Last of the Dixie Heroes (12 page)

First came thick sheets of what Roy took to be wax paper, although they were hardly waxy anymore. Roy removed them carefully. Under the bottom sheet lay a gun. An old gun, much shorter than Gordo’s reproduction musket; possibly a carbine, Roy thought, although he didn’t know much about guns. There was a word carved in the wooden stock:
death
.

Under the gun was another sheet of wax paper, and under that a small leather-bound book, this leather also dry and cracked, with
RSH 1861–1865
burned on the front, possibly by some sort of branding iron. Roy opened it. The yellowed corner of the first page broke off in his hands, fluttered back down in the trunk. Roy turned the brittle pages. There was a lot of writing on the first few, very small and hard to read, then less and less. The last page had been torn out.

Roy knelt by the trunk, removed more wax paper, dug deeper. At the very bottom, he found a uniform, the gray faded almost white. It was a lot like Gordo’s uniform, or Lee’s or Earl’s or any of the others, but real. Roy couldn’t have said why. He ran his hand over the fabric of the jacket; wool, rough to the touch. The tip of his index finger caught in a frayed round hole on the left side of the chest. Roy started having air supply problems, maybe something from the wax paper. He went to the window, opened it, took a deep breath. Rhett and Sonny Junior were coming across the field, carrying fireworks.

Roy repacked the trunk, locked it, carried it out the front door to the car. As he put it inside, he heard a boom from the other side of the house, then another. The sound frightened the birds. They rose from their roosting places—bluejays and some small brown birds Roy didn’t know the name of—and flapped around in a circle. Then a crow flew up, a big one, and chased them out of the sky.

Roy went around the house.

“Time to get going,” he called.

Out in the field, Sonny Junior lit a match. He and Rhett jumped back. Another rocket went whistling high above, exploded in a green burst that would have looked pretty good at night.

Rhett and Sonny Junior came over, big smiles on their faces.

“Okay if I stay overnight? Uncle Sonny says it’s okay with him.”

“No,” Roy said.

“But I can’t go to school anyway.”

Roy shook his head.

“Some other time, killer,” said Sonny Junior. “You all’ll be back here real soon.”

Roy knew he’d never be there again.

Sonny Junior walked them to the car. Roy saw that Rhett had a box of firecrackers, let it go. Sonny Junior opened the passenger door for the boy. Something fell out. Sonny Junior picked it up.

“What’s this?”

“Furniture catalog,” Roy said. “I get to choose one of those chairs for my office.”

Sonny Junior looked them over. “Take the Cremona,” he said.

THIRTEEN

The phone woke Roy the next morning, before dawn.

”Roy?” said Marcia. “Where have you been?”

”Where have
I
been?”

“I must have called you five times yesterday. Have you got Rhett?”

“Of course I’ve got him. Didn’t Barry tell you?”

“We’re not speaking.”

“You’re not speaking?” It sounded like a line from some teenage movie.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy.”

“Rhett’s been expelled for the week—”

“You’re joking. I can’t even go away for two days without—”

“And my father died.” That part came out louder than Roy had intended. The silence that followed made it seem even more so.

“I’m sorry,” Marcia said.

“It’s all right. I took Rhett to the funeral.”

He heard Marcia letting out her breath, a long slow sigh, and could almost feel the pressure she was under. It made him a little sorry for her. He would do his best to take that pressure off, very soon. She and Barry not speaking was a good thing—further confirmation that they were finished. Roy checked the clock, sat up, started getting out of bed. This, he thought, the day of his promotion, could be an even bigger day than that if he handled it right.

“Why was he expelled?” Marcia said.

“It was partly my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“Why don’t I bring him over?” Roy glanced down at the bed, saw his rumpled pillow, and the other one, unused. “We can talk.”

“Now?”

“On my way to work.” He thought: Her head on that pillow tonight. And then some silly stuff: Champagne! The Cremona! “I’ll explain.”

“Explain what?”

“What I have in mind.”

Pause. “Are you all right, Roy?”

“Sure. Fine. Okay to stop in?”

Another long slow breath. “Okay.”

“Wake up, Rhett.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Got to. Your ma’s back. I’m taking you over to her place before work.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Can’t stay here by yourself all day.”

“Don’t want to do that either.”

“You want to go to school? That’s good. This week’ll be over before you know it.”

“School? I’m not talking about school. Can’t I go back up there for a few days?”

“Up where?”

“Up at Uncle Sonny’s. He promised to let me drive the demolition derby car.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Get up, Rhett. There’s not much time.”

Roy showered, washed his hair, shaved with a new blade, dressed, carefully knotted the tie he considered his best, the one with the little blue diamonds, drove Rhett to Marcia’s. The tuft of hair on Rhett’s uncombed head stood up like a blunt feather.

Marcia answered the door. She didn’t look good, not good for her: face puffy, hair in disarray, a streak of blue eye makeup across her cheekbone. For some reason, the change in her lips was obvious now; they resembled Rhett’s, still swollen from his last schoolyard fight. She wore a T-shirt with a big apple on the front, just long enough to be decent. Not looking good for Marcia was still pretty good.

“Rhett,” she said, reaching out, drawing him to her. He went stiff, but didn’t stop her. Over Rhett’s shoulder, she held out a hand to Roy. “Sorry about your father, Roy. How did he . . .”

“Liver,” said Roy.

She nodded. Her hand was cold. “Coffee?” she said.

“If it’s ready,” Roy said. “Can’t be late—big day today.” He almost told her about the promotion, the salary, the bonus, might have spilled it all the next second, but somewhere in the house there was a thump, like a book falling, or a shoe. Marcia’s eyes shifted.

He drank his coffee in the kitchen, standing up.

“Look what I brought you, Rhett,” Marcia said.

“What is it?”

“Never seen one of these snow globes?” she said. “This here’s Manhattan—that’s the fancy part. Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, I forget the name of this one, and Trump Tower. Turn it upside down to watch the snow.”

Rhett turned it upside down, but lost interest before the snow had done falling.

“A good trip?” Roy said.

“All right.”

“Did you like New York?” Roy had never been; neither, until now, had Marcia.

“I had to get away for a day or two.”

Roy understood: Barry. “After work today, let’s have that dinner,” Roy said.

“What dinner?”

“From the other night. Why don’t you come by around six?”

Marcia bit her lip. Roy didn’t remember her doing that before; was it the start of a new habit that came with the implant, or injections, or whatever they were? “I’ll try,” she said.

“But—” But what did it depend on? Work, most likely, Roy decided: she’d have to make up for the missed time. “Doesn’t have to be six,” he said. “Whenever you can make it is fine.”

“I said I’ll try.”

For the drive to work, Roy selected the tape that followed Jerry’s promotion.

A promotion is one of life’s big changes, Jerry, and business these days is about change. Any concerns?

I’m worried about the attitude of my old colleagues, Carol, the men and women on the floor.

That says a lot about you, Jerry, but don’t overdo it. There may be some resentment at first, but it usually passes. After all, Jerry, everyone understands this is a business.

Were there snow globes of Atlanta? Would the Globax building be included if there were? It seemed especially tall today, its color a few shades darker than the brassy sky, the blue Globax sign a brilliant blue, and as he watched it, Roy realized they’d added a new feature: a sparkling image of the planet that somehow spun back and forth between the G and the X. Roy laughed out loud, it was so dazzling, the kind of effect that would get a building into the snow globes for sure. At that moment, it hit: a company this good, this important, believed in him, Roy Hill; a stamp of approval from the big time. He realized he was doing all right, even felt a bit of pride.

Roy turned into the garage. The attendant was in his booth, chewing on a sugar donut, the new bronze Globax hat tilted back on his head, his feet up on the counter. He looked up at Roy in surprise. Roy checked the clock: 6:55. On time, nothing to be surprised about. Then Roy figured it out: Curtis parked in the upper garage, S2, with the guys from the seventeenth floor. The attendant had already been told that Roy would be parking there too, as of today. This was his last day down in S5. He found a space right by the elevator, which never happened after 6:45. In fact, there were lots of spaces. His lucky day.

6:57. Roy got in the elevator, pressed S1. He rode up alone, watching his reflection on the inside of the bronze door. He thought he looked the same as always—except for the tie; the tie really was special, an anniversary present from Marcia, not the last anniversary, but the last one that they’d still been together. No one looking at his reflection could have seen how he felt inside, so ready.

The doors opened at S2, the executive parking level. No one got on, but Roy saw a man in a dark suit walking toward an SUV, one of the really big ones. The man started to unlock it, then suddenly bent forward and vomited all over the cement floor, his gleaming shoes, the cuffs of his pants. As he straightened back up, Roy got a good look at his face. It was Mr. Pegram. The elevator closed.

6:58. The doors opened. Roy got out. Left to receiving, right to shipping. Roy turned right, toward the cubicle grid, laid out like a vast silicon motherboard, with U.S.A. first, divided into sections A1, A2, B, C, D1, and D2; Canada and Caribbean; European Union (excluding U.K.); U.K.; Eastern Europe (excluding Russia); Russia; Mexico; Central/South America (excluding Mexico); on down to the end, Asia/Oceania. The problem was the cubicles were gone. The cubicles, the desks, the chairs, the monitors, the phones, the framed family pictures, the Far Side cartoons, P.J.’s slippers: all gone. And the people. Roy must have made some kind of sound, because it came echoing back to him across the empty space, a startled little cry you might hear in the night woods.

Roy looked closely at his watch to make sure of what it said. 6:59. He turned back to the elevators. Surely in the next minute the shipping guys would come swarming out, and a team from maintenance to make everything right, install the new cubicles, computers, T-1 connections, phone system, whatever it was. Maybe they’d decided to redo everything in Globax colors, bronze and blue. But the next minute came and nothing happened.

What day was it?

He checked his watch: Wed. The right day.

You can take this one to the bank. See you the day after tomorrow?

Seven sharp.

He checked his watch: seven sharp.

Roy had a crazy idea. Someone had found out about his promotion yesterday, there’d been a riot, everyone had walked off the job. Ludicrous, but nothing else occurred to him. Then he noticed that he wasn’t quite alone. Someone was standing in the glass office, very still. Roy couldn’t make him out because for the first time in his memory the lights weren’t on in the glass office. It rose like a dark island in the center of all that empty bright space.

Roy crossed the floor, climbed the stairs, went in. The glass office had been stripped of everything, but Curtis looked the same, dressed in a perfectly fitting dark suit, and wearing a tie, Roy saw, exactly like his, with the same blue diamonds.

“I knew I forgot something,” Curtis said.

“What are you talking about? Where is everybody?”

One of Curtis’s eyelids did that fluttering thing. “You being away. It slipped my mind.” He noticed Roy’s tie, went silent.

“What slipped your mind?”

“Informing you, Roy.”

“Informing me what?”

“They let them all go,” he said, making a panoramic gesture with his hand. “The whole department.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Globax,” said Curtis. “Fired every single shipper on the floor. Plus receiving. Did it by email from New York at 4:25 yesterday afternoon. At 4:30 every screen went dark. When I came in this morning it was like this.”

“Impossible,” Roy said. “How can there be no more shipping?”

“Of course there’s shipping, Roy, for God’s sake. As of this minute it’s all being done out of Miami, that’s all.”

Cesar must have heard rumors: Roy understood those emailed questions now. “P.J.?” he said. “DeLoach?”

“Every single one.”

“Jesus.”

“Yes.”

Roy felt sick. “Survivor guilt,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Now I know what it means.”

Curtis looked puzzled; maybe he’d never heard the term. Roy had been to Miami twice, once for football, years later on a long weekend with Marcia. They’d had a good time. Miami would be all right, might even help them make a fresh start. He could handle it. This was a business, after all, and change was a big part of it, as Carol had just finished pointing out. He pulled himself together.

“When do we start?” he said.

“Start?” said Curtis.

“In Miami. When do we have to be there?”

“We?”

Roy got it. “You’re staying here?”

Curtis nodded.

“For that Eastern Europe thing.”

“That job’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“As part of the rightsizing.”

“What rightsizing?”

“That’s what this is all about, Roy. They even let Bill Pegram go this morning.”

Roy felt a tiny nauseous uprising deep in his throat. “That’s why you’re staying?”

Curtis’s eyelid fluttered.

“You got his job?”

Curtis’s eyelid fluttered again, almost stayed closed this time.

Roy held out his hand. “Congratulations.” Curtis’s handshake was strangely weak; he’d have to do something about that, up on seventeen. “So when do I go?”

“Go where, Roy?”

“Why, Miami, of course.”

“To do what?”

“My new job,” Roy said. “Regional supervising, area managing.” The titles made him laugh. “There’s still shipping, Curtis, like you said. What’s a global chemical company without shipping? There’s no virtual chemicals yet.” Roy surprised himself with that last observation; he got the feeling it might be the kind of remark that would land him on a seventeenth floor of his own someday.

“Almighty God, Roy. Don’t you see?”

“See what?”

“You’re not included.”

Roy started to have trouble connecting the words in his mind. “Meaning?”

“They let you go too.”

“Me?”

“I did everything I could. You’re the one I fought for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How else can I put it?”

“Say it again.”

“They let you go.”

“Again.”

“Please, Roy.”

“Again.”

Curtis said it again.

No air. No air at all. Roy barely got a word out. “But what about the area supervision, the regional . . .”

Curtis shook his head. “Miami’s handling that. Cesar got the job.”

Roy’s hand was in his pocket, clutching the inhaler. It took a lot of strength not to pull it out.

“They did throw me one little bone,” Curtis said. “There’s an opening on the shipping floor up in New York. They said you could try for that.”

Roy had a vision of smashing the glass office to smithereens, but all he did was say, “Fuck New York,” and even that not forcefully, what with the lack of air.

“There’s nothing personal, Roy. It’s a business.”

But there had to be something personal, because Curtis couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t get his gaze any higher than the knot on Roy’s tie with the blue diamonds.