Shylah on the other hand, was all aflutter with the news that she received about the baby. She learned that her baby had doubled in size in only a week, now a half of an inch long, that it had begun to develop hands and feet, its brain was developing well, and that its liver should be functioning well and distributing red blood cells throughout the body until its bone marrow could take over that job. It was all new to Shylah but too exciting for words. She felt as though she had been somehow pulled into the air to float around and watch everything from above. It all seemed a tremendous miracle and the most wonderful things that she had ever heard, save that Mark would be alright after the incident with Sara.
The entire way home, Shylah wondered if Mark would be just as excited or if he would continue to ignore her. She hoped that he would find the same joy in it all as she had. Surely, he could not remain calm and uncaring about the development of his first and possibly only child he would ever have, Shylah told herself. When she got home and relayed it all to Mark, he displayed his first real excitement since coming home from the hospital but quickly interrupted the joyous occasion to tell of his own appointment and to complain about it all.
Shylah was beside herself. She loved Mark so much that it felt as though it hurt, as if she could not possibly love him more. She wanted to be with him for all of time and eternity, but she wanted that to be with Mark showing as much happiness and affection as she showed for him. She reminded herself over and over that Mark was not the type to act as he had been, that his behavior was all the result of his predicament and that he should be shown complete sympathy.
Shylah attempted to take her mind off of Mark's general disdain by making plans for both Mark's birthday and their wedding. There were now only five days until Mark's birthday, October eighth, and only roughly two and a half months until Shylah hoped they would exchange vows. Shylah decided that she would take Mark's advice after all and finally hire a wedding planner. It would make things so much easier with so much going on and with the resultant stress that all of the badness in their lives kept bringing for both of them.
Shylah thought that, perhaps, her mother's involvement in the planning of both big events would not only help things come along more smoothly but that they would keep herself even busier and more apt to keep from snapping at Mark. Shylah began to wish that Mark had the ability to go to the plant, at least, a few days per week. It would give them time away from one another and hopefully, make Mark more appreciative of his home life. Ironically, Mark had been thinking much the same. He realized, on occasion, that he was not treating Shylah as he should or as he wanted to, but every time that he realized this, Shylah was nowhere near him or he immediately went back to thinking about how horrible his physical wellbeing truly was.
Unable to take the thought of staying home all the time any longer, Mark worked it out with T.L. that they should begin going to the plant together, every other day, to check on things and to start planning new manufacturing areas, how many new employees to hire, who to make foremen/forewomen, if hours should be increased and for how long in order to catch up on missed production and to reestablish business connections. Don Birchum was supposed to be on top of some of these things, but Mark had a good feeling that not much of anything had been done yet. He desperately wanted to see everything that Don mentioned, the repairs, the new edition, new machinery, etc.
As parts of the new planning committee that Mark had so often talked about, Darius and T.L. would be required to make regular appearances to discuss the urgent matters at hand, but with Mark being the wreck that he was, it would require all three of them to go by way of Shylah's car, or at least, Mark and T.L. to do so. T.L. quickly relayed to his father that from then until either the reopening of the plant or until Mark said otherwise, that they would have regular meetings, every other day, beginning at ten a.m., for which all employees involved would be offered supervisory positions over production and would be paid a supervisor's wages during the planning period, on top of the pay they already received while off of work.
It all sounded like magic to Darius' ears. He could not wait to have work. With weeks of sitting around the house, spending most of his time with his wife, he began to feel stir crazy, sometimes, looking for any way and any place to escape so that he could scream. Work was all that he had ever known to do during the weekdays. Darius King had rarely ever so much as taken a sick day from work, partly so as to not be stuck with his wife and partly in order to save up his sick days and other excused days to cash in for extra pay when money was tight. He was, by far, one of the most dependable and loyal employees that Crady Steelworks, LLC had ever had.
By the end of the weekend, Shylah got ahold of the nearest wedding planner that she could find but had to offer the woman a considerable amount of extra money to take on a new client with so many other weddings being planned and for her trouble of being bothered on a non-workday. Selma Simmons was a stout woman in her mid-fifties that had specialized in wedding planning for nearly twenty years. Shylah found that the woman came highly recommended by many, a great relief to her. She was afraid of hiring someone that she did not know and about whom she had no idea of the quality of their work.
Shylah told Mark about hiring the woman, but he was reluctant to discuss wedding plans and simply told Shylah that she could have whatever she wanted for the big day and hire whoever she wanted, no matter the expense. Mark knew that he still very much wanted to marry Shylah, but he was not in the slightest of moods, given his situation, to talk about the smallest or the biggest of details. Shylah knew that she would have to get him to at least discuss a honeymoon, where to go, when, how, and how to plan and arrange it. With the aid of a travel agent, Shylah was certain, they could plan such a thing fairly easily. Getting Mark to the agent in his wheelchair and getting him in the mood to deal with it, however, was another matter entirely, one that would require copious coaxing and pleading.
Mark's excuse to push the wedding issue away was always, "Yeah. Ok, Baby. Whatever." It began to drive Shylah insane with worry and stress. All that she wanted, aside from Mark's recovery and the general good health of their child, was for Mark to take some kind of interest in the wedding. Nothing seemed to faze him in the least.
On Monday, Shylah met with Selma Simmons as soon as she was up and ready in her most basic form, leaving the house by a little after eight a.m., arriving at Ms. Simmons' office by eight-thirty. Shylah was quite anxious to get things underway and ensure that the big day would go off without any hitch. Mark still cared very little and was far more focused on getting himself out of the house to go to the plant and get some real work done. All that he could think about, when he wasn't thinking about his health and misfortune, was getting the plant running again, getting everyone back to work, and starting to turn a profit for the first time in months. It would be two months that the plant had been closed by the time of it reopening.
While T.L. came to Mark's house to pick up both Shylah's car and Mark, Darius went ahead in his own truck to the plant to wait for the others. Shylah was given permission, by Mark, to use his truck all that she needed so that there would be no overlapping vehicular worries. Shylah had never driven Mark's truck before and thought it a far step above those of her brother and her father. Mark's truck was much newer, more expensive, and in far better shape. It was the newest and nicest vehicle she ever had the pleasure of being behind the wheel of or even being in, for that matter.
When Mark and T.L. arrived at the plant, they quickly found that Don Birchum was not there. It was so unlike Don. He always seemed to be right on top of things at all times and completely dedicated to everything. Mark wheeled himself inside and inquired of Don's whereabouts from the construction crew. The plant was to be locked whenever there was no management present, which would not even allow for the construction crew to enter the premises. Mark learned that Don had given a key to the foreman of the crew and that he rarely showed up at the place before ten or eleven a.m. It was the final straw for Mark. He
couldn't take another piece of bad news from anyone and screamed in uncontrollable fits of rage, alarming all around him and causing quite a few to murmur amongst themselves.
It took heavy coercing from T.L. and Darius both to calm Mark down and get him to take a breather from what was going on. Mark was so mad at Don that he screamed that he would kill him. Everyone who knew Mark knew that he was not serious at all, but some of the men on the construction crew grew very alarmed at the threat. Several wondered if they should either call the police or warn Don.
When Don finally showed up, at half past ten o'clock, he had no idea that he was walking into a hornet's nest. Mark was just beyond the door leading into the plant, waiting for him. "What the hell is your problem," Mark screamed at Don from his wheelchair. "You are supposed to be here well before eight, every damn day, no matter what, rain or shine, sleet or snow, Hell or high water!"
"I know, Mark. I know. It's just that Betty Jo..."
"No! I don't care what the reason is! You have no excuse! If you're gonna be late, you call me, and I take care of it somehow! You know that! If you're not here before eight, you're not here to unlock the place for the construction guys to come in and do THEIR jobs! Theirs depend on yours! Oh wait! That's right! You gave them a key, people that don't work here, that don't have shit to do with this place, you gave them a key! If my dad was here, I don't care if you're a friend or not, he'd fire you right on the spot! You're damn lucky I'm not him! Now, you get your ass in gear, and you start bein' here, EVERY SINGLE DAY, before eight! You get the key back from the construction foreman, and you do it now! I mean right now!"
"Mark, it's just that you're goin' through so much, and I didn't wanna bother you with it. I'm sorry. I should've been here when I was supposed to. You're right. I take full responsibility for my actions. I'll get the key back. I'm sorry I let you down." Don hung his head as if he were a puppy that had just been scolded for going on the carpet.
After that, however, it seemed that Mark might have Don under control and doing his job properly, though he assumed that this may only have been because he was now being watched. Mark finally began to see exactly what Darius had talked about, about Don being lazy and undependable. This left Mark to wonder if he had not made a mistake in keeping Don Birchum on to run things in his absence. In better health, Mark could run the majority of plant managerial affairs, but he knew that he needed help on some things. He wished that either T.L. or Darius had the experience and the training to take Don's place. If so, he would fire Don without further warning. Don's actions were not only a breach of protocol but a breach of trust. Mark knew that he could trust Don Birchum no longer. Something must be done and done fast.
Mark thought it all over for the few minutes of silence he had away from everyone and decided that he might be better off conducting interviews for a replacement, behind Don's back. How to get the word out without Don knowing about it, however, was another matter entirely. Mark almost felt bad for screaming at Don but thought it best to leave it all alone, at least, until Don screwed up again.
There was no way possible for Mark to climb the stairs to the office above. The elevator, small and old as it was, had been nearly destroyed in the explosion weeks earlier. It was on the other side of the original building and required someone who specialized in fixing such things to repair it. It was never on the top priority list of repairs and editions. Now, Mark wished that it had been. The only way possible to conduct meetings, for a while, would be to have them downstairs, at best, concealed under the stairway, where there was not ample enough lighting.
Mark, as soon as he got near enough for everyone to hear, yelled for T.L., Darius, and Don to meet him under the stairs leading to the offices. Darius didn't like it that he was being ordered around by his soon-to-be son-in-law. On the production floor, Darius had always answered to his supervisor(s) but rarely ever to anyone else. He wanted the extra money involved with being on this committee created by Mark, wanted the opportunity to chime in with his thoughts on matters at hand, and definitely wanted the opportunity to be made supervisor, but the fact of who was doing the ordering perturbed him greatly.
Don, knowing that he was still in trouble, ran as quickly as his overweight body could carry him. He hoped to do some serious brown-nosing to get back into Mark's good graces. He feared that he might be too replaceable to prove once again that he could measure up, thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he complimented Mark enough, showed enough concern for Mark's well-being, made promises to do better, and showed that he was sorry, Mark would keep him around.
Within two minutes, all four men were assembled together under the stairway. Mark looked around the group, but when he got to Don, he glared, looking as if his eyes burned with such intensity that they might burn through Don's body. "Don, you wanna redeem yourself?"
"Yes, Sir, I do."
"Alright. Go upstairs and get us a beer apiece, and come back for the meeting. I think since the plant isn't runnin' yet, we could all have somethin' to drink while we discuss things. Sound good, everybody?" T.L., Darius, and Don all shook their heads violently, vehemently displaying their support of the notion.
"Sounds great to me, Mark," Don amply replied, smiling so profusely as to say that he would support anything Mark ever said. "I still got some of those beers my cousin made. You said you liked 'em. Everybody ok with that?"
No one objected, but they didn't sound their approval either. Don took it as such and quickly headed upstairs, leaving Mark alone with T.L. and Darius, exactly what Mark wanted and one of his larger reasons for sending Don away.
"Ok, guys," Mark whispered. "Don really messed up here. I don't know for sure, but I'm seriously thinkin' he might have to go. I may just need a new assistant plant manager. We never made that title official in all the years this place has been around, but I think it's high time for it. Either Don steps up and proves that he is every bit what I hoped he was, or he's out on his ass, and somebody new steps in his place. T., you up for that?"
"I don't have any college under my belt, Mark, and besides, I wouldn't know the first thing," T.L. nearly shouted, causing Mark to put his finger to his lips to hush him.
"It's not as hard as it sounds. There was a time that I didn't know a damn thing around here, and goin' to college didn't prepare me for much of anything. I could teach you everything you need to know. I know you, T. You're one of the smartest guys I've ever met, and if anybody could catch onto this stuff, it's you!"
"But Mark," Darius quickly chimed in, "Much as I don't care for Don Birchum, the guy's got a lot of years in here and has a family. You put him out, and you might as well put his wife and kids on the streets! You can't do it."
"Well, Mr. King," Mark replied, sighing and carefully choosing his next words. "I'm not sayin' you're wrong, and I'm also not sayin' that Don would be fired altogether. He just may have to make a choice, either go back on the floor or quit. I'm givin' him another shot. If he screws it up, though, there's not gonna be a second warning. He goes back to the floor, to his old job, or he goes to the unemployment line. I'm not havin' his kinda screw-ups all the time. So, T., I just want you to be ready. If the time comes for it, I may be askin' you to fill Don's shoes."
"Alright, Man," T.L. agreed, smiling as much as he could in such a situation, fearing that he could not do the job and also not wanting to replace a fellow employee and bring such harm to the man's family. "But he's got some pretty fat feet. I don't know as I could wear the shoes of such a fat man. No, I shouldn't say that. I feel bad for him actually."
At that moment, all three men could hear the office door above them slam shut. They knew that Don was returning. Mark quickly raised his finger once again to his lips, this time adding, "Shhh. Later."
"I got the beers, Mark," Don was soon heard to remark as he trounced heavily down the stairs, his weight producing a loud, thudding, metallic sound as he walked.
Don nearly stumbled down the last few steps but soon came jaunting over to the rest of the men,
handing out a beer to each person. "Hope you guys still like this stuff. I bought a bunch more, and it's gonna take me a while to drink it all by myself."
"Yep," Mark remarked, popping the cap off of his bottle and taking a swig. "Still good. Now, let's get down to business, boys. I was thinkin' maybe we oughtta revamp the schedule around here, first of all."
"What do you mean by that," T.L. vociferated, quite concerned about such a prospect.
"Well, we're way behind on production, obviously. No machines, no workers, no product. We have to catch back up and get this place turnin' a real profit again. For years, at least since before I started, there's only been the Monday through Friday, eight to four shift, with occasional, optional OT. I'm thinkin' we change that. We make shifts ten hours long instead of eight but Monday to Thursday. Everybody gets a longer weekend that way, and we can start a weekend shift, Friday to Sunday, twelves. Then, we have two full-time shifts goin', with some OT. We keep machines runnin' to pump out at least a little more product, every day, but not all of 'em. We let everybody choose to stay and work a few extra hours a day, if they want, same on weekends. If people wanna work fifteen hours or so, that's their business. Weekenders will get thirty-six hours counted as forty, and anything they work over the thirty-six counts as OT. I think it's a win-win for everybody, and it gets us to double the production we did before, if not more. We may, eventually, go to havin' two shifts a day, two weekday shifts, two weekend shifts, and the way to get OT would be to work on your off days. What do ya'all think? I think it's good, and it'll get this place turnin' out so much product that we'll not only catch back up but turn this place around so fast we can open a second plant fairly soon. Thoughts?" Mark looked around to everyone, with his brow raised, as if he were actually saying, "I don't need your input. I'm being nice by even letting you listen to my ideas. I'm going to implement these things whether you like them or not."
Under the Cypress Moon Page 47