinds of stuff on the internet.”
They didn’t have internet access at home. Without a computer, there was little point. The kids knew all about the internet from school, but it was all way beyond Stewart. He would have been more comfortable living in an earlier century.
Stewart had certainly had the same ideas himself—getting a computer, setting up a website or selling page—but all that stuff cost money, and he couldn’t find the space in their finances to take such a risk. “It would take too long to set it up as a business before we started making any money.”
Liz said, “Maybe someday. Right, hon?” Her hopeful gaze and warm hand on his arm chipped a crack in his gloom.
“Maybe someday,” Stewart said. “But for now, I need to find a new job. I’ll start looking tomorrow.”
“It all depends on how things go, but there might be some changes around here for a while,” Liz said.
Cassie looked alarmed. “Like what?”
Stewart said, “Like Mom might have to work full time for a while. Which means I’ll have to take over the cooking.”
Hunter’s eyes bulged. “I hope you find a job fast!”
Cassie said, “You can wait to get me a birthday present until after you get another job.”
Stewart’s throat closed and his eyes misted. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Liz came to his rescue and hugged Cassie. “That’s very sweet, honey, but nothing for you to worry about. Your birthday is going to be epic.”
Cassie pumped a fist. “Epic!” But she still looked a little worried.
***
Eddie sat in an old lawn chair with a bottle of beer cradled in his lap. He had brought Stewart a six-pack of his favorite root beer. Stewart was not a drinker, didn’t like the taste of beer, so he appreciated the gesture. He didn’t know Eddie that well, but sadly Eddie was the closest thing Stewart had to a male friend.
Gauging the heat of the billet from its color, he pulled the long block of layered metal out of the forge, put it on the anvil and started beating on it with a hammer, drawing it out, each blow smashing it flatter and lengthening it at the same time. If all went well, in a few days the block of metal would be in the shape of a hunting knife.
Out here in the back yard lay a small pile of scrap metal and failed efforts. He always tried to reuse the metal from blades or objects that didn’t work out, reconfiguring them into something smaller, for instance, but that was not always possible. Out here in the back yard, under the tin-roofed shelter he’d erected to keep off the sun, surrounded by the tools of his hobby—the anvil, the grinding wheel, the workbench—he could let the worries of life wait until later. They would always be there. But here, shaping metal with his own hands, he could live in the moment.
Next door, perhaps a hundred yards down the road, the Collins’s orange grove was in full bloom, its fragrant blossoms filling their back yard with beautiful scent.
Stewart and Eddie had already spent several minutes complaining about Mr. Richards, fruitlessly speculating about what had happened and why, and had settled into simple companionship. The bottom line of the conversation was that Richards was simply a bad person, with only neuroses and greed contributing to the whys and wherefores of his actions.