Mike Wells: Baby Talk

Neal heard old man Snell’s heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, from the main office. He sauntered into the open area where Grammy and Mildred worked. His pale blue eyes looked Neal up and down. Then, he simply cocked his head towards his office.

“Uh-oh,” Neal muttered under his breath. He followed the old man down the hallway, no longer bothering to try and hide his limp. When they entered the office, Snell motioned to a decrepit black Naugahide chair opposite his desk, the same chair where Neal had sat when Snell had interviewed him for the job a little less than two weeks ago. Neal carefully lowered himself into it.

Snell sat there a moment, eyeing Neal suspiciously. Neal glanced away, at the rows and rows of ancient-looking football trophies that lined the bookshelves.

Snell finally leaned forward and inspected Neal’s foot. Even through the sneaker, it looked enormous.

“Why didn’t you tell us you hurt yourself, son? You could have just taken the day off.”

“I...well, it wasn’t really too bad this morning.”

“Looks pretty bad now, though.”

Neal sat up a little more in the chair and tried to appear confident—he didn’t want to lose the job, no matter how bad it was. “I need the money. I was afraid if I tried to take time off so soon, you might fire me.”

“I can understand that,” Snell said, slowly nodding his beefy head. “But what I can’t understand it your disregard for other people, me and my fambly included. You might screw up and run somebody over.” He looked past Neal, as if imagining some grisly accident, and then shuddered. “You hit a pedestrian, I might lose everything.” Glancing towards his open door, he lowered his voice. “You know how these nigras are now. They all got lawyers and an axe to grind, and the damn goven’ment backs ‘em up.”

Neal nodded politely, but shuddered on the inside. Snell was the type of ignorant redneck with whom Neal could never have imagined having an extended conversation, much less having for an employer. But what troubled Neal even more at this particular moment was how the old man had found out about his foot. He was almost certain no one at the shop had noticed anything wrong when he had loaded up the truck in the morning. Grammy and Mildred had been gorging themselves on coffee and donuts and hadn’t paid him any attention.

“I got a call this afternoon from a security guard on your delivery route,” the old man said, as if he had read Neal’s thoughts. “Said you didn’t look fit to walk, let alone drive a van.”

“Oh,” was all Neal could manage. That nosy bastard , he thought, remembering the guard. Why couldn’t he have just minded his own business?

“He also said he thought you were on drugs.”

Neal sat up even straighter. “I’m not on drugs.”

Snell gave another slow nod, then glanced down at Neal’s foot again.

“What exactly happened to it, anyway?”

“Nothing—I just sprained it last night.”

“Doing what?”

Neal shrugged. “Fell when I got up to go to the bathroom.”

“That’s mighty interestin,’” the old man said.

Neal became even more tense. “Why do you say that?” Surely Annie hadn’t called and told him about—

“Security guard said you did it playin’ tennis.”

“Oh.” Neal felt his face turning red, partly from embarrassment, but partly from anger. What kind of conversation had the two assholes had, anyway? Had they discussed the color of his socks, too? Neal wondered if the old man knew the guard was black. He doubted it. They wouldn’t have been so chummy, otherwise.

“So which is it?” Snell said, with a sneer.

“I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

“The physical condition of my drivers is my bidness.” He paused, clasping his hands behind his head. “Besides, bein’ an ex-athlete an all, I might even be able to hep out.”

Neal sighed, fighting the effects of all the pain killers he had taken. It was difficult to think clearly. “Look, I hurt it a little bit after work, playing tennis. Then when I got up last night to use the bathroom, I turned my ankle, and really messed it up. Okay?”

Snell looked Neal over as if he were trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “Go to the doctor?”

“Yes sir,” Neal said.

“Which one?”

“I don’t know—my wife took me to the emergency room last night.”

“Get it x-rayed?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Nothin’ broken?”

“No sir.”

“Good man,” Snell said, smiling. It appeared to Neal that he believed the story.

“Doctor give you any pain killers?”

This caught Neal by surprise.

The old man’s pale blue eyes remained fixed on Neal’s face, waiting for an answer.

“No,” Neal said.

“Well, I have to tell you, bein’ an ex-athlete and all, that really surprises me. They almost always give pain killers for sprains, especially one that’s swole up like that.”

“Well, they didn’t give me any.”

“Uh-huh.” Snell brought one thick finger to his lips, looking Neal up and down. “Would you mind emptying your pockets on the table?”

Neal was so stunned he could not speak for a few seconds. “You bet I’d mind.” He let out a nervous laugh. “What is this, a concentration camp?”

Snell chuckled. “Wish it was sometimes, son.” The smile vanished. “You gonna empty your pockets or not?”

The pain killers were in Neal’s right-hand pocket. Now, the little prescription bottle felt the size of a pickle-barrel. He wondered if Snell could see it bulging through his jeans.

Neal said, “You don’t have the right to search me.”

“No. But I have the right to fire your smart ass.”

“Go ahead,” Neal said indignantly. He struggled his way out of the chair and onto his feet.

“Now, don’t get all worked up over this,” Snell said.

Neal had already taken a step towards the door, his hand on the doorjamb for support. He paused and looked back at Snell.

“Don’t pay me no mind,” the old man said, with another chuckle. “I get a little carried away sometimes. Just go on home and take care of that leg. Get some rest, and if you feel up to it, come on back to work in the morning.”

Neal nodded, but he had no intention of working another second for Snell. He was sure the only reason the old man had backed off was because he didn’t have a replacement delivery boy lined up. But that wouldn’t take long—there were plenty of people in Atlanta desperate enough to put up with Snell’s bullshit.

Neal walked out the door, managing to take the first few steps without limping.

And he didn’t look back.

* * *

Annie had everything packed up and loaded into her car by a quarter to five. It had taken her a lot longer than she had anticipated—she kept thinking of “one more thing” Natasha might need, and she ended up taking almost all the baby provisions that were in the apartment. The only item that was in short supply was disposable diapers. There was just one left, but she had just changed Natasha, so she could make it to Chattanooga and then buy some more there. She didn’t want to spend any more time in Atlanta than necessary.

When she was finally satisfied she had everything she needed, she went back inside the apartment to get Natasha and to leave Neal a note. The baby was already strapped into her car seat, ready and waiting on the couch, wearing the orange jumper that Annie’s mother had made for her. Annie had put it on Natasha that morning, knowing that she would be going home. It was too bad her mother wasn’t going to be there and see Natasha in it—it was awfully cute on her. Her mother had embroidered Natasha’s name across the front.