Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [37]
In a few minutes he had loaded three pallets onto the truck. “It’ll hold twelve total, three more on the bottom, six on top. You wanna try it?”
“Sure!”
Alejandro showed Brady the controls and had him drive the forklift around the yard, around a pile of raw goods, between a couple of paving trucks. Brady was tentative and overcorrected at first, but soon he began to get the hang of it. Then Alejandro had him feather the controls until he had a feel for lifting and tilting the forks. When he had to maneuver inside the outbuilding, however, things got dicey. Once he slammed on the brake just before hitting the metal doorframe.
“You can see that’s been hit a lot of times, even by experienced guys,” Alejandro said. “But it’s good to not do that.”
When Brady tried lifting the first car stop, he drove the forks into the stop above the slots, pushing the entire form into the next and breaking the first stop.
Brady swore.
“That’s all right. Everybody’s got to learn. You got a week to quit doing that. Then we start taking it out of your pay. Each of these stops costs about what we pay you per hour, so you don’t want to break any. Break two on a shift and you make no money.”
“I’ll learn!”
“Of course you will.”
It took Brady an hour to load two pallets and get them onto the truck.
“You’ll get better and faster each time,” the foreman said. “Just remember, we have to dock you for broken or even cracked ones, because they become scrap. Can’t sell ’em.”
In two hours each night, provided Brady could manage this, he would make three times what he made in an hour at the Laundromat. The first two hundred would go to Tatlock, of course, but soon enough he’d be back on track with his car fund. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
Peebles, Ohio
Thomas Carey felt fortunate that old Bible college friends had proven hospitable without even having to be present. Thomas had caught them by phone just as they were leaving for vacation, and his old buddy insisted that the Careys “camp out at our place for as much of the next two weeks as you need.” He told Thomas where to find the key and was adamant that he and Grace wholly make themselves at home.
“He didn’t even ask why we needed a place, Grace.”
She had been dozing next to him in the front seat. “That’s wonderful. True friends. Maybe he knows of an opening somewhere.”
It was nice not to have to unload much. Their stuff filled the trailer, but all they needed were their toiletries and a few changes of clothes. Thomas immediately phoned the denomination headquarters and left his temporary phone number for Jimmie Johnson. When he found Grace hanging their clothes in the guest room closet, he said, “You need to get to bed. You look terrible.”
“Why, thank you, Dale Carnegie.”
“You seriously don’t look well. And that bruise has grown.”
“Can’t figure that one out. Age, I guess.”
“It’s more than that. Once we get settled somewhere, you’re seeing a doctor.”
“Yes, I suppose I should,” she said, which startled Thomas. Grace was the most doctor-averse person he had ever met. He’d had to force her to get an annual physical once she turned forty. Not once had she gone willingly, let alone volunteered. And now she was saying that she supposed she should? He prayed she would take it easy in the meantime. Fat chance.
To his relief, once Grace had dropped into bed, despite that it was a small and strange one, she slept soundly.
The next morning, as Grace continued to sleep, Thomas began calling everyone he knew, briefly explaining that their most recent assignment had simply not worked out and they were now eagerly looking into new opportunities.
Thomas meticulously kept track of every phone call, determined to reimburse his hosts for the use of their phone. He enjoyed several long conversations with old friends, reminiscing and updating, but no one was aware of openings anywhere.
When hunger pangs hit midmorning, Thomas realized he had not heard Grace stirring. On the one hand, she needed her rest. On the other, she also needed to get moving and eat. He found her awake but still. He