Lynnette Kent - Single with Kids

Rob went to the far right file cabinet and pulled out the top drawer. “As I recall, she files the year’s invoices by month received, and month paid. We got that shipment…what? Two months ago?” He checked the June folder, then July. “Here it is. Those locks came in at the beginning of July.”

“Well, thank God you had some idea of where to look. This whole system is just a mess.” His dad tugged the paper of out Rob’s hands. “How’m I supposed to remember what month the damn locks came in?”

“There’s a logbook, Dad.” Rob took the journal from the left drawer of the desk. “We record the deliveries.” He didn’t mention that his sister simply did what their dad had told her to with regard to the paperwork. Mike wouldn’t want to hear that the system he despised this morning was his own invention. “So what’s the problem with the invoice, anyway?”

“I keep taking down locks that don’t work right.” His dad left the office and went into the workshop. On his bench was a stack of six boxes containing brand-new locks. “Gotta send ’em back.”

“That’s a good company. It’s hard to believe they’d distribute defective merchandise. Have you tested every lock in the shipment?”

“That’s your job today.” Without so much as a glance in Rob’s direction, his dad started checking over his toolbox, getting ready for the day’s work.

Rob stood still for a minute, unwilling even to breathe for fear his temper would get the best of him. “My job?” he said, finally. “You want me to test five hundred locks?”

Mike nodded. “That’s right.”

“And I get this job because…?”

“Who else? Trent’s on call today. Smith is working on that office building project, which leaves you.”

“I’ll take call again. Let Trent test the locks.” He sounded like a whiny teenager. But he wasn’t an errand boy or an apprentice. “Or let Smith stay here and work with the locks. I should be doing the office project, anyway.”

“You weren’t able to stay until six in the afternoons, like they needed. So Smith took the job. And you test the locks.”

“Why don’t you test the locks?” Absolutely the worst thing he could’ve said.

Mike looked at him, then—Rob felt like he was staring at his older self in a mirror—and straightened up to his full height. “I run this business. I make the decisions and I assign the jobs. Nobody argues. That’s the way it is.”

And I quit, Rob said, but only in his mind. He’d had the thought a thousand times in the last fourteen years, and never acted on the impulse. Quitting his job would cause havoc in the family. More importantly, the insurance he carried through the business handled Ginny’s medical bills. He couldn’t afford to give up the insurance unless he had a better policy to replace it with. And these days, getting new insurance for a child with a preexisting condition was about as easy as changing his dad’s mind.

So he swallowed the words, along with a few choice phrases he would like to have used. “Yes, sir.” He headed toward the storeroom and the boxes of locks. “Whatever you say.”

WHEN HER OFFICE INTERCOM buzzed during her Monday morning staff meeting, Valerie could have sworn in frustration. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

The other department heads relaxed in their chairs as she crossed the room to pick up the phone on her desk. She turned her back to the conference table before she spoke. “Terri, I asked you not to disturb me during the meeting.”

“I know, Ms. Manion. But it’s your children’s school calling. I thought you’d want to know if someone was sick or hurt.” Her secretary had three children of her own, their pictures proudly displayed on her desk.

“Yes, of course.” Valerie sighed, sweeping her fingertips across her own bare work surface. “Put me through.”

After a click, a man’s voice said, “Hello?”

“This is Valerie Manion.”

“Ah, Mrs. Manion. This is Charles Randleman, the principal at Crawford Elementary School. I need to speak with you about your son, Connor.”

“Is he hurt? Sick?”

“Uh, no. Connor is fine. But he’s been causing us a great deal of trouble, and I think it’s time I involve you in the situation.”

Oh, Connor. Not again. “Has he hurt somebody?”

“No, no, not really. But—”

“Is the school building still standing?”

“Yes, of course. But, Mrs. Manion—”

His use of “Mrs.” set her teeth on edge. “Then I’ll have to call you back, Mr. Randleman. I’m in a meeting and I really can’t talk right now.”

“But this is your son, Mrs. Manion. Surely, he’s your first priority.”

“Yes, and if I don’t work, he doesn’t eat, which is a priority for both of us. So I’ll call you when I’m free and we’ll set up a time to talk. Thanks for letting me know there’s a problem.” She hung up on the principal’s bluster, took two seconds to master her worry and then turned to smile at the four men waiting for her. “Now, we were reviewing those production figures for the last quarter, weren’t we? Do we have a good reason for the six-percent drop?”

An hour later, she finally had her office to herself. As she put together the reports she’d received, Terri knocked on the door. “Here’s your lunch, Ms. Manion.” She set a tray on the conference table. “Is there anything else?”

Valerie didn’t glance at the food. “Terri, we need to get something settled. I’m going to notify the school that you are authorized to receive any emergency information about Grace and Connor that needs to be delivered. I don’t want to be interrupted in a meeting unless there’s a really good reason. This morning’s chat with the principal was not a good reason.”

Terri’s pale blue eyes went round with shock. “You want me to…to…to brush off a principal?”

Valerie grinned. “Haven’t you always wanted to?”

But Terri didn’t smile back. “N-No. I haven’t.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I want you to tell the principal that if no one’s life or health is at stake, I will call him when I have a chance.”

“But you’re their mother. You have to care about what’s wrong.”

“I do care. But I care about my work, as well. Do the other vice presidents take personal calls from the school during meetings?”

“I—I don’t know…”

“I’ve been working in management for ten years now, and I’ve never seen it happen.”

Terri couldn’t seem to grasp the concept. She wrung her hands. “Their f-father isn’t—”

“No, he isn’t. And he didn’t take calls when he was. I’m not saying I want to ignore a serious problem, Terri. If Connor’s sick, I want them to tell you and I’ll leave as soon as possible to take him home. I just need to be able to prioritize. That means only bona fide emergencies during the workday. Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Still looking confused, the secretary went back to her desk. Valerie sat down in front of her salad and crackers, with the production reports in front of her. Work time was for working, or else she’d never get everything done.

The intercom buzzed again before she’d had time for more than a forkful of lettuce. “Yes?”

“Ms. Manion, I’m sorry. But it’s the school again.”

“I—” No, she wouldn’t complain. Her authorization wasn’t in place yet. “Let me speak to them.”

Another click on the line. “Mrs. Manion, this is Principal Randleman. I’m afraid we do have a serious problem this time.”

Valerie waited, expecting to hear about some wrestling match in the library.

“Connor punched his fist through a window,” Randleman said. “We had him taken to the hospital in an ambulance.”

ROB ARRIVED AT the elementary school thirty minutes before the end of class on Wednesday. As early as he was, though, he found Valerie there ahead of him, with her boxes of papers, books and supplies already unloaded and sitting on a cafeteria table.