Silent Creek, page 3
Before he could respond, a loud buzz popped up behind his ear and Jim jumped, afraid he was about to get stung by a bee. Kelli laughed as a hummingbird darted back to the flower bed by the fence.
Jim felt the embarrassment fade away as they watched the tiny bird work its way down a cluster of pink flowers.
“Carrie’s gardens are pretty impressive,” Jim said. “I mean, I don’t know anything about plants, but they look good.”
Kelli smiled. “I want to get some of that foxglove at my place and see if I can attract some hummingbirds.”
“Hummingbirds like foxglove?” Jim said. “Isn’t it poisonous?”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about plants?”
“It’s the plant the Rake uses to kill the first kid in that Decemberists song on Hazards of Love.” It took Jim a second to realize talking about indie folk songs revolving around child murder may not make the impression he was hoping for. “I mean . . . it’s not just about . . . it’s this whole indie rock-opera thing about a woman who falls in love with a guy who can change into a deer, and . . . you know what, please forget I said any of that.”
“No, please go on.” Jim could see the laughter she was barely holding back. “Tell me about the child-murdering, deer opera song.”
Her playful tone helped dissipate some of the humiliation. “It’s actually a great album. You’d like it.”
“I’m sure.”
“No, really. I saw them earlier this year at the Orpheum back in Boston. Fantastic show. If they ever come around . . .” Jim remembered he was in Silent Creek, where the biggest music event was a cover band who played Lynyrd Skynyrd at the Fourth of July Fest. “Maybe up in Minneapolis or something.”
They kept talking for a while. At some point, Langmore realized he was a third wheel and excused himself.
Jim and Kelli barely noticed. They spent the next few hours talking about anything and everything next to the flowers, Jim invested in a conversation for the first time since he’d come back to Silent Creek.
Kelli had grown up on the Iron Range, where girls were more likely to be found on the ice than in the gym. But Kelli grew up shooting threes and earned a scholarship. After some persistent digging, Jim got her to admit she’d left as the school’s all-time leader in three-pointers made.
They kept going until the backyard was empty, then helped Kyle and Carrie clean up.
When all the food was wrapped up and the tables were back in the garage, Jim still wanted to talk, but didn’t want to push it. Besides, his mom had been home alone all afternoon, and he should probably check on her.
He helped Kyle carry a load of chairs down into the basement. When they came back up, Kelli was gone. Jim hadn’t gotten her contact information. He was bummed, but not despondent.
In a town that small, he’d have no trouble finding her again.
Chapter Three
Two weeks later, Jim sat behind his father’s old desk, Kyle in the chair across from him, well into their second hour of “orientation.”
But he wasn’t listening.
He was staring at himself.
The far wall was covered in pictures of Jim, and it had legitimately thrown him when he’d first come in. There was their Silent Creek High School team picture from his senior year. A picture of him dunking against Albert Lea, recognizable because the local paper used it any chance they could—his dad must have bought a copy from them. There was a picture of him sitting at a press table next to his parents, signing his National Letter of Intent with a brand-new maroon-and-gold hat crooked on his head, and a shot of Jim and his mother on Parents’ Day.
The wall was a monument to his former glory, and it was unnerving. Not that it was strange for a parent to have pictures of their kid up in the workplace, but Jim had barely spoken with his father since his basketball career had crashed and burned. His dad had acted like his injury wasn’t a tragic accident, but a failure of character. As if hard work and gumption could’ve overcome shredded ligaments if he’d simply wanted it enough. Like it was some sort of act of rebellion against a father who had pushed his son hard from day one.
Jim would take them all down before he went home that night.
“So other than that, there isn’t too much pressing that you need to do right now.” Kyle was still talking, so Jim tried to feign interest.
“That’s good then. It sounds like you’ve got things pretty well under control.”
“You’re in good hands, my friend. To be honest, I’ve been running this thing for years.” Kyle chuckled to himself. “When I started, I don’t even think your dad had contracts or anything. A handshake’s all I need. It took a while, but eventually he trusted me enough to organize our financials a little better. Honestly, the last few years I think he was just happy he didn’t have to worry about it.”
That’s exactly what Jim had hoped to hear. He still had no idea what his long-term plans were, so ideally he’d be able to float along until he got that figured out.
Much of that depended on his mother. He’d originally hoped to get her in an assisted living facility, but none of the places he’d contacted were keen on bringing someone in with encroaching dementia. The last place suggested he start looking for a memory-care unit. He wasn’t ready to go that route and didn’t dare mention it to his mother anyway. She probably didn’t need that level of care.
Yet.
In the meantime, he was stuck in Silent Creek, trying to fill his dad’s shoes at McCann LP the best he could.
“There are a few things I need you to sign off on, though.” Kyle reached into a folder and pushed a small stack of papers across the desk.
Jim stared at the lines that said owner below them.
“Yeah . . . okay. Can’t you do it? I mean, it feels weird, you know? First day.”
Kyle smirked across the desk. “You’re the boss man, my friend. I may do all the work, but it’s your name that’s gotta go on the checks.”
Jim scrawled his name across the bottom of the page, then stopped as he pushed it back. “Shit. Um . . . do you have another?”
“What? Why?”
Jim had signed his name so many times in his life it was second nature, but like a lot of athletes, he had a distinct and separate way of signing official documents.
He’d just autographed their supply order.
Kyle laughed when Jim explained. “The distributor doesn’t give a shit, man. Hell, dude will probably frame it.”
Embarrassment heated the back of Jim’s neck as Kyle stuffed the forms back into a folder.
“There’s one other thing you need to sign off on,” Kyle said. “We’ve got to let somebody go.”
“You mean fire someone? Jesus Christ, it’s my first day, and you want me to fire somebody?”
Kyle disregarded Jim’s concern. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve got everything put together. You just need to sign the final paperwork.”
Jim slumped back into his chair and pushed away from the desk. “Yeah, but I literally just got here. How’s that going to look?”
“Like you’re the boss doing your job? Your dad made the decision a while back, but these things take time to get ducks in a row and before we could get things finalized . . .” Kyle trailed off and left the reason unsaid. “Anyway, I’ve got all that taken care of. All you need to do is sign off on it.”
Kyle pushed another piece of paper across the desk. Jim looked down, and the name Colton Reid jumped out before he read anything else.
“You’re kidding me.”
“You remember him.”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize he worked here.”
“We were really short a while back, so your dad hired him to drive a truck.” There was a hint of history in Kyle’s voice. Considering what things had been like in high school, Jim honestly expected more. “He figured he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone, but that didn’t change the fact that he’s still got a . . . challenging personality.”
Jim looked back at his friend for an explanation, but there wasn’t one. Kyle’s feelings about Colton Reid had always been well known and obviously hadn’t changed over the years.
“Okay, so why are we getting rid of him? Did he do something?”
Kyle wore an oddly confused look. “Don’t worry about it.”
The pen felt heavy in Jim’s hand.
“I’m going to fire a guy, I need to know why.”
Kyle took a slightly impatient breath before speaking. As bored as Jim had been listening to him explain the ins and outs of the business, Kyle was probably equally frustrated having to hold his hand all day. “Honestly, it was a mistake to hire him in the first place, and your dad realized that pretty early on. But—like I said—we had to make sure we had all the proper documentation and everything, so it took a while. Trust me, it’s all there.”
“Okay, but what—”
“It’s all the same stuff the guy’s been doing his whole life. You of all people should understand this. We were desperate for people, so we took a chance and brought him on. It didn’t work, and we’re no longer desperate, so we’re rectifying the mistake. Your dad was gonna do this weeks ago, but obviously that couldn’t happen, and we can’t let it drag out any longer. If you’re gonna be the boss, you gotta do the dirty work sometimes.”
Jim stared down at the paperwork in front of him. It felt weird to have that much power over someone else’s life, but Kyle was right. Like it or not, that’s the boss’s job.
He scrawled his business signature across the line and pushed it back across the desk. “Do I have to call him or anything?”
Kyle stood and scooped up the papers, along with the weight that had settled over Jim’s desk. “Like I said, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
Jim thanked him, secretly glad he wouldn’t have to do it. With their shared history, it would certainly be awkward. But while he’d been gone, Kyle and Colton had been living in the same town for years and presumably interacted enough that whatever stupid high school grudges once existed were long gone. Besides, Kyle had experience in this type of stuff.
Better to let him handle it professionally.
“So, Friday night . . .” Kyle said. “You in?”
He and Carrie had invited him over for dinner, but Jim had been noncommittal so far. With all the chaos bouncing around between moving back home, getting thrust in front of the family business, and figuring out what to do with his mom, Jim wasn’t sure he needed another night at Kyle’s.
“Yeah, thanks . . . we’ll see.”
Kyle waved him off. “Come on. I’ll grill up some steaks while it’s still warm enough to be outside.”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “I’m still trying to get settled in, you know? Between all this and Mom . . .”
“It’ll be fun.” Kyle’s expression showed no sign that he comprehended or accepted Jim’s polite decline. He held up the paperwork terminating Colton Reid’s employment with McCann LP. “And I’ll handle this, don’t worry.”
Jim watched him leave the office, and his eyes caught on the team picture on the wall behind him. 2008 South Minnesota Conference Champions emblazoned across the bottom. He stood in the middle of the back row, a goofy teenage look on his face while Kyle stood next to him beaming a five-hundred-watt smile.
A redheaded kid stood at the far end of the row. Not as tall as Jim, but towering over the rest of the team. There was no smile on the kid’s face, and he seemed to stare through time and across the office at Jim.
As if he knew he was going to be fired that day.
Chapter Four
“Get some eggs.”
The refrigerated air reached out from the shelves and brushed Jim’s arms as he pushed the metal cart. His mom walked in front, the grand marshal of the grocery store, pointing out items for her son to grab.
Thing was, they already had eggs. An entire carton in the fridge back home. Jim had seen them that morning.
He reached over and plucked a carton off the shelf. It was easier to just do it. They’d keep.
Jim continued after his mom, loading up their cart with whatever she asked for. He struggled with how much to correct her when she got confused. Sometimes she said thanks and carried on like it was no big deal. Sometimes she snapped back like he’d personally insulted her.
Depended on the day.
He—they—really needed to talk to someone. A doctor would be able to figure out what was going on inside his mother’s head and tell him how to handle it. There may even be some things they could do—therapy, medications—to slow her descent. He’d spent a lot of time on the internet looking at options, but Dr. Google wasn’t a substitute for a real live MD.
“What kind of milk do you usually get?” Jim asked.
Gail looked back at him like he’d asked her for the capital of Guatemala. “Just regular milk.”
He opened his mouth to ask again, then reached over for a gallon of 1 percent.
Jim needed to make an appointment with someone, but when it came down to it, he was afraid. About not only what the doctor would say, but how he would talk to his mother about it.
How do you tell someone you think they are losing their marbles?
They pressed through the refrigerated aisle and turned back to the bread. A hulk of a man stood down by the English muffins.
It took Jim a second to realize who it was, and by the time he did, his mom was wandering down the aisle toward Colton Reid.
“Mom.” His voice was a hiss that seemed to bounce off every variety of bread on the shelves. She looked back at him, face slapped with annoyance, and kept going.
Jim slipped around the cart and headed after her, hurrying but doing whatever he could to keep his six-foot-nine frame incognito. Luckily something caught her eye, and she stopped.
Raisin bread. He’d never seen anything other than Country Hearth Cracked Wheat in his parents’ bread drawer, but Gail studied the loaf in front of her like she was about to make a major life change.
Jim sidled up to her and couldn’t help but glance down at Colton. His frame hadn’t changed, only it carried a lot more weight than it had back in high school. He could tell there was still muscle underneath, though, the same way he knew a pointy chin lived under that bushy beard.
Fortunately, Colton hadn’t noticed them. Not that Jim was afraid or anything; he just didn’t want to deal with the baggage that came with such a conversation. It felt like he was trying to cross a river on new, untested ice. He spotted the cracked wheat and grabbed a loaf.
“Got it.” His voice was quiet, but he hoped normal. “Can we head back this way? I forgot to get something.”
“What?” Her voice boomed down the aisle. Jim couldn’t help but glance past her, where Colton’s sunken eyes pulled him in like honeybees to an abandoned soda can.
Or, if he were going for accuracy, hornets.
“Um . . .”
Gail followed her son’s gaze and turned down the aisle. “Who’s that?”
Jim didn’t have time to come up with an answer before Colton sauntered down the aisle toward them.
“It’s nobody,” he mumbled.
“Now that’s no way to talk about an old friend.” Colton’s smile was wide enough under his scraggly beard they could see the spot where his incisor was supposed to be.
Jim didn’t want to say anything, but he could see his mom trying to place Colton, unsure if she should know him or not, and it felt cruel to let her spin her wheels that way. “Yeah, sorry. Mom, this is Colton Reid.”
The name didn’t appear to register with her, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. The only way she’d know him was through basketball, and he’d only been on the team a few weeks.
“I played basketball with your boy here.” His voice dripped with sugar but still left a bitter taste in Jim’s mouth.
“Back in high school.” Jim’s mention of his school days brought the tug of a smile to her mouth. “Colton was on the team for a bit during my senior year.”
“That’s right.” Colton slowly shifted his gaze from Gail up to Jim. “Just a little bit.”
The man’s eyes were intrusive, as if they drilled right through the lock on Jim’s thoughts and laid them bare to the world, and it took Jim a second to shake the feeling. “Mom, why don’t you keep going, and I’ll catch up in a sec? I need to talk to Colton real quick.”
Jim waited until his mom was down the aisle before turning back to Colton.
Colton held hard eye contact, and Jim thought he smelled something on his breath.
“So, Colton . . . How you doing?” It was a default question born out of upper-Midwestern politeness and the fact that Jim didn’t have a clue what else to say.
Colton’s grin widened, and his eyebrows arched in incredulity.
“Yeah, sorry,” Jim said. “I know how that probably sounds coming from me.”
The silence between them agreed.
“You know how it is. As much as you’d like to keep everyone, sometimes the numbers are the numbers and you’ve got to make tough decisions. Honestly, it wasn’t even my decision. This was in the works before I even got here. But then Dad had his heart attack and . . .” Jim didn’t like the way he sounded, and Colton clearly didn’t like what he’d said.
“At least take credit for it.” He wasn’t speaking loudly, but his voice filled the entire aisle. “Pawning it off on your dead dad? That’s a bad look.”
“I’m telling you, I—” Jim felt himself floundering, and it pissed him off. Colton was right about one thing. Jim was the boss at McCann, and it was time to start acting like it. “I’m sorry, but these things happen.”
Colton took a step closer, and Jim had to fight the urge to retreat.
“Well now, they don’t seem to happen to everybody, do they? Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Colton winked at him, but there was nothing playful about it. He held eye contact for another few seconds, like he was daring Jim to say something, before turning back down the aisle.
Jim shifted, and his three-time surgically repaired knee twinged, as if trying to prove that things did indeed happen to Jim McCann. He shifted his weight to the other side as the movie of the life he should have had flashed across his thoughts.
