“Of course he does.”
The woman rolled toward the table.
“He thinks I’m a detached idiot.”
The counsel almost smiled.
“Do you want me to add that to tomorrow’s agenda?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He may be right.”
At 6:12 the next morning, the single father woke on his daughter’s bedroom floor.
He had fallen asleep there after carrying her home from the elderly neighbor’s house.
His daughter was awake.
She lay beneath a blanket staring at him.
“You snore.”
“I do not.”
“You did.”
“You’re nine.”
“Your medical opinion is invalid.”
She smiled.
He sat up.
His back protested.
“School closed?”
“Neighbor said probably.”
He checked his phone.
District closure.
Of course.
The daughter cheered.
“Can I come to work?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a factory.”
“You brought me before.”
“Family day.”
“What if this is last family day?”
The sentence hurt more than she knew.
The single father looked away.
The daughter softened.
“Sorry.”
He rubbed her hair.
“It’s okay.”
The elderly neighbor offered to keep her.
The single father made pancakes.
Burned one.
His daughter ate it anyway.
Then he dressed for work.
At the door, she noticed his leather jacket.
“Where was that?”
“What?”
“You never wear it.”
“It was in the truck.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Did you meet a woman?”
He nearly dropped his keys.
“What?”
The daughter smiled.
“You did.”
“No.”
“You’re weird.”
“I found someone at a bus stop.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty?”
He looked toward her.
“You are nine.”
“That means yes.”
The neighbor began laughing from the kitchen.
The single father escaped.
Riverside Mobility Assembly sat along the frozen river on the industrial edge of Westfield.
Three low manufacturing buildings.
Loading docks.
Employee parking.
A front office built during better years.
The sign still displayed Northstar Mobility beneath a newer corporate logo.
The single father arrived at 6:53.
Workers stood around the entrance.
Nobody seemed to know whether they were supposed to work or wait for bad news.
Inside, the plant director had ordered all nonessential maintenance halted.
That was unusual.
The line supervisor approached.
“Meeting at eight.”
“Closure?”
“Probably.”
“Thought announcement was Friday.”
“Board moved.”
The single father swore quietly.
The supervisor lowered his voice.
“There’s another rumor.”
“What?”
“Owner’s coming.”
The single father laughed.
“Sure.”
“Seriously.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“In this weather?”
The supervisor shrugged.
“Maybe she wants to see the bodies before the funeral.”
The single father walked toward maintenance.
At 7:28, the plant director summoned him.
He entered the office.
The director was already angry.