Chapter 6
After wrapping up my evening with the girls, I grabbed the food I’d ordered for Ian and made the drive home, rocking out with the windows down and the music up loud. And when Uptown Funk came on, I turned it up even louder and sang along at the top of my lungs because, let’s face it. You can’t help but dance and sing to that song. Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars know what they’re doing, for sure.
I pulled into the driveway and parked beside Ian’s truck, not bothering to pull into the garage. I gathered all my stuff and Ian’s food up and walked inside, hollering, “Honey, I’m home!”
Receiving no response, I laid his food on the counter and dropped everything else beside it, moving through the house looking for him. He was nowhere to be found inside the house, so I checked out on the back porch. I saw him there, sitting in the chair, staring off into the distance.
“Hey,” I said softly as I walked out to him, stopping at his side.
He was leaned back, the neck of a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers.
“Hey,” he said back, not moving, not looking at me.
I sat in the chair beside him, concern washing over me. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded once, and then quickly shook his head. “Just a rough day today, I guess. I had to fire a man for being so careless that one of my other workers ended up in the hospital today.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed, reaching out and taking his free hand in mine. “What happened?”
“Carl happened. Fucker went to Griff’s for lunch, which is no big deal, but he decided to have a few beers and a shot while he was at it. That is a real big deal. Came back, got into the bobcat, and then didn’t pay attention when he swung it around the corner. Ran it right into the side of an S-10 truck that was just pulling in. The guy driving, when the bucket hit the truck, thank God, was wearing his seatbelt, but he hit his head against the window. Knocked him out.”
I sank back in my seat, my hand automatically coming up to cover my mouth. “Is he okay?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s off for a couple weeks with a concussion, unless there’re complications with him. Carl got a little whiplash from hitting the truck, but he was fired on the spot. I mean, drinking on the fucking job! Goddamn, that pisses me off! He could have killed someone!”
Ian was yelling, his voice getting hoarse with emotion. I let him vent, still holding his hand in mine, my thumb drawing soothing circles against the back of his. Finally, he took a deep breath and then finished off the rest of his beer.
“You know, it could have been a lot worse. But what gets me, what pisses me off the most, is that Carl is a damn good worker. But he’s a fucking alcoholic. How did I not know that? How did I not catch that when he’s been with me for over a year now?”
His face was tortured, his breathing ragged.
I moved from my chair and draped myself over his lap, wrapping my arms around him and holding him tightly to me. He dropped his bottle and his arms came up and squeezed me.
“Baby, it’s not your fault. He’s your employee, you’re not his father. Have you ever caught him drinking on the job before?”
He shook his head. “No, but I’m at different sites all the time, so I’m not always there.”
“What about the foreman for that job? Has he noticed anything, since he’s there all the time?” I asked him. He shook his head again and I continued, “Then how would you have known he was an alcoholic? Sometimes people with addictions are pretty adept at hiding it, until they get to that point that they just can’t anymore. It sucks that that’s where he’s at, apparently, and it really sucks that it caused someone else to get hurt.”