Yule Tidings (9 page)

Merle spent half an hour cleaning and gutting the deer before stringing it up and hopping in the shower.  Sherlock was extremely curious about the deer’s carcass, so he called the dog inside.  He didn’t need the dog getting a taste for blood.  Merle forced his eyes closed.  He needed to get some sleep.  Five a.m. would arrive in no time, and he wanted to be well rested.  They had a lot of catching up to do tomorrow if they wanted to keep the project on schedule.  There was mason work to complete and drywall to put up.  Then they could start painting and sealing.  He’d never finished a project late; he wasn’t about to start now.  The weather was enough to slow the team down, but then the flu had gone through the ranks, and a good portion of his crew was out sick.  He hoped they’d all be back tomorrow.  Merle fell asleep wondering if Anne had iced her ankle.  He wanted to know if she was okay.  Tomorrow, maybe, he’d look for her car.

Chapter Seven

             
Anne drove to work carefully.  She didn’t want to do any more damage to her car than she had already.  The shop agreed to fit it in early in the morning, so she’d have to walk to work, but at least her car would be done by the time she finished work.  She pulled into the parking lot of the shop, realizing that her planned walk to work would be much more daunting than she had previously supposed.  Her ankle was still quite sore and she was dressed extremely poorly for the walk to her office considering the weather had taken a turn for the worst.  The wind whipped at the tress brutally, and there was a bite to the air that promised snow.  It was only a mile or two walk from the shop, but her dress shoes and slacks wouldn’t do anything to protect her against the chilly wind.  Nothing for it, though.  She gave the clerk her key almost reluctantly and turned to leave.

             
“Anne,” the young man said after a moment, “do you have someone picking you up?”

             
“No, I don’t.  I didn’t even think about it.  I’ll have to walk to work,” she said, surprised Thomas had even thought to ask.  He looked relaxed sitting behind the counter, his fingers stained with grease as he watched her.

             
“Well, wait a minute and I’ll give you a ride,” Thomas said, gesturing to the chairs.  “I’ll have someone come up to watch the desk.”

             
“You don’t have to do that,” Anne assured him.

             
“Don’t be silly.  You bring your car here for everything; the least we can do is give you a ride to work while we have your car in the back.  I’ll be right out.”  Thomas left without another word.  Anne sat down, waiting for him to return in the quiet shop. She wondered fleetingly what exactly Thomas did at the shop.  The men seemed to take turns working at the desk, so he must be certified in some manner to work in the back.  She didn’t have long to dwell on it however, when he stepped from the back with his jacket on and a set of keys.  “Where do you work?”

             
“The Red Cross.  It’s on Fourth,” Anne answered. 

             
“I don’t know where that is, you’ll have to give me directions.”  He said over his shoulder as he led Anne to his car.  It was an older cavalier, but clean, Anne noted, climbing inside.

             
“Okay.  Well, take a right out of the shop,” Anne told him as she buckled her seat belt.  Anne directed Thomas to the Red Cross without much trouble.  She wasn’t used to giving directions, and he nearly missed the left turn onto fourth, but he saved it at the last second. 

“If you don’t have a ride back to the shop, just call,” Thomas told her as she climbed out.  Thomas liked Anne.  She brought her car to the shop for oil changes, new brakes, whatever she needed.  She refused to take her car anywhere else.  Besides, she was always polite and referred them to a lot of customers. 

“I’ll try to remember that,” Anne said, closing the door.  Anne walked into the building, setting her purse down on her desk.  Well, that was unusual, she thought, sitting down.  Today was appointment day.  She had about five hundred calls to make to offer, invite, and entice people to come donate blood for the next blood drive.  She’d been making the calls for the last few years, and her goal was always to get one more person to donate.  So far she’d been doing a good job.  She was convincing a record number of community members to stop in and donate blood.  Anne grabbed her ‘cheat sheet’ with the dialogue she used to interest people in donating blood, stopped by the break room to get a strong cup of coffee, and then sat down at her desk with the appointment schedule, her ledger of names and phone numbers, and the phone.  She took a long drink of coffee before picking up the phone and dialing.

By lunch Anne had half the schedule filled.  She always s
tarted the day by calling the
people who consistently donated, then those who generally donated, then the ones who donated occasionally.  After lunch she would start on the people who rarely donated and those who would be first-time donors.  It always seemed a bit more tedious and daunting calling people who didn’t donate often.  Lately it seemed that for every five calls she’d make, only one person would agree to donate, whereas throughout the morning she had nearly a 95% success rate in scheduling a donor.  She didn’t relish the thought of making more calls after lunch, knowing that at least half of them would be unsuccessful.  Anne sighed.  Maybe today would be different.  She stood, deciding to walk to subway for lunch since she’d forgotten to bring one of her own and it was the closest restaurant.  It was just down the street, a block away.  Her ankle could hold up that long, surely. 

The ground was littered with leaves of yellow, red, orange, and brown.  It was beautiful to watch them blowing lazily across the street in the gentle breeze.  Anne walked slowly, gingerly.  Her ankle hurt, and already she could feel that the swelling was returning.  By the time she reached the restaurant she was limping painfully.  She hobbled inside and sat down at the nearest bench to catch her breath.  It wasn’t busy yet, and the workers looked at her curiously from the back.  When she’d caught her breath she stood up and walked to the counter to order.  She was just preparing to pay for her sub when she heard a strangely familiar and decidedly gruff voice behind her.

“Jim, I want to be caught up by the end of this week.  Hire a couple more guys if you have to, but we promised Anderson the mortar would be finished and the drywall would be up, if not painted.”  Merle never took his eyes off his construction manager; missing the rather speculative glance Anne cast his way upon his entrance, he stopped halfway to the counter, waiting as Jim answered.

“Merle, the mortar won’t set.  It’s too damn cold.”

“Well, then warm it up.  Put some space heaters around the hearth.  I’m sure the crew would appreciate a little extra heat in that place.  It’s colder than a witch’s titty in…” Merle stopped abruptly as he turned his head and recognized the woman looking at him curiously.  Anne was standing at the counter paying for her food, apparently.  Merle nodded at her gruffly, taking little notice of her before he turned back to Jim.  “I want the mortar done by t
hursday
, the drywall with the wiring by the end of the week.  It’s only Tuesday Jim, you can do it.”

“Merle, it’s not me I’m worried about,” Jim started.  He knew Merle was just trying to keep himself busy since his wife’s death, but it was getting ridiculous.  Yesterday he caught Merle off-loading and loading trucks alone.  He was too old to haul supplies like that.  He was nearly sixty.  He owned the company for Christ sakes; he didn’t need to do the manual labor like one of the untrained grunts.

“Jim,” Merle said, the warning clear in his voice.  Undoubtedly, Merle couldn’t have asked for a better man to help run the company.  Jim was hard working, devoted, and intelligent.  He had a way of getting the men to work for him that was impressive.  He started before they did and didn’t quit until everyone was gone.  But more to the point, he was dedicated to Merle for having given him his big chance, which made him a little less like an employee and a little more like a harping son than Merle would have preferred.  Merle’s own son hadn’t wanted to go into construction; a decision Merle supported one hundred percent.  It could be a hard life, and while Merle had no regrets about his choice of career, he was proud of his son for making his own way.  His son was a lawyer for a large company in Richmond, Virginia.  His daughter was a doctor near Hampton.  They were both successful, married, and had children. 

Merle turned his thoughts back to his construction manager, Jim, who was also married and expecting his first child any day.  Merle wanted the important work done before Jim’s wife had the baby.  He knew Jim would take at least a week or two off, Merle had insisted on it, but he’d rather have Jim around to oversee the finer details of the project.  Painting, Merle could easily oversee, but the fine detail, well he could admit that he was getting a little too bleary-eyed for that.

“Merle, I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Jim said, undaunted by Merle’s tone.  In the last three or four years he’d gotten close to Merle.  He knew he was a good, reasonable, man.  His wife Jennifer invited Merle to the house at least once every couple weeks, treating him like the father she never knew.  They both appreciated everything Merle had done for them.  Taking a chance on Jim, when he had no degree or any experience to speak of had only been the beginning.  When he and Jenn were married, Merle co-signed their loan so they could buy a nice home in a good neighborhood.  Within months Jim broke his leg and had to be out of work for six weeks.  Merle gave them extra money to make due, a bonus, he had told them nonchalantly, singlehandedly managing to keep them afloat while Jim healed.

Merle pointedly ignored Jim.  He ordered his sandwich and paid.  Without waiting for Jim to follow, though he knew he would, he walked to Anne’s booth.  “I take it you made it home safely, then?” he asked her roughly.  Merle didn’t enjoy small talk, but something about Anne called to him.

“Yes, thank you,” Anne said, smiling. 

“Your ankle?”

“Sore, but I think I’ll live,” she said lightly.

“One would hope,” Merle said before turning back to see Jim, paying for his food. 

“Would you like to join me?” Anne asked after an awkward pause.  She didn’t know how to react to Merle’s sudden silences.  Clearly he wasn’t a sociable man.

Merle looked at her for a solid thirty seconds before answering.  “I’m afraid I have to get back to work.  Thank you, no.”  Merle didn’t want to join the woman for lunch.  He didn’t want to have to keep a conversation going, to make small talk.  He just wasn’t good at small talk.  He liked peace and quiet.  Anne nodded stiffly; feeling a bit affronted, but said nothing more. 

“We’d love to join you,” Jim said from behind Merle with an ease and grace that made Merle groan.  “I’m Jim,” he said amiably offering his free hand.

“Hi, I’m Anne.”

             
“It’s nice to meet you, Anne.  I hope your invitation is still open.  Merle may not need to sit down to eat, but I prefer it.”  Jim smiled broadly at Merle, who seemed to be growling under his breath.  “How do you know Anne, Merle?” Jim asked unabashedly. 

             
“I pulled her out of the ditch last night,” Merle told him bluntly, sitting down opposite Anne in resignation.  He knew Jim wasn’t going to leave, and since Jim had driven, Merle didn’t have much choice but to sit down and eat.  At least Jim was good at polite conversation Merle thought pensively.

             
“I hope you weren’t hurt and your car wasn’t damaged,”

             
“Well, the driver’s side door was dented in pretty badly by the deer’s head.  It’s in the shop as we speak, though.  I’m okay, just a sore ankle.”  Anne looked at Jim for a moment, wondering if he was somehow related to Merle.  They didn’t look particularly alike, but they didn’t look dissimilar either.  It was entirely possible that they were related in some way or another.  Then again, Jim was referring to him as Merle, so they probably weren’t father and son.

             
“How’d you get here if your car is in the shop?” this was from Merle.

             
“Oh, one of the kids from the garage gave me a ride to work.”  Anne started unwrapping her sandwich; Merle and Jim followed suit.  “I walked here.”

             
“Where do you work?” Jim asked after a few bites.

             
“The Red Cross.”

             
“That’s nice.  My wife donates regularly.  My job is too strenuous; I can’t afford to lose the blood.”  Jim shrugged, thinking of the many times Jenn had come home and taken a nap after donating blood because it tired her so much.

             
“Do you work on Saturdays?” Anne asked casually.

             
“Some.  This one apparently,” Jim said, smiling at Merle.

             
“Don’t whine,” Merle rumbled, though he had to fight to keep a grin from spreading.  Jim had a way of reminding Merle to stop and smell the roses.  Impressive for a man who worked as hard as Jim did.