Dean.
Dean sighs. “I just wanted to cheer her up. She seemed so bummed the other day.”
“It’s bad enough that you keep going to that place, but you had to drag her along too.” The sharpness of Troy’s tone cuts through me.
Dean’s voice trembles with anguish. “I know I screwed up. I’m never taking her back there again.”
“But you’re still planning to go,” Troy says. “Come on Dean. You’re smarter than that. You know it’s just a matter of time until that place gets busted. If you and Gregg are there when it does, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble.”
“I really don’t care, but you can relax a bit. I promised Brett I wouldn’t drink again and I mean it.” The defeat and sadness in his tone startles me. I open my eyes. Dean sits with his head in his hands and wipes his sleeve against his eyes. “Even if they catch me at the warehouse, just what the hell are they gonna do to me? They can’t possibly give me a worse job than the one I have. Heck, even if they make me pick up garbage, I’ll still get nights off. Seven days on and three days off is a crappy shift. And let me tell you, watching people tar a road is even less exciting than watching paint dry. The best part—once they finish paving the road to the sea, I get to watch them pave a road south. Lucky me .”
Troy’s expression softens. “Why don’t you talk to your field manager? He could reassign you to a new job, one that you’d like. A few nights sleeping in the pod and you’d have all the training you need.”
“Uh-uh. I already told you I’m not going to sleep in those things. It’s bad enough they messed with our heads during cryogenic sleep. I’m not about to willingly lie down and let them do it again – it’s just not right.”
“Fine, keep sleeping on the floor,” Troy snaps. “Let your paranoia keep you miserable, but don’t come crying to me when you and the warehouse gets busted.”
A phrase my dad used to tell me echoes in my head. Something about whining over shoes until you meet someone without shoes or feet, or something like that. I can’t remember the exact words in my foggy state, but I understand its meaning, and guilt stabs my chest. I’ve been so consumed with self-pity over my job and my failed romance that I never once bothered to see how Dean or the rest of my friends were doing. Sure, I know who’s dating, who’s engaged and whatnot, but that’s only because my friends tell me these things. By the sound of it, Dean was sleeping on the floor back when he worked in the field with me. Did Ryan and Jake know or did he wait until everyone fell asleep before relocating to the floor? I drift off to sleep contemplating what a horrible friend I’ve been and what else I don’t know.
I wake as Wendy jostles me and hands me a glass of water. “Drink,” she orders. I slowly sip until I drain the glass. Then I lean back and close my eyes. I’m not sure how long I sleep or even if I sleep. Wrenching pains in my stomach force me awake. I dash to the bathroom and empty my stomach again. The effects of the drinks must be wearing off, because my head is starting to hurt as bad as my stomach already does. When Wendy opens the bathroom door, I wave her off, but she comes in anyway and holds back my braid. When I finish, she wordlessly hands me a cold facecloth and some water. I gargle with it. She refills the glass. I grimace at the sight of it. The last thing I want is more water to make me vomit again.
“I know it sucks,” she says, “but if you can’t keep some down, I will bring you to the hospital.”
I take the glass and walk back to the couch. Again, I sip the water slowly, willing my stomach to cooperate so I won’t get anyone in trouble. Luck is finally on my side. I wake up the next morning, still on Troy’s couch. Dean watches me from an armchair on the other side of the room. He looks exhausted. I sit up. My head pounds, my stomach lurches in protest, but it’s only
Dean sighs. “I just wanted to cheer her up. She seemed so bummed the other day.”
“It’s bad enough that you keep going to that place, but you had to drag her along too.” The sharpness of Troy’s tone cuts through me.
Dean’s voice trembles with anguish. “I know I screwed up. I’m never taking her back there again.”
“But you’re still planning to go,” Troy says. “Come on Dean. You’re smarter than that. You know it’s just a matter of time until that place gets busted. If you and Gregg are there when it does, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble.”
“I really don’t care, but you can relax a bit. I promised Brett I wouldn’t drink again and I mean it.” The defeat and sadness in his tone startles me. I open my eyes. Dean sits with his head in his hands and wipes his sleeve against his eyes. “Even if they catch me at the warehouse, just what the hell are they gonna do to me? They can’t possibly give me a worse job than the one I have. Heck, even if they make me pick up garbage, I’ll still get nights off. Seven days on and three days off is a crappy shift. And let me tell you, watching people tar a road is even less exciting than watching paint dry. The best part—once they finish paving the road to the sea, I get to watch them pave a road south. Lucky me .”
Troy’s expression softens. “Why don’t you talk to your field manager? He could reassign you to a new job, one that you’d like. A few nights sleeping in the pod and you’d have all the training you need.”
“Uh-uh. I already told you I’m not going to sleep in those things. It’s bad enough they messed with our heads during cryogenic sleep. I’m not about to willingly lie down and let them do it again – it’s just not right.”
“Fine, keep sleeping on the floor,” Troy snaps. “Let your paranoia keep you miserable, but don’t come crying to me when you and the warehouse gets busted.”
A phrase my dad used to tell me echoes in my head. Something about whining over shoes until you meet someone without shoes or feet, or something like that. I can’t remember the exact words in my foggy state, but I understand its meaning, and guilt stabs my chest. I’ve been so consumed with self-pity over my job and my failed romance that I never once bothered to see how Dean or the rest of my friends were doing. Sure, I know who’s dating, who’s engaged and whatnot, but that’s only because my friends tell me these things. By the sound of it, Dean was sleeping on the floor back when he worked in the field with me. Did Ryan and Jake know or did he wait until everyone fell asleep before relocating to the floor? I drift off to sleep contemplating what a horrible friend I’ve been and what else I don’t know.
I wake as Wendy jostles me and hands me a glass of water. “Drink,” she orders. I slowly sip until I drain the glass. Then I lean back and close my eyes. I’m not sure how long I sleep or even if I sleep. Wrenching pains in my stomach force me awake. I dash to the bathroom and empty my stomach again. The effects of the drinks must be wearing off, because my head is starting to hurt as bad as my stomach already does. When Wendy opens the bathroom door, I wave her off, but she comes in anyway and holds back my braid. When I finish, she wordlessly hands me a cold facecloth and some water. I gargle with it. She refills the glass. I grimace at the sight of it. The last thing I want is more water to make me vomit again.
“I know it sucks,” she says, “but if you can’t keep some down, I will bring you to the hospital.”
I take the glass and walk back to the couch. Again, I sip the water slowly, willing my stomach to cooperate so I won’t get anyone in trouble. Luck is finally on my side. I wake up the next morning, still on Troy’s couch. Dean watches me from an armchair on the other side of the room. He looks exhausted. I sit up. My head pounds, my stomach lurches in protest, but it’s only
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