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Authors: Fran Baker
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must’ve seen whether or not he does a good job,” she persisted.
“Good enough.”
She gave up. You couldn’t pry anything out of Gary Koch he didn’t want you to have. Saying she was glad the snafu with Lasater’s had been straightened out, she left him. Threading her way along the aisles of towering shelves, she decided her short visit hadn’t been totally wasted. At least she could be buoyed by the fact that Luke was doing okay. “Good enough” was about as much praise as anyone could expect from Gary.
“Keeps to himself,” he’d also said. Roxie didn’t have to wonder what that meant. Given what had happened in the lunchroom the day she ate with Luke, she could be fairly certain that the others were still ignoring him. She could only guess at this because she hadn’t had the courage to return after that day, choosing instead to bring her lunch from home and eat at her desk or, on particularly nice days, to take her sandwich outside to the wooden picnic table that sat on the east side of the warehouse. It was too risky to go back. He’d disturbed her too much and in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Her lips began to tighten. She was being absurd. All they’d done was talk a little bit. And really, if she wanted to know how Luke was doing, she should simply ask him. She was behaving foolishly, avoiding him. He might even misinterpret it. After all, there was no doubt about why everyone else avoided him.
Roxie halted in her tracks. No, she wasn’t going to treat him the way everyone else did. People made mistakes, she knew that only too well, and she wasn’t going to condemn his future along with his past, not unless she had reason to do so.
She smoothed the skirt of her pink shirtwaist dress and combed her fingers through her hair. She would simply ask him how he was, chat a bit, and then get back to work. Breathing in deeply, she retraced her steps.
“Good morning, Luke,” she said, and congratulated herself on her level tone of voice.
He spun around, wary surprise crossing his face. It passed swiftly, leaving a guarded pleasure. “Good morning, Miss Mitchell.”
“Please, call me Roxie,” she insisted. “We’re all on a first-name basis around here.”
He nodded, but he didn’t say it. A few seconds thudded by, seconds in which she learned just how much she would have liked to have heard her name on his lips. He leaned against the scale, his pose deceptively casual. She knew the pose was misleading. Nothing about him was ever casual. Not daring to ask herself why, she wished she could erase his tension.
“Gary says your work’s good enough,” she finally said. “Coming from Gary, that’s high praise indeed.”
He nodded again but didn’t smile or show any other kind of emotion. “I’m glad to hear it. I think a lot of Gary’s opinion.”
“We all do.” She waited, hoping he would say something more. When he didn’t, she shuffled the toe of her white shoe over the bare concrete and gathered her courage together. “Maybe we could have lunch again sometime,” she suggested in a voice that sounded disgustingly squeaky to her own ears. To cover her embarrassment, she added in a teasing tone, “You owe me one.”
“Sounds good,” he said, but there was an unconvincing quality about his agreement.
Roxie wanted to press him, to name a day, and have him commit to it, but she sensed his discomfort and let it drop. Saying good-bye, she was about to move on when she caught sight of two pickers watching her with intent interest. They exchanged a comment, and the blatant derision in their expressions nettled her.
She wanted to lash out at them, to tell them to get back to work, but that would probably make things worse for her and for Luke. Instead, she impulsively exclaimed, “I’m sorry for the way they’re all behaving.”
Luke gaped at her with open incredulity. He couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that much concern on his behalf, especially not someone
“Good enough.”
She gave up. You couldn’t pry anything out of Gary Koch he didn’t want you to have. Saying she was glad the snafu with Lasater’s had been straightened out, she left him. Threading her way along the aisles of towering shelves, she decided her short visit hadn’t been totally wasted. At least she could be buoyed by the fact that Luke was doing okay. “Good enough” was about as much praise as anyone could expect from Gary.
“Keeps to himself,” he’d also said. Roxie didn’t have to wonder what that meant. Given what had happened in the lunchroom the day she ate with Luke, she could be fairly certain that the others were still ignoring him. She could only guess at this because she hadn’t had the courage to return after that day, choosing instead to bring her lunch from home and eat at her desk or, on particularly nice days, to take her sandwich outside to the wooden picnic table that sat on the east side of the warehouse. It was too risky to go back. He’d disturbed her too much and in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Her lips began to tighten. She was being absurd. All they’d done was talk a little bit. And really, if she wanted to know how Luke was doing, she should simply ask him. She was behaving foolishly, avoiding him. He might even misinterpret it. After all, there was no doubt about why everyone else avoided him.
Roxie halted in her tracks. No, she wasn’t going to treat him the way everyone else did. People made mistakes, she knew that only too well, and she wasn’t going to condemn his future along with his past, not unless she had reason to do so.
She smoothed the skirt of her pink shirtwaist dress and combed her fingers through her hair. She would simply ask him how he was, chat a bit, and then get back to work. Breathing in deeply, she retraced her steps.
“Good morning, Luke,” she said, and congratulated herself on her level tone of voice.
He spun around, wary surprise crossing his face. It passed swiftly, leaving a guarded pleasure. “Good morning, Miss Mitchell.”
“Please, call me Roxie,” she insisted. “We’re all on a first-name basis around here.”
He nodded, but he didn’t say it. A few seconds thudded by, seconds in which she learned just how much she would have liked to have heard her name on his lips. He leaned against the scale, his pose deceptively casual. She knew the pose was misleading. Nothing about him was ever casual. Not daring to ask herself why, she wished she could erase his tension.
“Gary says your work’s good enough,” she finally said. “Coming from Gary, that’s high praise indeed.”
He nodded again but didn’t smile or show any other kind of emotion. “I’m glad to hear it. I think a lot of Gary’s opinion.”
“We all do.” She waited, hoping he would say something more. When he didn’t, she shuffled the toe of her white shoe over the bare concrete and gathered her courage together. “Maybe we could have lunch again sometime,” she suggested in a voice that sounded disgustingly squeaky to her own ears. To cover her embarrassment, she added in a teasing tone, “You owe me one.”
“Sounds good,” he said, but there was an unconvincing quality about his agreement.
Roxie wanted to press him, to name a day, and have him commit to it, but she sensed his discomfort and let it drop. Saying good-bye, she was about to move on when she caught sight of two pickers watching her with intent interest. They exchanged a comment, and the blatant derision in their expressions nettled her.
She wanted to lash out at them, to tell them to get back to work, but that would probably make things worse for her and for Luke. Instead, she impulsively exclaimed, “I’m sorry for the way they’re all behaving.”
Luke gaped at her with open incredulity. He couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that much concern on his behalf, especially not someone
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