Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail of Lies
Rosie laid the two documents flat on the folding table right between Mom's Scotcheroos and the sign-in sheet.
The first document was my official employee intake record. In clear black ink, it showed the date: June 24, 2019. At the bottom was my signature, right below Ernie’s looping scrawl.
The second document was an employee referral bonus application. It had Donnie’s sloppy handwriting scrawled across the top, claiming he had introduced me to the company. The date stamped by the automated HR clock was June 27, 2019. Three full days after I had already been hired in the hallway after fixing line two's misaligned wrapper.
Dad stared at the dates. He squinted, leaned in closer, pulled his reading glasses out of his flannel shirt pocket, and propped them on his nose. He checked the month. He checked the year. He checked the timestamps.
"This... this is an administrative error," Dad stammered, though the roar in his voice had suddenly shrunk to a dry rattle. "Rosie, you made a clerical mistake. Donnie told me himself. He talked to Ernie in the break room on the twentieth."
"Chuck, Donnie didn't say two words to me about Jake," Ernie said, leaning against the wooden post of the tent. "The only time your boy ever spoke to me was to complain that the packaging line was moving too fast for his hungover ass, or to blame Swede when his conveyor belt jammed up with pepper flakes. Jake got hired because he walked into a noisy plant, listened to a machine for four seconds, and knew exactly what bolt was loose. Donnie got five hundred bucks because our old policy was sloppy, and he was shameless enough to claim credit for a brother he didn't even know was interviewing."
Aunt Mij emerged from the crowd behind Mom, holding a paper plate with two slices of summer sausage and a dill pickle. She wore a purple sunhat and a look of absolute, unadulterated triumph.
"Well, well, Chuck," Aunt Mij piped up, loud enough for half the county to hear. "Looks like you’ve been eating smoked turkey off a five-hundred-dollar lie for six straight years. How's that crow taste compared to Donnie’s barbecue?"
"Mij, stay out of this!" Dad snapped, his neck turning purple.
"I won't stay out of it!" Aunt Mij fired back, taking a deliberate bite of her pickle. "I sat at that birthday table. I watched you point your greasy napkin at Jake and tell him to be grateful to a boy who couldn't change a lawnmower blade if you drew him a picture. I told you three months ago that Donnie smelled like yesterday's ditch water, but you wouldn't listen because Donnie played varsity fullback thirty years ago and Jake just liked fixing tractors in the barn!"
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Mom slowly set the three glass pans of Scotcheroos down on the table. Her hands were shaking so violently that the foil rattled against the glass.
"If Donnie hasn't been working here since June..." Mom whispered, staring into the middle distance. "Where has he been going every morning with his lunchbox?"
