Chapter 5 - The Wrath of the Golden Child
Two hours later, the gravel outside my duplex exploded as my father’s Ford F-250 roared into the driveway and slammed on the brakes. The driver’s side door flew open, and Dad came marching up the wooden steps like an invading general, his face dark with fury.
Mom scurried behind him, wringing her hands, her face pale with worry.
""Samantha!"" Dad roared, pounding on my screen door until the aluminum frame rattled. ""Open this damn door right now!""
I opened the inside wooden door, leaning casually against the jamb. ""Afternoon, Dad. Mom. What brings you out to Stevens Point on a Thursday?""
""Don't you get smart with me!"" Dad yelled, pushing his face close to the screen. ""Your brother just called me in tears from the plant parking lot! He’s facing suspension! He might lose his job, his benefits, everything! And Swede told him you walked out over a week ago! You lied to us at your birthday dinner!""
""I didn't lie about anything,"" I said coldly. ""I told you Hilltop offered me a job. You told me to be grateful and stay put. You didn't ask if I had already made up my mind, because you were too busy telling me that Donnie was the only reason I wasn't starving in a ditch.""
""He's your brother!"" Dad screamed, his veins bulging in his neck. ""Family protects family! You get your tools, you get in your truck right now, and you drive down to Marshfield to fix that machine before the corporate inspectors write up his termination!""
""I don't have access to the plant, Dad. I'm no longer an employee. If I touch that machine, it’s an insurance violation and a felony.""
""Ernie will let you in! Donnie said Ernie’s desperate!""
""Ernie offered to let me go early because he knew Donnie was an accident waiting to happen,"" I countered, looking Dad dead in the eye. ""And I don't work for free. Even if I wanted to help, that machine needs four thousand dollars in custom machined parts from Milwaukee that take forty-eight hours to deliver. Donnie killed that line because he bypassed the safety gates. That’s on him.""
""You ungrateful little brat!"" Dad spat, slamming his fist against the porch railing. ""After everything this family did for you! We put clothes on your back! Donnie gave you his reputation! He put his neck on the line so a woman could work in maintenance, and you stab him in the back the first time you get a little offer from another company!""
That was the line. The final, rotten thread of patience I had held onto for nearly thirty years snapped clean in half.
I stepped through the screen door onto the porch, towering over my father as he stood on the second step. I wasn't the quiet nineteen-year-old girl who took grease-stained insults in Abbotsford anymore. I was a master industrial mechanic, and I had earned every single inch of ground I stood on.
""Listen to me, Arthur,"" I said, using his first name for the very first time in my life. Dad recoiled as if I had slapped him across the mouth.
""You listen to me very carefully,"" I whispered, the cold fury in my voice cutting deeper than any scream. ""Donnie didn't give me a reputation. He borrowed mine. For six years, I stayed late after my shift to fix the gearboxes he stripped. I rewrote the maintenance logs so Ernie wouldn't fire him when he dropped an entire pallet of packaging film into the brine tanks. When two thousand pounds of pepper cheese had to be trashed last year because Donnie skipped the sanitation flush, he tried to pin it on Swede. An old man who gave thirty years to that company! I had to pull security footage to keep Swede from losing his pension!""
Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. ""Sammy... no... Donnie wouldn't do that...""
""He did, Mom!"" I snapped, turning to her. ""Ask Ernie! Ask why Donnie’s disciplinary file is thicker than the company handbook! Donnie is a lazy, incompetent bully who survived on my overtime! And you two sat at that dinner table and made him feel like a king while you treated me like his hired help!""
May you like
Dad tried to sputter a response, but the words died in his throat. His face had gone from red to an ashen, sickly gray.
""Get off my porch,"" I ordered, pointing toward the driveway. ""Get off my property. And if either of you ever tells me I owe that man another second of my life, I'll make sure Ernie releases those maintenance logs to the entire county.""
