“And he’s good at it.” He sat at the bar. “Rain’s coming.”
Moths teased the light outside the window over the sink.
“Are you going to miss Atlanta?” his mother asked.
Not really. The Fulton County District Attorney’s Office had been an adventure. For sure. Lots of twelve-hour workdays and eighty-hour workweeks prosecuting every kind of crime known to man. He’d started out handling burglaries, but graduated to violent crime and then spent the last few years trying nothing but murders. He hoped he never saw another bloody corpse again.
“I never thought I’d work at the paper mill.”
“Neither did your father.”
He could still hear the lecture, delivered at least once every few months. His father had been a self-taught machinist who worked all his life for somebody else, punching a time card and collecting a paycheck every other Thursday. Three weeks of vacation a year, sick days accrued, health benefits guaranteed, and a retirement check waiting when he finished.
A good, decent living.
Just one thing, though.
He didn’t want his only child following in his footsteps.
“Under the circumstances,” his mother said. “I’m sure he’d approve.”
But neither of them voiced what they both knew. His mother was sick. She’d noticed it coming on for a while, but had said nothing to him until three months ago. Her mind was slipping. Enough that she’d seen a doctor who confirmed the early onset of Alzheimer’s. Medication had been prescribed, which could only delay the inevitable, so his place was back here with her.
His demons be damned.
“I shouldn’t complain,” he said. “I’ve got a decent salary, medical insurance, retirement plan, and a title. Assistant corporatecounsel to a multi-billion-dollar corporation. Who knows? Maybe even corporate counsel one day.”
“What about Hank, he okay with that?”
“I was waiting for him to mention something at dinner. But nothing. I know he’s going to expect things, though. Inside information. A heads-up for trouble. In the old days I’d spend an hour or two every day tied down with him plotting and planning something against the company. Contract negotiations are just around the corner, so I’d say he’s going to become a problem.”
“You don’t forget who you work for now.”
“I know. I only hope Hank won’t either.”
Strange, really. Ten years ago he was a young lawyer in a small town hustling a living from courthouse to courthouse. Then he became a criminal prosecutor in a big city. Now he was an assistant general counsel for a paper company. Forty years old and already with three different careers.
Who would have thought?
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked his mother.
“I don’t know, son. I truly don’t.”
“You scared?”
“I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t.”
“I’ll be here. All the way.”
He caught the loving look on her face that expressed her thanks better than words.
“Southern Republic’s a good company,” she said. “They’re lucky to have you.”
He stared out the window.
Rain started to fall.
He hoped she was right.
