Free Termination Man: a novel by Edward Trimnell Page A

bed in the morning.
    “You’re two years older than me,” I reminded her.
    “Yeah, but I got the looks from our parental gene pool—not to mention the brains.” Leaning forward in her wheel chair, she gave me a playful punch on the arm.
    “Where are you off to next?” my mother inquired from the kitchen.
    “Columbus,” I said. “So not far from here. I should be able to make it home some on the weekends.”
    “Any company I might have heard of?” my father asked.
    “I doubt it,” I replied. “It’s a small company that got started as a joint venture between GM and a Japanese outfit.”
    “What are you going to be doing there?” Dad pressed.
    “Oh, the usual,” I said. “Helping them with human resources matters. Personnel efficiency. That sort of thing.”
    My dad shook his head. “My boy is a success,” he said. “I can’t argue with that. Now if I could only figure out exactly what it is that you do.”
    “Dad, I’m one of the suits. A management consultant. Let’s not talk about it. We both know how you feel about those guys.”
    My father was an old-school blue-collar man. In one corner of his heart, he ardently believed that the only legitimate form of work was something that made you sweat and long for the comfort of a hot shower at the end of your shift. When I was a boy, I’d heard his remarks of open disdain for the guys in the corner offices who “shuffle papers and attend meetings all day,” as he put it.
    At the same time, my father was clearly ambivalent about it all. He had never encouraged me to follow in his footsteps. He had, in fact, ordered me to attend college. He didn't want his son to have to answer to a factory boss and a union steward, or to come home with hands that were stained black from a mixture of grease, oil, and metallic dust. I knew (or at least believed) that my father respected my success. But he wouldn’t have approved of all of the work that Craig Walker Consulting performed for various corporate clients. And I wasn’t sure about Mom and Laurie, either.
    Therefore, I had never fully explained the full extent of my work to my family. They knew that I was a management consultant, and that I specialized in personnel matters. They didn’t know that I was the Termination Man—that I specialized in helping companies remove employees that they didn’t want anymore.
    “My brother is a CIA agent,” Laurie said. “A spy.”
    “Believe me, I’ve been called a lot worse.”
    My mother stepped out of the kitchen. “Are you ready for meatloaf?” she asked. “I hope you’re hungry, because I baked two today.”
    “Mom,” I said. “I’m always ready for your meatloaf.”
     
     
    After the main dinner, my mom served her homemade pumpkin pie with vanilla ice cream—another one of my favorites. Laurie excused herself from the table after dessert. My parents and I lingered over coffee.
    “How’s Laurie doing?” I asked.
    My mom shrugged. “She does her best. Your sister’s not a quitter. She’s got a new job, too. Why don’t you go talk to her? I’m sure she’d love to tell you about it herself.”
    “Don’t you need my help in the kitchen?”
    My mother gave me an expression that suggested that the idea of my helping out in the kitchen was patently ridiculous. “Craig, you’re worthless in the kitchen. Now go talk to your sister. You haven’t seen her—any of us—in a while.”
    I had been home less than a month ago; but there is nothing to be gained by arguing with your mother about such things. I stood up from the table and walked down the short length of the house to Laurie’s room. The door to her room was open. She had a book in her lap: something by one of those self-help gurus like Anthony Robbins or Les Brown. My sister had read a lot of that stuff in the years since the shooting.
    When she saw me, she folded the book in her lap. “Come on in, Craig.”
    “So long as I’m not disturbing you,” I said.
    “Don’t be an idiot.