A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [114]
CHAPTER 18
The lockdown bell is ringing and he can’t get up.
His hand shot out and Delores’s mirror fell on the floor. The glass was intact, but a lot of the shells had broken off. The phone was ringing.
“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Jukas said when he answered. “I was afraid you’d already left for work.”
He peered at the clock: 6:10. She was saying she needed a few things from the Market. Her gritty voice buzzed in his ear. Well? If he couldn’t do it, he should just say so. She hated insincerity, people pretending they didn’t mind when they really did. Even more than that, she hated asking people for help, but she was at that horrible stage in life now where she had little choice. “So do you have a pencil and paper there?”
“Okay.” He fumbled in the nightstand drawer for a pen.
“Three medium-size peaches, all ripe. One ripe banana and two green.” Was he writing this down? If he got the wrong things, she wouldn’t pay for them. Reading it back, he purposely rustled the paper near the phone. “A quart of skim milk,” she continued, “and six cans of chicken noodle soup. Low-sodium if they have it.” She wasn’t sure of the prices, but the Market was such a rip-off, everything cost three times as much now. She’d pay when he came. Oh, and come to the front door. With her leg so swollen and sore, she spent all her time on the couch now.
Before he did anything, he tried to glue the shells back on the narrow mirror frame. Some were broken, others didn’t seem to fit; the mirror didn’t look the same. He hid it in the drawer. He wished Delores hadn’t given it to him. Once again he found himself resenting her generosity and guilty for the poverty of his own.
After his job interview he would walk downtown to the Shop and Save for Mrs. Jukas’s groceries. He couldn’t tell her he’d been fired. He had a ten o’clock appointment with Treeshrub’nlawn Landscaping. He had circled the want ad for three straight days before working up the courage to call. The company was in the industrial park on the other side of the city. He rode the bus, then walked the dusty few miles past modest one-story homes that seemed part of an unfinished development. When he finally came to the industrial park, his relief quickly faded. Most buildings had company signs, but there were only a few street signs. It was 10:05 before he finally found the right address. It was the last building in the farthest part of the sprawling, treeless complex. Before he went inside, he blotted sweat from his face, neck, and forearms, then folded the handkerchief and put it into his pocket.
“So what’s your story?” Bart Pugh asked. He had a red beard, blond hair, and a crushing handshake.
“My story?”
“It’s usually kids I get. Illegal aliens, you know, but a guy like you. I mean, what do you want a job like this for?”
“I like working outside. Growing things. Especially roses.”
“Yeah, well, mostly we cut grass.”
“Sure, I do that,” he said eagerly. “I cut the grass at home, my lawn.”
“You ever use a commercial rider?”
“No. I use my dad’s old mower. It’s one of those push mowers. It doesn’t have an engine.”
“Oh, yeah?” Interest waning, Pugh began to sort through papers piled on his desk. “What was your last job? Where’d you work?”
“The Market. Nash Street. The Nash Street Market.”
“Yeah?” Pugh glanced up. “What’d you do there?”
“A lot of different things. Bagging groceries and stocking shelves. Other things.”
“What happened?”
“I got fired.”
“Oh, I don’t usually hear that.” Pugh seemed amused. “How come?”
“Well, actually it was a misunderstanding.”
“What kind of misunderstanding?”
“I’d rather not go into it. I mean, it involves my boss. And it may well be just speculation on my part. So it really would be best if I didn’t say anything. But I can assure you I’m a good worker. And I’m very dependable. I’d never call in sick and leave you in a lurch or anything like that.”
“What if you had to? What if you were, like, really sick?”
“No! I’d work anyway. I’d be right here. No matter what.”
Pugh put the papers