Sassafras, Part 59


Rick


I had a nightmare that a car was chasing Joan. She ran faster and faster, but couldn’t get away. She kept screaming and calling my name, but I couldn’t answer. Then I realized I was driving the car, and I couldn’t stop. I woke up right before I hit her, my heart pounding like a charging rhino. After that I couldn’t get back to sleep. I tossed and turned all night, then I almost slept through my alarm. There was barely time to throw on a flannel shirt and some jeans before it was time to go.

Tony was already in his car when I got outside. “We missed you last night. Tanya was mad you didn’t stop by. Especially after the show you two put on. What did you do to piss off Joan?”

“I didn’t do anything. I told her I was on parole. She didn’t like it very much.”

“That sucks. At least it looks like you made up.”

“Yeah. I’m going over to her place after work tonight.”

“You’re not going to the funeral? Man, you got to go.”

“I can’t take off work.”

“Whatever. You need to go.

“Yeah, right. Just walk up to Paulson and tell him I’m leaving.”

“Well, when’s the funeral?”

“1:30. Then everybody’s going to Don’s.”

Tony drove in silence for a while. “Why don’t you just take a late lunch? You could work while everybody else is at lunch, then take lunch after everybody gets back. How long can the funeral last? The funeral home’s right in town. And come on, Jenny was Kennedy’s neighbor. I doubt if he’d be a dick about you going to her funeral. As long as we can convince Paulson to let you go.”

“I don’t know, Tony. Paulson won’t go for it.”

“Sure he will. We only have two shipments today and they’re only running three lines. One shipment should be ready to load when we get there. The other one won’t be ready until around three. All we have to do until then is keep the lines stocked. If you work through lunch you could load the front of the lines up and when I get back all I’d have to do is just keep up with the packaging. You wouldn’t really be taking any time off, you’d just take lunch around 1:30 instead of 12. Maybe you might get back a little late but I’ll cover for you.”

I wanted to go. I just didn’t want to embarrass Joan in front of half the town. She might not care how I looked, but they would, and really, I looked about one step above homeless. Plus it was hard to work in a dog food factory without smelling like kibbles and bits by the end of the day. “No, I can’t. Look at me. I wouldn’t have any time to change. I didn’t even shave this morning. I look worse than yesterday. I can’t go like this.”

“Next thing you’ll ask me if those pants make your ass look big. Get real. Joan won’t give a shit what you’re wearing. What do you think she’d say if you told her you didn’t go to the funeral because you didn’t have anything to wear?”

I stared at the wipers slapping back and forth. I hated it when he was right, but he was right. I had to at least try. Maybe Paulson would go for it. If I was late getting back he could write me up if he wanted to. I hadn’t been in trouble since I started working there. One write up wasn’t going to hurt me. “I’ll have to borrow your car.”

“That’s fine. So you’re going to go?”

“If Paulson’s okay with it, yeah.”

Tony called Paulson over while I was still clocking in. I was almost hoping he would say no, but he surprised me and agreed with our plan. Now I just had to wait. It was strange working while everybody was in the break room eating lunch. I lined up pallets of flavor base, corn meal, and coloring by the mixers. By the time everybody started going back to work I could feel butterflies fighting each other in my stomach. I was nervous about going to the funeral. I’m an ex-con. I’d grown used to the stares and whispers, used to acting like I didn’t notice them, or that they didn’t bother me. Joan wasn’t. I didn’t know how she would react. It’s one thing to meet me at Tanner’s, but for her to be seen in public with me, at Jenny’s funeral no less, was something else. By the end of the day the whole town would be talking about us. About her. ‘Did you hear about Jenny’s sister?’ would be the way a lot of conversations started.

I wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t made an honest mistake on an account. It was just a zero. Instead of $50, I charged a client $500. Unfortunately, it was Mr. Leighton’s account. I hated Mr. Leighton. I thought he was a pompous ass, greedy and arrogant, and frequently wished he would drop dead. Hopefully right in front of me. It if had been any other account I would have sent a nice letter explaining the discrepancy, complete with an enclosed check for $450. But it wasn’t any other account. It was Mr. Leighton’s account. By the time I noticed the error five months had passed. I decided if he hadn’t noticed by then I wasn’t going to say anything.

That was just the beginning. Maybe if I hadn’t already spent my childhood hacking into computers, and financed my college education by expanding that little hobby, it wouldn’t have been so easy to slip into a life of crime. Sure, technically I was already leading a life of crime, but there’s a big difference between convincing a computer to erase a bill, or changing a grade from a D to a B, and taking money from someone you know, someone who trusts you with their life’s savings, who invites you to birthdays and graduations. That’s what I did, and I paid for it. I just didn’t want Joan to pay for it, too.