The Sweetest Hours

“The new year,” Mindy said. She pushed away from Kristin and faced him. Her eyes were spaced far apart, and she had a distinctive look to her features.

Ah. He understood. She was...what did they call it? Special Needs.

“Hello,” Mindy said to him.

“Er...hello.” He crossed his arms and nodded curtly. No hugs for him today, please, he thought.

“This is George,” Kristin said to Mindy. “He’s visiting us for the day.”

Inside, Malcolm cringed. He did not want to bond with anyone here, did not want to risk getting to know them or, God forbid, liking them.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him.

“Er...” He gazed to Kristin for help. She smiled and shook her head as if to say, “You’re on your own.”

Involuntarily, he swallowed.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him again, louder this time.

He risked glancing at Kristin. She was watching him as if his response was of utmost importance.

“I...er...went home.”

“Where is that?” Mindy demanded.

He felt a muscle in his jaw tick. He looked to Kristin, but she didn’t say a word.

“I saw my family,” he said quietly. And it killed him to think of it. His life was so out of sync with theirs. He’d stayed two weeks, for Christmas and for Hogmanay—what the Scots called New Year’s Eve—but then after the “first-footing” tradition, he’d been right back on the road again.

He really was getting tired of the road.

“Who is in your family?” Mindy asked him.

“Come,” Kristin interrupted, taking pity on him at last. “We need to get back to the packing room. How are Jeff and Arlene doing?”

“Good.” Mindy stopped to take a drink of her hot chocolate. She downed half the mug in one long gulp, before Kristin gently took it from her.

“Let me carry that for you, Mindy,” Kristin said. Mindy allowed Kristin to put her arm around her and lead her down the hallway.

And just like that, his interrogation was forgotten.

He paused, catching his breath. Even though it was cool enough to nearly see his breath in the below-room-temperature factory, he was sweating beneath his shirt. A cold perspiration, running in a thin trickle from his armpit down along his bare skin. He was in hell. Women and special needs workers. What was he doing?

Kristin poked her head around the corner. “Are you coming, George?”

It was like a dagger to his core. “I... Yes.” But he gripped his notebook and made sure he had his phone in his pocket; he’d need the camera app to take photos of the factory floor.

He followed Kristin and Mindy. Slowly, he was turning himself numb inside again. Not fighting anymore. He would go with the flow, whatever the day brought. Let Kristin show him the way, but at the same time, stay safely wary.

But it turned out he didn’t need to be; nobody challenged him. Kristin introduced him to Jeff and Arlene. Jeff was mellow and quiet. He had a thick white beard, wire-rimmed glasses and a habit of saying very little. Arlene was around the same age, but warm and nurturing. She babbled on about a trip to “the British Isles” she was planning to take, and it was only by the grace of God that Kristin didn’t raise a brow at him or otherwise give him away as a possible inhabitant of the Commonwealth.

She was a blessing to him. And, as she’d promised, Kristin led him on a tour of the plant. It was a light, airy space with high ceilings and tall windows that overlooked a back parking lot and a pine forest that was picturesque—pure New England.

Malcolm knew the region well; he’d spent his childhood and teen years in two New Hampshire boarding schools, and then, his undergraduate terms in a college not too far from the location of this plant.

The snow falling on the pine trees outside made him feel sad. It was so quiet and peaceful. He and Kristin were the only two people on the factory floor, with all the empty, ghostlike machines. She led him from station to station, his footsteps echoing against the ancient wooden boards, warped and uneven with age. The space was small and cramped with devices—mixers, conveyor belts, bottlers and a label maker that Kristin said was broken, hence, the applying of labels by hand today. But no matter...all the other machines were dormant, too. On a Saturday.

Incredibly wasteful. His head had been buried in the levels of financials for this small, privately held company for weeks, and it was apparent to him that the business was mismanaged.

Malcolm took photos with his camera phone. He listened while Kristin explained each part of the production process, and how the layout was configured depending on the product to be manufactured that day.

“I thought you worked with the computer system,” he remarked to her.

“I do. But I also schedule the machines. That’s the benefit of a small company—I get to do lots of things.” She smiled. “I like variety, so it’s perfect for me. I don’t think any other company would fit my personality. It’s why I won’t ever leave here.”

He kept his careful poker face and just felt sadder. It was not good that he was getting to know his hostess. Not wise at all to let himself sympathize with these people at Aura. It was his job to stay emotionally aloof and separate from the actions he was required to take. He needed to remain neutral and businesslike. It was safer for everyone that way.

He went back to the computer in her office and studied the range of reports to choose from.

“George?” Mindy asked from the doorway.

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that Mindy was referring to him. Damn it. “Yes, Mindy?”

“Kristin says to ask you what you want for lunch. She’s going to call in a sandwich order, and I get to pick it up by myself.” Her chest expanded with pride.

Do not get too close to these people. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll take care of my own lunch.”

“But, aren’t you hungry?” Mindy demanded. “I’m always hungry.”

His stomach was growling. He was thirsty, too, but for something cold. Andrew had shown him a Coke machine in the break room earlier, but Malcolm hadn’t brought any pocket change with him. He was still hoping Andrew would call him, even though Malcolm knew it was highly unlikely—less than a one percent chance, he figured.

“I’ll, er, walk someplace close by for lunch,” Malcolm said to the girl. A lie, because he didn’t have a wallet or credit cards, and his smallest bill was a hundred. He doubted a small-town diner would risk cashing it.

“I’m walking today,” Mindy said. “To Cookie’s Place. Kristin said I’m in charge.” She scrunched her face at him, showing him that she was peeved. It occurred to him that maybe he was taking her job away from her.

“Ah...is there a bigger place nearby? A chain restaurant?” Maybe he could call his driver to phone in an order with a credit card. “How about a pizza place I can walk to?” Vermont didn’t have fried pizza like in Scotland, but he would make do.

Mindy frowned harder. “If you are walking, there’s only Cookie’s Place.”

Of course. It was a small town. And it had been a crucial, logistical mistake not to have access to a car. His fault, because how could the fictional “George Smith” rent a car without a driver’s license?

Sighing wearily, he gave in. “Please order me whatever sandwich Kristin is ordering. And, er—” man, this was painful “—please ask her if I can pay her back later, once I have change. Okay?”

He would have to send an envelope with cash later, which gave him more logistical problems. The compounding of his torment today did not end....

“Kristin is paying for our lunches out of petty cash,” Mindy informed him.

Well. That solved everything. “Fine. You win.”