just outside of Thompson’s, and pointed his headlights at the area between two trees. The lights lit up a park bench and a trashcan, nothing more. Riley pulled back out and moved on. He didn’t like the shadows tonight. He wanted everything illuminated.
Another block down and Riley turned right, onto Chester. If he stayed on this and took a right on Phillips, he could drive right by Aunt Bunny’s. Thinking of this, he wondered how the Scotts were getting on. Probably they were asleep now, which was what he should be.
When Phillips came, he passed it without turning and continued on. He knew where he was going even as the lights from the factory appeared. His car crested the hill and the moon revealed the hulking shape of the factory building, steam rising from her chimneys.
SweetHeart Industries. If Cavus was an old lover, this, then, was something new—new but familiar. The old coal mines had been out here once. His own grandpa had worked in them before he died of emphysema. A lucky thing, all considered. If the emphysema hadn’t gotten him, the fire would have. Thinking of the fire reminded him of Pill Verrity, the man who’d been married to its only survivor. Pill with his crazy rantings at the convenience store today. What, Riley wondered, was left for a man like that? And how did he keep himself from becoming one?
The road beneath Riley smoothed out as the newly paved section that SweetHeart had put in took over.
The mines had been shut down for a long time now, boarded over after the fire, but a few months ago a bidding war had broken out over the old property and SweetHeart Industries Inc. emerged the victor. The beet sugar producer had big plans for Cavus’s old coal factory, and they’d revived the town, hiring up almost anyone who asked for a job in order to get their industry started. Cavus, a town that had to perpetually struggle to keep itself going, now had the lowest unemployment rate of all the counties in Montana. Two percent unemployment, and all this during a recession.
He let his car roll over the road, and then ten minutes later there he was, sitting outside the doors of the factory in the small parking lot that had so recently been put in for its workers.
There must have been a crew working the late shift, Riley figured, because not only were the lights still on in the big building, but there were ten or eleven cars scattered in the parking lot. He squinted toward them and was able to identify most. One, he thought, was Uncle Bob’s Jeep. Bunny hadn’t been lying when she said that SweetHeart had saved the town. She hadn’t been exaggerating either, or not by much. Most of the families were farm families, and with their farms failing, they had no choice but to get employment elsewhere or move on. Even if they had moved on, there weren’t many jobs these days for anybody.
All the same…Riley studied the building again. It wasn’t big by factory standards, only by Cavus ones. SweetHeart Industries Beet Factory was composed of a single building the size of a modest high school. It didn’t have a look of longevity to it, like the other factories Riley had seen. This one had been slapped up in the space of a few weeks, with premade pieces shipped in from someplace like China or India. Its sides were aluminum, and they made the whole place look something like one of those plastic Fisher Price toy houses that came in four pieces that parents could snap together in less than an hour for their kids to play in. He’d bought Izzy something like that just last year for Christmas, although she’d had to keep it at her mom’s house.
Izzy. Thinking of her made him both happy and frustrated. Happy that he’d see her soon and that she was his. Izzy, his daughter; Izzy, the smart, sweet child he’d never known he’d always wanted until she arrived—but it frustrated him, too. Maddened him. She should be with him, not hundreds of miles away with her floozy of a mother.
Riley pounded his fist
Another block down and Riley turned right, onto Chester. If he stayed on this and took a right on Phillips, he could drive right by Aunt Bunny’s. Thinking of this, he wondered how the Scotts were getting on. Probably they were asleep now, which was what he should be.
When Phillips came, he passed it without turning and continued on. He knew where he was going even as the lights from the factory appeared. His car crested the hill and the moon revealed the hulking shape of the factory building, steam rising from her chimneys.
SweetHeart Industries. If Cavus was an old lover, this, then, was something new—new but familiar. The old coal mines had been out here once. His own grandpa had worked in them before he died of emphysema. A lucky thing, all considered. If the emphysema hadn’t gotten him, the fire would have. Thinking of the fire reminded him of Pill Verrity, the man who’d been married to its only survivor. Pill with his crazy rantings at the convenience store today. What, Riley wondered, was left for a man like that? And how did he keep himself from becoming one?
The road beneath Riley smoothed out as the newly paved section that SweetHeart had put in took over.
The mines had been shut down for a long time now, boarded over after the fire, but a few months ago a bidding war had broken out over the old property and SweetHeart Industries Inc. emerged the victor. The beet sugar producer had big plans for Cavus’s old coal factory, and they’d revived the town, hiring up almost anyone who asked for a job in order to get their industry started. Cavus, a town that had to perpetually struggle to keep itself going, now had the lowest unemployment rate of all the counties in Montana. Two percent unemployment, and all this during a recession.
He let his car roll over the road, and then ten minutes later there he was, sitting outside the doors of the factory in the small parking lot that had so recently been put in for its workers.
There must have been a crew working the late shift, Riley figured, because not only were the lights still on in the big building, but there were ten or eleven cars scattered in the parking lot. He squinted toward them and was able to identify most. One, he thought, was Uncle Bob’s Jeep. Bunny hadn’t been lying when she said that SweetHeart had saved the town. She hadn’t been exaggerating either, or not by much. Most of the families were farm families, and with their farms failing, they had no choice but to get employment elsewhere or move on. Even if they had moved on, there weren’t many jobs these days for anybody.
All the same…Riley studied the building again. It wasn’t big by factory standards, only by Cavus ones. SweetHeart Industries Beet Factory was composed of a single building the size of a modest high school. It didn’t have a look of longevity to it, like the other factories Riley had seen. This one had been slapped up in the space of a few weeks, with premade pieces shipped in from someplace like China or India. Its sides were aluminum, and they made the whole place look something like one of those plastic Fisher Price toy houses that came in four pieces that parents could snap together in less than an hour for their kids to play in. He’d bought Izzy something like that just last year for Christmas, although she’d had to keep it at her mom’s house.
Izzy. Thinking of her made him both happy and frustrated. Happy that he’d see her soon and that she was his. Izzy, his daughter; Izzy, the smart, sweet child he’d never known he’d always wanted until she arrived—but it frustrated him, too. Maddened him. She should be with him, not hundreds of miles away with her floozy of a mother.
Riley pounded his fist
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