James covered because he knew the guy was a family man. Not that that was an excuse for kindness anymore, what with the world count the way it was, but still. It would've plagued on his guilt all day if he'd have said Troy wasn't in. Hard enough to get w ork done around here you didn't want to do..
The boss walked away, shaking a head that knew no other motion. He'd said the guy was in the bathroom again. Making up the excuse with novel writing flare that Troy had said something about his wife's meat the previous dinner-night before. James would se e that he got the extra work. And see that work done through too long hours, he knew personally, sullenly.
Five came. James gave the guy in charge some lie about staying late. He had to double check figures? The boss didn't care. He left his work at work.
The cleaning woman came, timing things out with a depressive air. He was never going to finish things. Doing two men's work. Why had he ever even considered it?
His white shirt was soaking. A twitch in his left eye - and then it started burning; rubbing didn't help. Then, a shortness of breath around the muscles in his stomach. It moved upward, and he couldn't catch the necessary air. Short breaths. Short -!
He stood. It was unbearable. Then he just fell. As quickly as his brain knew what was happening.
Troy brought the whole family to the funeral. The kids were clumsy in their fine clothes, and the wife seemed bored at all the circumstance, pomp and.... glory that was going on here. Just business clan all around, all in black, with just enough white to appear stylish. Not even any family. Was it worth her time?
Finally the priest paid for by corporate funds said the right words. Something about dust. Earth. Whatever. A silent prayer, and school was out.
Troy ushered everyone into the family vehicle, which started up too soon for Troy. Something about his wife. Maybe she didn't care much for death. That was it. He was the one who did the taxes in the family anyway. There must've been a connection there s omewhere.
Mr. Gein moved an arm to catch Troy's shoulder before it disappeared weekend-forever into the mini-van. Troy held a finger up and his wife kept the thing in park.
"Look." Troy nodded his head in agreement, and before continuing, Mr. Gein thought it appropriate to give a little silence back to God. "This is a tragedy."
"Yeah."
"Good man."
"Got that right," Troy agreed immediately.
"I don't mean to bring this up." He paused. "Yes I do. - Look. I don't want you to think. Well, callous of me, I suppose. Just listen. Think about." God got more silence. "We'll be needing a control manager. Check, recheck - figures? You've...." He let i t hang.
"Yeah?"
"Well, you've. Done for James. Occasionally."
"Twice," he answered suspiciously.
"Just think about," Mr. Gein continued with the full force of the company now. "About taking it from him. He would've -" A squeeze on the arm finished it out, and the boss man was away.
Waiting, Troy needed a breeze to snap him back to the revving van. Getting in, he shut the heavy door. They drove off, in silence. Then when appropriate, his wife asked about it. The kids were shut up, trying to come up with some sort of game for the rid e home.
Troy talked about the conversation. Briefly. And a smile began to try for his lips. Troy, finally seeing a place for death.
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Last Updated: July 10, 1996