“I, uh, I’ve got to check something.” Millie beat a retreat to the third truck in her row.
“Hi, Dillon,” Jeanie said, waving her hand. He flipped a lever and rolled to the next stack of crates. His total involvement in his work denied her presence. She waved anyway, and headed for Rosalie’s workplace.
Rosalie worked at an experimental childcare run by the State. Or was it nonprofit, with government funding? At any rate, it served children from foster homes, or neglectful homes. Parents attended as well, to learn how to play with their children. The concept startled Jeanie. Didn’t everyone know how to play with children? You made silly faces, rolled on the floor, tossed them in the air, and made darned sure you caught them as they fell. Apparently, not everyone knew the basics. Mackie hoped that Rosalie’s fractured maternal skills could get a boost by working here.
Rosalie stood by the window, picking dead leaves from a large potted plant.
“You see what I mean,” said Elizabeth to Jeanie. Elizabeth moved rapidly, cutting paper jack-o-lanterns out of construction paper. “Rosalie. The children are waiting for you. The paints, remember? And the plastic coveralls?”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Rosalie, the sunshine breaking out in her face. “Come on, kids, around the table.” She thumped two tubs of finger paints on the table and turned to get more from the cabinet, oblivious to the small hands reaching for disaster.
Elizabeth slapped the jack-o-lantern on a stack of black cats with unnecessary force. “Candy, help Rosalie out, would you?”
Candy lifted the paint tubs out of reach. She poured yellow paint into a small bowl, capped the tub, and reached for the green. Over her shoulder, she spoke to Rosalie. “Plastic tablecloth first. Now the coveralls.”
Rosalie enveloped the children with affection. The coveralls did not, in fact, “cover all,” especially when Rosalie arranged them.
“She’s gentle,” offered Elizabeth. “And kind. But she can’t concentrate.”
“She seems to like children,” Jeanie said.
“Oh yes, that’s the distressing part. I really had hopes— However, last week I left her with them while I took a phone call, and when I got back half of them were outside, and she hadn’t the least idea of it. She had a man in here, and was off giggling with him in a corner.”
“Do you know who he was?” Jeanie asked, aware of a sinking feeling. Dominic’s father? The one Daddy had chased off with a rifle? Or perhaps he was the mysterious Silvio.
“I didn’t even ask, I was so mad. I’ve never seen him before. She’s bright enough; she understands things when you tell her. But it never occurs to her, the things that can happen.”
Butterflies aren’t maternally inclined. “You don’t think, with a little more practice?”
Elizabeth began tracing witches. “It’s not going to work. Tell Mackie to find her another placement. She can finish out the week here, but that’s the end.”
Jeanie tried to think of a job somewhere, anywhere, which didn’t demand an attention span of more than five minutes. Nothing came to mind.
~*~
Brynna had been the devil to place. Retail establishments, service organizations, and government offices were prejudiced against abrasive people with sticky fingers. Mackie had pumped her fist in the air triumphantly when she nagged the nurseryman into accepting her. Work skills first, people skills later, said Mackie, and greenhouses held precious little temptation to a city girl, as long as she didn’t lay hands on marijuana seeds.
Brynna grumbled. She hated scrabbling in the dirt. Still, it got her out of Estelle Torrez’s clutches every morning. Brynna lived at Bright Futures, like Sorrel, and her expressed opinion of Estelle Torrez provided Jeanie with a unique education in current cuss-words.
Jeanie passed the first rank of greenhouses, looking for the geranium sign. Geraniums, said Mr. Harris, the owner, were less touchy than most other plants. Possibly, he had said with the weighty air of a man considering an expensive gift, Brynna might advance as far as begonias in time, although she wasn’t to depend upon this. Jeanie understood things like tulips and daffodils. Begonias were just the fuzzy things with reddish leaves. Nonetheless, Jeanie gave this pronouncement the hushed reverence it deserved. Mr. Harris had nodded, a benevolent Buddha bobbing over his round stomach.
A voice pitched well above soprano screeched from a building down in the row. This solved the question of Brynna’s location. Jeanie made a beeline for the shuddering greenhouse and opened the door. At the far end of the aisle stood a woman, quivering with outrage from the toes of her sensible shoes to the top of her dandelion fluff hair. Her plump cheeks flushed an unbecoming purple.
“...Flinging yourself at him, corrupting him! He’s far too good for the likes of you! Dragging yourself out of the gutter, and mucking—”
Long trays of plants ran down each side of the building, and again down the middle, leaving two aisles. At the opposite end, the shelves stopped short behind the combatants, leaving an alcove with workbenches, bags of potting soil, and high stacks of pots. Brynna stood with her back to the bench. The older woman barred her way, shaking a finger at her. She was either brave or exceedingly stupid.
“Jason’s a jerk,” growled Brynna. “That fuckin’ son of yours grabbed my ass. Lucky for him I didn’t kick him in the balls.”
The woman gasped. “My Jason would never demean himself by touching such a—such a—”
“Like hell. Get real, you bitch. He grabs everything with boobs.”
“My Jason has been raised on the strictest principles—”
“Hello-o-o,” sang Jeanie with apparent delight, as she trotted to the rescue. Although, come to think of it, which one of them actually needed rescuing? “You must be Laramie Cooper. So nice to meet you in person.”
The other woman favored her with a cold look. “My name is Mrs. Cooper. I have no idea who—”
“Mrs. Cooper, my name is Jeanie McCoy.” She seized Mrs. Cooper’s limp hand and pumped it up and down. “I’m Brynna’s, er, program leader for the day. I’ve come to see how she’s doing. Repotting geraniums, I believe, is that right, Brynna?”
“Yeah,” said Brynna. She plunged her hands into a huge bin of soil. Her intent, Jeanie decided, was not to plant geraniums.
One thing about Brynna, she certainly added liveliness to each and every day. Jeanie swung into place between them by the simple expedient of hanging onto Mrs. Cooper’s hand and pivoting her out of Brynna’s reach. Regrettably, this put Brynna back in Mrs. Cooper’s line of sight.
“You’re supposed to use gloves,” snapped Mrs. Cooper. “Not that you should be potting geraniums. Only the good Lord knows what you’d plant! I saw you with that bag this morning, girl, don’t you think I didn’t. When I—”
“I gather Brynna hasn’t worked with you before,” Jeanie broke in.
Mrs. Cooper swelled like a balloon. “I am not accustomed to being interrupted.”
“I can see that,” Jeanie said. “Don’t worry, it gets easier with practice. I’ve taught for thirty years.” Brynna snickered. She scooped dirt into a pot with unconvincing innocence, her battle plan suspended. “So, this is your first day with Brynna?”
“Yes, I was out for a week, and that ham-handed Alyssa—however, that’s neither here nor there. This, this girl has been supposedly working with my son, Jason, mixing fertilizers.” Her nostrils flared. “Until this morning. I went to get her, and discovered her plastered on my—”
“Jason’s a slime ball,” said Brynna. “Get your fuckin’ story right. He did the grabbing, not me. Think I’m going mess with a geek with bad breath and a sloppy mouth? Keep him, for God’s sake, I don’t want him.” She closed her hands over a large ceramic pot.
“That will be enough out of you, young woman,” shrieked Mrs. Cooper. “Decent conduct is a closed book to you, but let me tell you—”
“You’re not actually the greenhouse supervisor, though, are you?” asked Jeanie. A note in her voice pulled up Mrs. Coo
per in the midst of her rampage. “You’d be Brynna’s co-worker.”
“I hold a position of considerable responsibility.”
“In geraniums.” said Jeanie. She edged Mrs. Cooper away from Brynna’s large ceramic pot.
“And just what do you mean by that? Martha Washingtons are among this nation’s most treasured horticultural—”
“Exactly. Brynna? Why don’t you come with me? It appears that Mrs. Cooper doesn’t need your help with the Martha Washingtons. Let’s go talk to Mr. Harris.”
Brynna released the pot and stripped off her gardening apron. She headed down the other aisle. “Yeah.” She threw a final jab over her shoulder. “Maybe he can find me work in begonias.” The door shut smartly after her.
“Begonias?” said Mrs. Cooper, outraged. “That little snippet could never, not even possibly, why even I rarely—”
“I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Cooper. The most important thing to do is separate her from your son. I’m sure you agree. And since he’s mixing fertilizers in geraniums, she’s better off elsewhere. I’m sure Mr. Harris won’t put her in begonias. A nice hosta greenhouse, maybe.”
“Well, then,” said Mrs. Cooper, mollified. “Hostas, perhaps.”
“I gather you don’t work with hostas.”
“No, of course not.”
“Naturally not.” Jeanie retreated slowly, giving Brynna time to evacuate.
Mrs. Cooper followed her, brandishing a finger. “You don’t seem to realize the affront of that young woman’s presence, let alone the temptation to the morals of every man on the premises. Not all men are as gentlemanly as my son, when faced with a prostitute.”
“What makes you think she’s a prostitute?”
“Well, I, um . . .” Mrs. Cooper averted her gaze. “I happened to be in the office one day, when that girl was talking to Mr. Harris. Quite blunt she was, totally unashamed. Well, of course, when I finally had the opportunity, I decided to advise her, give her a helping hand, you know.”
“Ah,” said Jeanie, enlightened. “So your son, really—”
“Humph.” Mrs. Cooper straightened her shoulders in offense. “I was discreet, of course—”
“I beg your pardon?” said Jeanie, anger bubbling up from deep inside her. “That was discreet? Did you ask Jason what happened?”
“I didn’t need to ask him, it was obvious that hussy—” Mrs. Cooper stretched a shaking finger in the direction of the shut door.
“I’m afraid the term ‘hussy’ is outdated.” Jeanie paused as she opened the door. “Some messages work better than others. You can coat them in honey and chocolate, and ease the bitter taste with laughter. Or you can coat them in shards of glass, and force them down with a fire hose. Which message, do you suppose, will digest better? Good day to you. I’m sure you do wonderful work with plants.” Jeanie snapped her mouth shut before anything else escaped. She closed the door on Mrs. Cooper and bumped into Brynna. “Sorry, Brynna. Let’s go see Mr. Harris about a different placement.” Preferably several acres away from any man under sixty.
Brynna folded her arms across her chest, and marched alongside her. “Go ahead, say it!” Her voice shook with rage. “How I should be grateful for this job, and for that jackass back there pawing me. Check the greenhouses, damn it, like Harris does, looking for marijuana and mushrooms.”
Jeanie said nothing. Brynna jumped ahead a couple paces and whirled in front of her, throwing her fists down to her sides. “Go ahead, yell at me,” she screamed, “like everybody else. Do this, don’t do that, mind your tongue, and for God’s sake SMILE at the SOBs. Go on. Ask me what was in the fuckin’ bag I brought to work. You’re thinking it, aren’t you? Go ahead and say it.”
Jeanie looked at the convulsed face. If she really wanted to know what was in the bag, the last thing she’d do was ask Brynna. Tenderness swept over her, as it so often did at inconvenient moments. The silly girl. “Brynna, I wouldn’t know a hallucinogenic mushroom if it bit me on the nose. You have survived in a world that would have flattened me. I respect you, I even like you, and I wish to heaven you’d quit trying to pick fights with me.”
“Heaven? Heaven? What is it with you, Jeanie? Can’t you even cuss? Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?” Jeanie gave a short laugh. “You think I’m an idiot? Of course, I’m afraid of you. Of you, Sorrel, Tonio, Dillon, and all the people in your lives I’d shiver to meet. Look at this arm of mine. These muscles are made out of Play-Doh. Think I’m going fight? No way, girl. Is that what you’re after? Go ahead, Brynna, hit me. Pull out those claws of yours, and scratch.”
“Hit you?”
“Hit me, Brynna, or give it up, and decide you’re not going to.”
Brynna narrowed her eyes. “If I did, you’d report me to Torrez.”
“Give me a break, Brynna.” Jeanie couldn’t help laughing. “What do you expect out of me?”
Brynna grimaced and fell back to her side. Silently, they walked towards the main office. After a long moment, Brynna’s fists unclenched.
“It was makeup,” she said. “In the bag. Jeanie, you’re crazy.”
“Boy, tell me about it. Seems to me I’ve heard that about a thousand times in the last month.” Of course, it could have been makeup. But it probably wasn’t.
“Yeah.” Brynna gave her a sidelong glance. “Maybe you’re not a wimp after all.”
“Ha. Look at my hands shake!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jeanie shaded her eyes and applied Mackie’s rule of thumb to the construction site. Look for the large, muscled figure of Danny Rivera, and there would be Quinto jogging behind, with his hardhat, shining eyes, and endless stream of questions.
Danny waved. His grin made the world seem like a better place. “Hey, good to see you, Jeanie. Come to check out my guy, here?” Danny hauled a heavy cardboard box under one arm. “He’s a great young man, one of the best I’ve had. Never wears out on me halfway through the morning.”
“Soon’s I get my GED, I’m gonna come on full-time, ain’t I, Mr. Rivera?” The great brown eyes looked like Corrigan’s when he was hoping for a walk.
“We’ll see about that,” said Danny heartily. His eyes, meeting Jeanie’s, expressed some doubt. A subtle tilt of his head indicated a tall gray-haired man with a sheaf of papers. “We’ll have to see what Mr. Browning has to say, but I’d sure recommend him in a flash.”
“Quinto, don’t you already work full-time on Saturdays?”
“No, just a couple times, when they was behind, like they was last week,” said Quinto. He tensed and studied the ground between his feet.
That, she realized suddenly, was the day Bryce Wogan had been hurt. She hurried on, trying to ease his embarrassment. “So, what are you doing today, Quinto?”
“We been checking out the supplies of rebar. We got lots a them cinder blocks to go afore we get to the rafters. I been framing out windows, cross bracing, you know. Hey, let me show you something sharp. I just learned me this, just this morning, been working on it real good.” Quinto ran off to the trailer.
“So, what do you really think?” Jeanie asked Danny.
“Gotta love that enthusiasm. He’s got some good stuff in him, Quinto does. Not the brightest, but sometimes he surprises me.” Danny indicated Quinto jogging back, a loosely rolled sheet of paper tucked under an arm.
“See? Look, Jeanie. Them’s blueprints, see? They tells all there is to know about this building. There’s a cut-away, shows what it’s gonna look like, kind of three-D, you know.” Quinto threw his hand in front of his face, and framed the building between thumb and forefinger. “See? Just like that, ain’t it great? Then these marks here, they tell about stuff like the plumbing, and the inside walls. Look here, see? That there’s a support wall.” Quinto pointed to the drawing, and then to an empty space in the middle of the floor. Danny nodded approvingly as he scrawled his initials on Jeanie’s paper.
“It ain’t there yet, but it’s gotta go in before they get muc
h higher. Real important, Jeanie, ‘cause if it ain’t there? The whole second floor will come crashing down, soon’s they get the furniture on it. This stuff, this blueprint, it’s important. It’s like people live, or die, depending on if these guys done their pictures right. Ain’t that something?” Quinto shook his head. “And it’s all math, Jeanie. How come none of them teachers ever told me that? Math ain’t just counting apples and money. It’s people living or dying, and I never knowed it before, ‘til Mr. Rivera showed me this morning.”
Behind him, Danny said, “You stay here for a bit, Quinto, talk to your teacher. I’ll be up on the scaffold.”
Quinto turned instantly. “Hey, I’ll go with you, Jeanie don’t care.”
“No, no, in a minute or two, okay? She’s probably got questions to ask you, about me, how mean I am, stuff like that.” He gave Quinto a wink, and strode away.
“Damn, Jeanie, I hope I get to stay on, after the program.” His eyes tracked Danny. “You think I could?”
“I guess it depends on how well you do while you’re here.”
“Yeah, only that Mr. Browning, he don’t like me.”
“You said Mr. Wogan didn’t like you either, but Mr. Rivera said otherwise.”
Quinto turned the blueprints in his hands. “Well, yeah, but that was different. Mr. Wogan, guys like him, you got to prove yourself. Mr. Wogan, he kind of waits, watches you, and if you do good, he’s okay with you. This guy, though, this Mr. Browning, he watches me too, but it’s like he thinks I’m gonna do something. He probably thinks I did that pipe bomb, but that’s crazy. Wouldn’t catch me near no pipe bombs, I ain’t stupid. Guys get their hands blown off making them, just like Mr. Wogan got.” His face clouded. “Mr. Wogan, he liked the picture I drew him, of his truck. Mr. Rivera took it to him. It was hard, ‘cause they don’t let me near none of them trucks, and that one, it’s in for repairs, and besides, I couldn’t come to the site last week. But Mr. Rivera, he said I got it down good, dents and all. Mr. Wogan, he stuck it up on his hospital wall, so he must have liked it.”
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