My new job seems easy enough. I’m tasked with loading the UpDown Seat into a box, sealing it up, and getting it ready to mail. There are three others who work on that task with me. Because of some press they’ve gotten in the last few weeks in some kind of geriatric magazine, they have more orders than usual, which is why I was hired. We work in a big warehouse that’s pretty noisy, because in one corner they’re working on parts of the hydraulic lift that makes the seat what it is. In another corner they’re using molds to make the plastic parts. By the time it gets to us it’s all put together, and we have to put it in a clear plastic bag, then in the box, then in a shipping box. It gets pretty tedious and my back hurts, but I do my best even though it’s the least amount I’ve ever been paid. But I can’t expect more than minimum wage. I just hope it’s enough to help me fill back in what I’ve already spent of my cash.
There’s kind of a family environment here, and every couple of hours the people doing the hydraulics take a break, so it gets quiet and we can talk. Blake, the inventor, is hands-on, making sure nothing is overlooked. He jumps in wherever he’s needed. But Cole is different. He works in the office most of the time, and from time to time he walks through, looking distracted. I can’t help looking for the sadness in his eyes, wondering if he’s still contemplating suicide.
At lunch in the break room, I get to know my coworkers better. I find out that one of them, Alice, is a gluten-free vegan about my age, who has a weakness for bologna. It seems that her doctor has her on the G-free diet, but she eats the meat like candy that she’s sneaked into her car. The two other people in my area in charge of packaging are Trey, who dropped out of high school in the tenth grade, and Sully, who’s around thirty-five and used to work offshore on an oil rig, until the economy turned and he couldn’t find work. Though they’re pretty quiet and focused when they’re working, they relax a little at lunch.
“So does anybody know how Cole’s wife is doing?” Alice asks the guys at our table in a whisper.
I look up.
“She came by here to talk to him the other day,” Trey says. “I saw her when she left and she was crying.”
“Do you think he did it?” Alice asks.
Trey shrugs. “I don’t know him that well, but he seems like a decent guy.”
I want to ask what they think he did, but it seems like none of my business, so I look down at my food.
“How do you get over this, if it’s not true?” Alice says. “You can’t just move on. People are going to think he did it for the rest of his life.” She glances at me. “It’s Cole. He’s only been working here a couple of weeks, since he lost his job as a vice-principal.” She glances to the side, making sure none of the family are lurking nearby. “They’re saying he molested a seven-year-old girl at his school.”
I catch myself before I gasp, and then I remember that line in the suicide note, where he mentioned a false accusation. “What has he said?”
“That he didn’t do it and his lawyer is working on clearing his name.”
“He goes to my church,” Sully finally says. “I’ve been on mission trips with him. He’s for real, man. He couldn’t have done it.”
“But isn’t that how it goes?” Alice asks. “I mean, people who do that are never the ones you think.”
“But I’ve seen him with his kids. He has a seven-year-old. No way he did that.”
I finally have to ask. “Did he get fired, or did he just resign?”
“Got fired, I heard,” Sully says. “And it’s been all over the papers and local news.”
“You know, the weird thing is that they usually keep the identity of a child abuse victim private, but this family has been giving interviews. They outed her themselves.”
“He must be really depressed,” I say, glancing toward the door. “Is his wife sticking by him?”
“Seems to be,” Alice says. “But it’s got to be hard.”
About that time, Cole comes into the room. He stands in the doorway for a moment, looking around as if he’s forgotten why he came in here. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his skin has a gray pallor. He looks like he hasn’t had much sleep in days.
He meets my eyes, then quickly looks away, then back again. I look down at my sandwich and take a bite. I wonder if he realizes I saw the note. He finally leaves the room and doesn’t come back.
When I get off work, I go into my room, crawl up on the bed, and turn on my computer. I look up reports of the accusations against Cole. As my coworkers mentioned, there are several articles that have interviews with Nate and Tiffany Trendall, the parents accusing him and suing the school.
I watch the interviews they’ve done on the local news, astonished that they went into such detail about their child’s abuse. Doctors have confirmed that she was molested.
I hear knocking on the door and I get up and open it. Little Caden is holding on to the doorknob, wanting to close the door. I smile and let him close it, then he knocks and opens it again. He’s delighted by the game as he stands on his toes, opening and closing my door. “Caden, what are you doing?”
“I told you he loves doors.” Lydia is sitting in a chair, legs crossed in a yoga pose, and she’s on her phone texting furiously. I bend down and speak to him, throw his ball, and let him run after it and bring it back. He seems starved for attention, and she’s not interested in giving it. It’s a small thing, playing with a child, but it means a lot, and it makes me miss my little Emma even more.
He brings me a book and I ask Lydia if she minds if I pull him up onto my bed and read it to him. She says it’s okay—without looking up from her phone—so I pull him up. He gets into position, snuggled next to me, eagerly waiting for the story to begin. Because I don’t see him following every word of the book, I abbreviate the words and concentrate on the pictures. He sucks his thumb as he listens.
Before I’ve finished the story, he demands “milt,” which I’m pretty sure means milk. I go to the door and try to get his mother’s attention. “Lydia, he’s saying he wants some milt.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s bedtime,” she says without looking at him. “I’m going out. My mother is keeping him. I’ll make her get him some milk and put him to bed.” She finally puts her phone in her pocket, then grabs Caden and takes him downstairs. I’m relieved because he’s wearing me out after I’ve worked all day, but I don’t want him to know it. I hope his “milt” lulls him to sleep.