“Randy,” he started, and
stopped. Randall could see him
struggling with the handful of words HR had prepped him with. Randall thought that Jack was really not cut
out for this sort of thing.
He said “Randy” again, and stopped
once more.
Randall thought, ‘this could take
all day at this rate.’ He let his mind
wander as Jack looked for what needed to be said.
On the way in that morning, Randall
got to thinking about Lizzie. He
pictured her standing by the door, wearing a serious look. She had Sarah’s way of crinkling her
forehead, but also the innate ability to smear breakfast all over her
face. The area from her nose to her chin
seemed to be dyed a permanent shade of orange or red. He couldn’t take her seriousness entirely
seriously, but he did his best to seem sincere.
“Daddy,” she said, waiting to
continue until she had his full attention.
“Will you be home to watch Idol
with me?”
Randall weighed his options: an unconditioned yes; a maybe; or the
truth. He tried to convince himself that
today would be different, that he’d slip away quietly by 6 pm; that it would
not take him over an hour and a half to make the commute home, all white
knuckles and profanity; that he’d pull into the driveway before the sun had
slipped below the horizon. He knew she’d
be at the window when he arrived, no matter what, so he said ‘maybe’, he’d do
his best.
Even then, at 6 a.m., it felt
dishonest.
On the way in he passed a small
sign on the side of a hill next to an entry ramp to Highway 8. In the fall and winter it had been clearly
visible. “Work From Home”, it
exhorted. No details or instructions, or
perhaps the rest of the sign had fallen off.
Still, Randall thought, it made its point. The tall grass of the hillside had crept up,
so that only a bit of the white of the sign was visible. But he knew its message was still there,
unmistakable.
Across from him, Jack’s mouth was
moving, but he was far away or underwater and the words were reaching Randall
muffled and incomprehensible. “Not working out …” Randall thought that maybe it was Jack who
was drowning, seeing the almost panic in his face. He made no movement, and he imagined that his
silence was making it harder on Jack. It
didn’t matter, he told himself, the particular words. He knew the gist. He’d heard rumours.
Randall thought about the garden
edging he’d bought on the weekend. He’d
need to start installing it this Saturday.
He put it on his mental to-do list, also knowing that he could count on
Sarah to remind him of the tasks to be completed. He imagined pounding the individual pieces of
edging into the ground, with steady uncomplicated thwacks. Randall pictured the smiling woman on the
box. He figured if the petite blonde on
the box could install this product without breaking a sweat, he’d be up to the
task.
Randall wondered what Lizzie and
Sarah were doing just then. Eating mac
‘n cheese? Doing laundry? Building a princess castle in the living room
with blankets and pillows? He wondered
what he was missing, putting the things he’d already missed to one side.
Jack’s mouth kept moving, and his
brow furled and unfurled like a flag in the wind. “We need to think about the
organization … package …” This was
serious. Randall was again reminded of
Lizzie’s question, and the sign by the road.
Thwack, thwack. He drove in another piece of edging,
separating garden from lawn. Placing
things in their separate categories. Work: Home.
Thwack, thwack.
Randall thought of the million
things he needed to be doing just then. He
started to get up from his chair as Jack continued to explain what the company
was offering him, on the way out the door. He told
himself: if Jack finishes up quickly
enough, I can beat the traffic.
Thwack. Thwack.
I might even catch the evening
news.
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