Page 37 of Protect Me
“When will you go back to work?”
“Not sure,” I murmured, conveniently setting aside the fact that, after I used up six weeks of leave, my job with the trains would end.
So would my health insurance.
Had to figure that one out.
Confusion clouded Mum’s voice. “You’re not going back to the trains? I thought—“
“Not quite sure yet, Amma. I’m looking at something else. I have an appointment with the surgeon next week, and the physical therapist thinks he’ll clear me for part-time work that doesn’t require lifting.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
If Appa had been on the phone, he would have chided me fornot getting the tech job I lined up for you out of college. It had great benefits!
My lack of stability had always bothered my parents, though I didn’t mind it much. Computers. Anemic overhead lights. None of that appealed to me. Working with trains had been a metaphorical finger-in-the-air to rigidity and expectations as a teenager, then I stuck with it. Now, I wanted something else.
Just wasn’t sure what that would be.
“What else are you considering?” Amma asked.
“Something temporary until I figure out the next step.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not really tied into much except our boys’ trip to the rain forest in South America in the fall.”
She made a raspberry sound that reminded me so much of Vini, I almost laughed.
“Travel and play. That’s all you ever think about. Have you met any women lately? What about getting married and having kids? You won’t find a girl once you cross thirty-five!”
My mind fluttered to Katelyn, then away.
“No.”
“Are you going on dates?” she amended, and I laughed.
“Also no.”
She huffed. “You’re lucky your sister is giving me a grandbaby soon, or else I’d be on your case far more.”
“I owe her.”
“Take care of yourself, Vik. Love you. Call me soon.”
She hung up before I could respond, but I hated protracted goodbyes anyway. Amma had never been one to mince words.
For the next forty minutes, the hum of tires bore me down the highway, toward Pineville. Katelyn worked until closing today, which meant I’d definitely stop in to see her. Once in town, I parked, stepped inside the local Outfitters store, and gazed around.
A rush of air conditioning blasted my face, smelling like new t-shirts and squeaky clean tennis shoes. Behind the counter, a man with graying hair and strong arms waved.
“Vik. Back here.”
Daniel, owner of this store and a sister one in Jackson City, beckoned me closer. He wore an ancient fishing vest, decorated with lures and a name tag that saidOld Hoss. He’d been wearing it since I was in high school and I sincerely hoped it hadn’t been that long since it was washed. He held out a hand, shaking mine, as I approached. His salt-and-pepper hair jostled under a fan that whirred behind him.
“Thanks for coming.” His hazel eyes brightened. “Good to see you again.”
“Same, Hoss.”
Daniel leaned his hands on the counter. “So, you want a job?”
