Chapter 1 - The Chair Across from Her
The cafeteria’s chatter died instantly, the silence dropping like a lead curtain. Boyd Gaines didn’t even glance at the center table where Trudy Odum stood frozen, her hand lingering on the chair she had so carefully reserved for him. Instead, his work boots carried him across the linoleum toward the solitary drafty corner by the window. Every single pair of eyes followed the movement of his turkey sandwich and bottle of water.
Roz looked up, her fingers gripping her paperback novel so tightly the edges creased. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the air conditioner. "You shouldn't sit here."
Boyd looked at the dozen welcoming seats waiting for him across the room, then back at her trembling hands. "Why not?"
"Because tomorrow, they'll make you regret it."
Boyd pulled out the wobbly chair anyway, the metal legs scraping loudly against the tile. "May I sit here?"
Eighty employees watched as Roz swallowed hard and gave a slight, hesitant nod. She looked ready to bolt, her posture stiff as a board. Boyd set his tray down, uncapped his water, and took a slow sip. He didn’t ask why eighty grown adults were treating a quality control technician like a ghost, nor did he make a grand executive speech. He just broke off half his turkey sandwich, set it on a paper napkin, and pushed it gently toward the middle of the small laminate table.
"Fay Trimble tells me our roasting batch today has the highest moisture index we've logged in three seasons," Boyd said calmly, as though they were two old friends catching up on porch steps. "You signed off on the lab report this morning, didn't you, Rosalyn?"
Roz’s hazel eyes widened slightly. She hadn't realized the CEO even knew who signed off on the morning moisture evaluations. "Yes, sir. Grade A runner peanuts. Three percent under threshold. They'll hold up well in the vacuum seals."
Across the room, Trudy’s face had drained of color before flushing a deep, mottled red. The slow cooker of boiled peanuts sat abandoned in front of her. Her mouth worked soundlessly, watching the most powerful man in the county eat lunch with the woman she blamed for burying her only son.
May you like
"Good work," Boyd replied quietly, deliberately taking a bite. "I like people who do good work and don't feel the need to scream about it."
Roz looked down at her leftover chicken and rice, her throat tightening with an overwhelming mix of terror and relief. She had carried two years of agonizing secrets on her shoulders, absorbing every whisper, every slammed door, and every cold shoulder to protect a deceased boy’s memory. But as Boyd Gaines sat steadfast across from her, unmoving and unfazed by the stares burning into their backs, Roz realized the dam was about to break.
