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“They have been, several times.” She keeps her eyes down. “It was today too.”
“By how much?”
“Just a half-hour.”
My next question, I whisper just before the buzzer sounds and the line resumes. “Did you tell people Sean and I are together?”
“Come on now, that’s just obvious,” she replies, clear sympathy in her eyes. I know it’s true, and I don’t argue with her.
The whole plant now definitely knows I’m the owner’s daughter, and just in case they missed it, they also know I’m fucking my supervisor.
Perfect.
I never counted on my dad’s pull to get me any preferential treatment, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to be attacked this way because of it. It’s the sad truth that it was Vivica’s desperation that started that argument. I have no idea, but she probably needs this job, I’m sure she needed that overtime. Judging by her reaction, she must have been counting on it. Melinda needed that half-hour too, because she’s just put her mother into a nursing home, and she’s being forced to come up with some of that monthly expense. Her husband is a painter and often takes odd jobs to make up for the lack of steady pay. They all count on this plant, on Roman Horner.
It’s then I think of Selma and fight more tears. In a few hours, I can lose my shit. But time is what cripples me as seconds and minutes drag by, an invisible chain around my neck. Sean makes more than one appearance on the floor, no doubt to check on me, but he doesn’t engage, he just talks to some of the others and monitors the line as I avoid any exchange. Melinda picks up where she left off, ending with a story about tomorrow’s event, a church fundraiser.
By the time I clock out, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. It’s when I hit the parking lot that fear sets in.
Did Sean fire Vivica? If so, is she waiting for me to deliver her wrath? Surely, she knows I had nothing to do with her short paycheck. But that’s a rational line of thinking, and angry people don’t always think rationally. Lord knows, she was anything but rational when she left the floor.
What if she’s truly decided it’s my fault? I make a beeline for my car as Melinda calls out to me. I don’t want her putting herself at risk for me, and the truth is, she’s the kind of woman who might. She proves my thinking right as she tries to join me on my walk into the parking lot.
“Honey, wait up, I’ll walk with you.”
“I’m fine, see you tomorrow,” I yell over my shoulder as I lose her in the first five rows of cars. Vivica is no doubt the type to ‘cut a bitch,’ and it’s all I can do to pace myself to power walking. The minute I make it to the driver’s seat and lock my doors, I burst into tears. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that I don’t know if I would have been able to defend myself if I was attacked. I hate the position being Roman’s daughter puts me in. Whether or not I declared I was his kid, someone would have found out, and hiding it might not have been the right call either. Did they really think I was sent to spy on them? That’s insanity.
My phone rings from my purse and I ignore it, knowing it’s Sean.
Headlights click on behind me, and I look in my rearview to see Sean sitting in his Nova, gazing back at me in the mirror. He was waiting for me, and he saw me crying.
Great.
Done with the day, I jerk my head to keep him at bay while clearing my face as he opens his car door to get to me. I shake my head, profusely denying him the chance and put my car into gear. I haul ass out of the parking lot as the humiliation subsides, and anger begins to smoke itself into my system. I’m not mad at Sean, but I don’t want to face him with these conflicting emotions. He can see my crazy when he deserves it. Tonight, he did what he had to do, but I refuse to unload on him, not with the range of emotions I’m feeling. He follows me closely, leaving me when I turn onto the lone road home. There he leaves me, and I’m grateful.
When I pull up, I’m met with an empty driveway and an empty house. My phone rings in my hand, just as I clear my bedroom door.
“I don’t want to talk now,” I sniffle back furious tears.
“I got that after mile five, but it’s not your fault.” The tenderness in his voice hurts. I do my best to rein it in, but my voice shakes anyway.
“Did you know about this?”
“I’ve been working on it since I got back.”
“So, this is the norm? He shorts their paychecks?”
“Have you ever looked at your pay stub?”
No, I haven’t. I’ve simply cashed them and assumed they were correct. More anger coils as I make a decision and hit reply on my latest email. I’m typing furiously as I speak.
“Did you fire her?”
“Yes.”
“Damnit, Sean. Why?”
“Because it’s my job, and her behavior was too severe for a write-up.”
