Cathryn Parry - The Sweetest Hours

The snow falling on the pine trees outside made him feel sad. It was so quiet and peaceful. He and Kristin were the only two people on the factory floor, with all the empty, ghostlike machines. She led him from station to station, his footsteps echoing against the ancient wooden boards, warped and uneven with age. The space was small and cramped with devices—mixers, conveyor belts, bottlers and a label maker that Kristin said was broken, hence, the applying of labels by hand today. But no matter...all the other machines were dormant, too. On a Saturday.

Incredibly wasteful. His head had been buried in the levels of financials for this small, privately held company for weeks, and it was apparent to him that the business was mismanaged.

Malcolm took photos with his camera phone. He listened while Kristin explained each part of the production process, and how the layout was configured depending on the product to be manufactured that day.

“I thought you worked with the computer system,” he remarked to her.

“I do. But I also schedule the machines. That’s the benefit of a small company—I get to do lots of things.” She smiled. “I like variety, so it’s perfect for me. I don’t think any other company would fit my personality. It’s why I won’t ever leave here.”

He kept his careful poker face and just felt sadder. It was not good that he was getting to know his hostess. Not wise at all to let himself sympathize with these people at Aura. It was his job to stay emotionally aloof and separate from the actions he was required to take. He needed to remain neutral and businesslike. It was safer for everyone that way.

He went back to the computer in her office and studied the range of reports to choose from.

“George?” Mindy asked from the doorway.

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that Mindy was referring to him. Damn it. “Yes, Mindy?”

“Kristin says to ask you what you want for lunch. She’s going to call in a sandwich order, and I get to pick it up by myself.” Her chest expanded with pride.

Do not get too close to these people. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll take care of my own lunch.”

“But, aren’t you hungry?” Mindy demanded. “I’m always hungry.”

His stomach was growling. He was thirsty, too, but for something cold. Andrew had shown him a Coke machine in the break room earlier, but Malcolm hadn’t brought any pocket change with him. He was still hoping Andrew would call him, even though Malcolm knew it was highly unlikely—less than a one percent chance, he figured.

“I’ll, er, walk someplace close by for lunch,” Malcolm said to the girl. A lie, because he didn’t have a wallet or credit cards, and his smallest bill was a hundred. He doubted a small-town diner would risk cashing it.

“I’m walking today,” Mindy said. “To Cookie’s Place. Kristin said I’m in charge.” She scrunched her face at him, showing him that she was peeved. It occurred to him that maybe he was taking her job away from her.

“Ah...is there a bigger place nearby? A chain restaurant?” Maybe he could call his driver to phone in an order with a credit card. “How about a pizza place I can walk to?” Vermont didn’t have fried pizza like in Scotland, but he would make do.

Mindy frowned harder. “If you are walking, there’s only Cookie’s Place.”

Of course. It was a small town. And it had been a crucial, logistical mistake not to have access to a car. His fault, because how could the fictional “George Smith” rent a car without a driver’s license?

Sighing wearily, he gave in. “Please order me whatever sandwich Kristin is ordering. And, er—” man, this was painful “—please ask her if I can pay her back later, once I have change. Okay?”

He would have to send an envelope with cash later, which gave him more logistical problems. The compounding of his torment today did not end....

“Kristin is paying for our lunches out of petty cash,” Mindy informed him.

Well. That solved everything. “Fine. You win.”

When the food came, he was grateful for it. Thick slices of deli turkey piled high on homemade white bread, also sliced thick, with crisp lettuce and Swiss cheese and a spread of fresh cranberry sauce as the main condiment. Absolutely delicious. He tried not to eat like a hungry wolf. They were all together sitting at a table by the big front windows, chewing happily, saying little. Malcolm downed his bottle of cool spring water, contented, no longer so dehydrated.

The snow outside was coming down in a thick blanket. At home, in Scotland, the roads would be at a standstill, he thought with amusement. When he’d been in Edinburgh over Hogmanay, the city had received just a few inches of snow, and the city government had literally called in the British Army to clear the streets. Scotland didn’t have snow-clearing equipment like Vermont did. People just didn’t drive in snow the way they did here.

But Malcolm was a great driver in snow. He’d had many years of long New England practice.

Then he realized that, without knowing it, Mindy had put a bug in his ear with all her questions. He suddenly felt homesick for his country. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of Coke that Kristin had also ordered for him. If he were at home, he’d have asked for an Irn-Bru. Maybe Kristin would think it was nasty stuff—sweet, licorice-flavored, neon-orange-colored carbonated soda—but it was his Scottish nasty stuff, and that’s why he’d always liked it.

He was just tired from too much traveling. Maybe he needed a rest....

The others went back to work, and he observed Kristin and her motley crew from a distance. It fascinated him how Kristin made a game out of finishing their labeling chore. She and Mindy sang all the choruses of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” When they were through with that, they shared turns telling stories.

And then they lapsed into silence, quietly moving among the open boxes, filling them with jars, while Mindy closed her eyes and rested.

Outside, the snow covered the world in a peaceful white blanket. Malcolm got up by himself and wandered the facility, first completing his report-printing and diagram-photocopying, and then taking the last of his photos.

When he’d finished, he searched for Kristin. He found her sitting by herself at the table where they’d eaten lunch earlier. Her chin was in her hands and she was staring out the window, just watching the January snow come down. Hushed.

And it seemed to him that the delicious sandwich caught in his throat, because he’d known before he’d even started his day’s work, known before he’d seen the first bleeding financial statement and the first silent, still piece of machinery that he was going to shut all this down on her.

He was the man responsible.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

NOT EVEN MINDY could melt this glacial man’s heart, Kristin decided.

Thankfully, George had avoided them for most of the afternoon. Mindy had come back and reported to Kristin that George was “mean.”

“He frowns at me,” Mindy had said.

Yes, George was a frowner. Nothing cracked his reserve.

He was closed, disinterested, zipped-up tight. And she wouldn’t complain about it, because he had treated her with nothing but professionalism so far. During their tour of the plant, not once had he said a single inappropriate thing or even cracked a smile again.

If anything, as he followed her about the factory floor, listening silently to her explanation of the processes, cutting in only now and then to ask pertinent questions, he was insightful.

Her anxiety since she’d spoken to Dirk had slowly slipped away. She had relaxed enough to leave George to his own devices while she’d helped her crew box orders and perform quality control with the invoices and packing lists. The shipping company was due soon, and Aura was behind with their schedule. They were always behind with their schedule lately, it seemed. Whenever things went wrong at work, Andrew would be quick to criticize her, but Kristin was determined this would not be one of those times.