Flock (The Ravenhood)

Sweat skates down my back as Melinda babbles on, and I silently curse Sean for the absence of my watch. The wall clock mounted above the plant entrance stopped a week ago and I’m most definitely a slave to time during my shifts. “It was his sister,” Melinda says, frowning as I gather the tubs from her and stack them at our workstation. “No, no,” she continues, “it was his cousin who did it. Girl, I have never in my life seen—”

“No! No! Fuck this!” The outburst has me pausing and brings Melinda’s latest report on the extended family to a halt as we crane our necks while a rapid-fire of Spanish and English bursts throughout the floor. Two women argue heatedly a line over and finally appear in the middle of the floor as one tries to restrain the other. It’s then I see the source, Vivica. She’s fighting with one of her cronies, who’s struggling to push her back toward her place in the line. “I’m over it. I’m done!” She shouts, pushing past her, her dark eyes landing on me and narrowing to slits.

Dread courses through me as she begins to make her way in my direction.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

I’ve been in one physical altercation in my life, and it was with an inanimate object, a skirt.

I knew working here wouldn’t win me any popularity contests, but I had no idea what kind of a reputation my father had in this town. He’s not beloved by any, let alone all. No one here seems to respect him in any capacity. The sniggers and whispers I hear at my back are becoming harder to ignore, but I did not think I’d be held responsible for anything concerning matters at the plant. My assumption is clearly wrong because she’s coming straight for me, and I know her beef has nothing to do with me unless it’s about Sean.

“You!” She yells, gaining the attention of everyone else on the line. I point to my chest like an idiot.

“Are you not the owner’s daughter?”

Anyone who didn’t know before is aware now as her friend manages to get between us when she’s only a couple steps away. “Vivica, you need to stop and think about what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?” She snaps at her friend before turning to me. I’m still debating whether to lead with a donkey kick or risk a punch. “Your father is a fucking crook. Did you know that?” She waves a piece of paper I recognize. A pay stub. “I worked forty-two hours last week and only got paid for thirty-nine.” She flaps her hand around again, gesturing toward the rest of the workers on the floor. “Ask them, ask them how many times it’s happened to them.”

“They’ll fix it,” her friend says, still attempting to usher Vivica back. The line stops, the noise of the conveyor that was drowning her out before doing nothing now to stop every ear from pricking our way.

“Oh, they’ll fix it, and then they’ll figure out a way to get rid of me.”

I muster up the courage to speak. “Look, I don’t have anything to do with—”

“You are his daughter!” She yells at the top of her lungs as more eyes dart my way. “Bet your paychecks aren’t short.”

“Honestly, I haven’t—”

“Haven’t looked?” She scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. Well, allow me to enlighten you, princess. He’s been doing this for years, screwing us on our overtime, shorting our checks just enough so we don’t raise too much hell. We get told over and over it will be fixed, that it’s an oversight.” She scours me and not in a flattering way. “Are you not rich enough?”

“Ma’am, I’m not…”

“Ma’am?” She harrumphs. “I’m twenty-five years old.”

“I don’t own the plant. I work here. I don’t have anything to do—”

“You’re his daughter.”

I know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ve never lived any sort of meaningful reality behind that statement.

“It’s not as simple as that,” I try weakly to start my defense.

“Vivica, he’s got his own daughter working on this line, in this heat,” the woman says defending me, though the accusation in her eyes doesn’t quite match her tone. “I don’t think he cares much for her opinion.”

“She’s exactly right,” I finally snap back, straightening my spine to face off with her. “And he doesn’t ask for it. I have nothing to do with company polic—”

“It’s not policy. It’s theft!”

All eyes are now on me as I check out the room and see what they aren’t saying. People who’ve otherwise kept their heads down when I walk by are now looking directly at me in the same way Vivica is, their openly hostile expressions knocking the fight out of me. Maybe they’ve regarded me this way since I started, and I haven’t noticed it as much because I’ve had my head in the clouds. “I’m just working here because, well, because…”

“Are you here to spy on us?” Vivica squares up, planting her hands on her hips. There’s no way to win this battle.

“No,” I blurt out honestly, “Not at all. I’ve been…” I struggle with word choice, but what can I say? That I’ve been biding my time until I inherit my father’s money? Fire rages in my cheeks as I try and will myself out of this nightmare. “I can try to say something to him.”

“Try all you want. It won’t matter,” the friend says, trying to keep Vivica at bay. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“This is his plant,” Vivica argues, “you work here, and you want to tell me you have nothing to do with him?”

Everyone begins to crowd in as my throat dries up. I’m shaking uncontrollably now, figurative walls closing in on me. I feel suffocated, completely unprepared for the hostility directed toward me. And from the looks I’m getting—this has been a long time coming. No one is defending me. They too, want answers. Answers I don’t have. “Have you told the supervisor?”

Her smile is acidic. “You mean your boyfriend?”

“Vivica, collect yourself and get into my office, now.” Sean’s voice booms from behind me. “Now.”

“You think we are stupid, Sean? You think we can’t see what’s going on here?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “And what you’re doing right now, Vivica, you think that’s going to help your case?”

“My case? How many times have we asked you to make this right since you’ve been back?”

“I’ll get it handled,” he snaps, keeping his eyes trained on hers. “Everyone, get back on the line, now!” Everyone flies back to their places as Sean turns to me. “Take five.”

“I don’t need it,” I step toward Vivica.

Sean stops me from engaging with the bite in his tone. “It wasn’t an offer, Cecelia, take five.”

“I’m sorry this is happening,” I tell Vivica, “You have my word. I’ll talk to him.”

“Sure, you’re sorry, wiping your ass with my shorted paychecks.”

“Off the line. In my office, now,” Sean barks, and she spins and stomps toward the front doors.

“Too late for me anyway. Fuck this place.”

I move to join Melinda, who’s working double-time to keep our station clear, no doubt bursting at the seams as the drama unfolds. It’s probably the most exciting thing to happen here in years. Melinda bumps my shoulder as I slide back in next to her and try to bury myself in our task, never more grateful for a tub of calculators in my life.

“Take five,” Sean’s at my side as I fight the emotions warring inside me.

“You’re just going to make it worse,” I snap. “Let me work.”

I can feel his stare on me for a solid ten seconds before he concedes and walks away. When I’m able to speak, I turn to Melinda. “Is that how you feel about me?”

“Honey, I know you,” she nods over her shoulder, “but they don’t. I wouldn’t spend any time trying to convince them otherwise, people only hear what they want to.” It’s a bitter truth I have to swallow down. No part of the next year will get easier for me here. I’m guilty by association, and these people don’t just dislike Roman Horner because he’s the boss, they’re aggrieved and have been for some time.

Embarrassed tears threaten as I collect the empty tubs and nod.

“Have your paychecks been short?” I ask, and I see the answer before she speaks it.

“They have been, several times.” She keeps her eyes down. “It was today too.”

“By how much?”

“Just a half-hour.”

My next question, I whisper just before the buzzer sounds and the line resumes. “Did you tell people Sean and I are together?”

“Come on now, that’s just obvious,” she replies, clear sympathy in her eyes. I know it’s true, and I don’t argue with her.

The whole plant now definitely knows I’m the owner’s daughter, and just in case they missed it, they also know I’m fucking my supervisor.

Perfect.

I never counted on my dad’s pull to get me any preferential treatment, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to be attacked this way because of it. It’s the sad truth that it was Vivica’s desperation that started that argument. I have no idea, but she probably needs this job, I’m sure she needed that overtime. Judging by her reaction, she must have been counting on it. Melinda needed that half-hour too, because she’s just put her mother into a nursing home, and she’s being forced to come up with some of that monthly expense. Her husband is a painter and often takes odd jobs to make up for the lack of steady pay. They all count on this plant, on Roman Horner.

It’s then I think of Selma and fight more tears. In a few hours, I can lose my shit. But time is what cripples me as seconds and minutes drag by, an invisible chain around my neck. Sean makes more than one appearance on the floor, no doubt to check on me, but he doesn’t engage, he just talks to some of the others and monitors the line as I avoid any exchange. Melinda picks up where she left off, ending with a story about tomorrow’s event, a church fundraiser.

By the time I clock out, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. It’s when I hit the parking lot that fear sets in.

Did Sean fire Vivica? If so, is she waiting for me to deliver her wrath? Surely, she knows I had nothing to do with her short paycheck. But that’s a rational line of thinking, and angry people don’t always think rationally. Lord knows, she was anything but rational when she left the floor.

What if she’s truly decided it’s my fault? I make a beeline for my car as Melinda calls out to me. I don’t want her putting herself at risk for me, and the truth is, she’s the kind of woman who might. She proves my thinking right as she tries to join me on my walk into the parking lot.

“Honey, wait up, I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m fine, see you tomorrow,” I yell over my shoulder as I lose her in the first five rows of cars. Vivica is no doubt the type to ‘cut a bitch,’ and it’s all I can do to pace myself to power walking. The minute I make it to the driver’s seat and lock my doors, I burst into tears. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that I don’t know if I would have been able to defend myself if I was attacked. I hate the position being Roman’s daughter puts me in. Whether or not I declared I was his kid, someone would have found out, and hiding it might not have been the right call either. Did they really think I was sent to spy on them? That’s insanity.

My phone rings from my purse and I ignore it, knowing it’s Sean.

Headlights click on behind me, and I look in my rearview to see Sean sitting in his Nova, gazing back at me in the mirror. He was waiting for me, and he saw me crying.

Great.

Done with the day, I jerk my head to keep him at bay while clearing my face as he opens his car door to get to me. I shake my head, profusely denying him the chance and put my car into gear. I haul ass out of the parking lot as the humiliation subsides, and anger begins to smoke itself into my system. I’m not mad at Sean, but I don’t want to face him with these conflicting emotions. He can see my crazy when he deserves it. Tonight, he did what he had to do, but I refuse to unload on him, not with the range of emotions I’m feeling. He follows me closely, leaving me when I turn onto the lone road home. There he leaves me, and I’m grateful.

When I pull up, I’m met with an empty driveway and an empty house. My phone rings in my hand, just as I clear my bedroom door.

“I don’t want to talk now,” I sniffle back furious tears.

“I got that after mile five, but it’s not your fault.” The tenderness in his voice hurts. I do my best to rein it in, but my voice shakes anyway.

“Did you know about this?”

“I’ve been working on it since I got back.”

“So, this is the norm? He shorts their paychecks?”

“Have you ever looked at your pay stub?”

No, I haven’t. I’ve simply cashed them and assumed they were correct. More anger coils as I make a decision and hit reply on my latest email. I’m typing furiously as I speak.

“Did you fire her?”

“Yes.”

“Damnit, Sean. Why?”

“Because it’s my job, and her behavior was too severe for a write-up.”

“You know it’s wrong.”

Silence.

“This is my battle. Let me fight it.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“I know, and I’m grateful, but you’ve got to stop taking me off the line, okay? It’s already a shitshow, and I don’t want to give them any more excuses to come after me.”

“You’ve got to know I won’t let them hurt you. I’ve got your back.”

“And I’m grateful, but you can’t. This truly is my fight and I’m…really fucking angry and I don’t want to take it out on you, okay? I have to go.” I hang up, livid about the nosedive my day has taken and intent on making the right guy pay. Vivica’s words ring like a chant in my head, with the emphasis changing on each repetition.

He’s your father. He’s your father. He’s your father.

Ten minutes later I shoot off my email, wash the night away in the shower and begin prepping for my morning meeting.