Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“You’re Mr. Matthews’ kid?” the driver guessed.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Well, it’s a family business,” Danny explained as if he needed a reason to include me.
“Take your break at noon,” Porter told his employee.
“Sure,” Danny agreed.
“Linc, when you’re done with your lunch, find Danny again.” Porter turned to the other man. “Linc’s gonna shadow you for the rest of the week.”
“You got it.” Danny saluted. I wondered if he was ex-military. Sometimes civilians saluted as a kind of joke. Sometimes veterans retained the habit and it carried over into their normal lives.
As soon as Porter was gone, I asked. “Were you in the service?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Worked at a recruiting station. Never saw any combat.” He eyed me up and down, searching for my injury. “I understand you were in Afghanistan.”
“Does everybody know that?” I asked.
Danny grinned. “Pretty much. You just let me know if I’m going too fast or if you have any questions.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I just got in from a run, so you can watch me fill out my mileage. Lucky you.”
“Okay.”
He walked to the red barn-like building that bordered the parking lot. I knew from Porter’s tour that it housed the register and a small tool shop. Danny took me through a side door into what looked like a crappy break room. The floor was full of sawdust and wood chips—not in an aesthetic way but like nobody ever swept. There was a fridge, a counter, and a sink, all stained with brown age spots.
On one wall was a corkboard with paperwork layered haphazardly. Danny selected one form, detached it from the wall, and brought it to the single table. He sat down and wrote some numbers before standing up and pinning it back to the board.
“Gotta write down the mileage, the truck number, and your name,” he said to explain.
I nodded.
“They used to keep the forms in the trucks, and that was easier. But people kept forgetting to update them, and then we wouldn’t use them. Boss needs it for insurance purposes.”
“Got it,” I said.
“No deliveries right now, so we wait.” Danny sat down again and put his feet up on an empty chair.
I sat down beside him. “Are you usually busy?”
“Four or five, sometimes six deliveries a day,” Danny answered.
“How many drivers?”
“Including you?”
I nodded.
“Three now.”
“Is there enough work for three people?” I wondered.
“Why?” He fixed me with an appraising stare. “You uncomfortable sitting around on the clock?”
I shook my head. “No, I was in the Army, remember? Most of the time, it was ‘hurry up and wait.’”
Danny snorted a laugh. “Well, some deliveries are scheduled, but sometimes a customer shows up and needs lumber hauled to his house or a job site on the spot. They need drivers available at all times.”
I nodded. We sat and talked for about twenty minutes until we were joined by another driver. That man’s name was Henry, and he was about my age but skinnier and taller. He had just come in from another delivery and logged his mileage on the form.
“Working hard or hardly working?” Henry joked, reaching into the refrigerator for a soda.
“I’m just showing Linc here the ropes,” Danny said.
“You the boss’s son?” Henry held out his hand.
“Yep.” I shook it, not standing up.
“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Henry suggested, pointing at Danny.
I laughed. It was a decent start to the day and almost made lunch with Dad seem bearable. I went on one delivery run with Danny, out to a job site in the mountains. Even Singer’s Ridge was expanding. Cabins were hot commodities, and our customers were building one right after another.
We loaded up both trucks with pine boards, drove them over, and unloaded. The customer signed for them, and we left, stopping off at a gas station on the way back. It seemed like Danny’s whole heart wasn’t in his job. If I had been a brown-noser, I could have ratted on him to my dad. I didn’t care that much, though, and wasn’t interested in making enemies. Besides, I wasn’t necessarily on my dad’s side.
At noon, Danny cut me loose, and I walked back to the main house on my own. My leg had gone from throbbing to white-hot agony, but I ignored it. I was going to get through the day, no matter what it took. And I was going to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. The leg would just have to fall in line.
Dad was waiting for me in the lunchroom. He had stopped for takeout at the diner, and two Styrofoam clamshells were sitting on the table. I sat down heavily, unable to mask my discomfort.
“How’s the first day?” Dad asked.
“Not bad,” I said.
“I got you a burger and fries,” Dad told me because he didn’t have anything else to say.
The food smelled heavenly, and my stomach growled. I opened the clamshell and dug in. “Thanks.”