Page 81 of Three Christmas Wishes

That sucks.

It sucked for sure, but in a way it was also a relief. At least I’d have closure. I could start the new year by looking ahead to a new job. A fresh new beginning to a crazy year’s end.

Mr. Drumm’s office was exactly as it always was, only all his Christmas decorations had been taken down. It looked stark and utilitarian now. Very business-like. Except for all his grinning grandchildren, who were still staring down at me from every available wall.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, indicating a chair. “Please. Sit.”

I had only one choice to a seat this time, and that’s because Mr. Burgen had taken the other chair. The same Mr. Burgen who’d insisted I be fired.

Ah, crap.

The last of my hope for keeping my job slipped away. I let it go, because it felt better to embrace the bad news than to cling to the hope of a miracle.

“We need to talk about what happened a few weeks ago,” said Mr. Drumm. “On the night you used the foundry for your own personal use.”

I slid into the chair and sat up straight. “On the night youtoldme I could use the foundry for my own personal use,” I corrected Mr. Drumm sharply. “But yes. That night.”

Mr. Drumm seemed completely unfazed by my amendment of his comment. Rather than fight me on it, he acknowledged the correction with a curt nod.

“Anyway, I would’ve liked to have seen you with a partner,” he said. “I’d told you that. It was a stipulation.”

“It was,” I agreed. I sighed, folding my fingers across my lap. “And I take responsibility.”

“Good,” said Mr. Drumm. “That’s good to hear.”

His last words trailed off, and I let him sit in silence. Whatever he was going to say, I just wanted to hear it.

“Partner or not, you had an accident,” Mr. Drumm went on slowly. “But the accident however, wasn’t your fault.”

I had to go over his last sentence a few times in my mind to make sure I’d heard it right. He’d already blamed me. I’d already accepted responsibility. But now…

“Wait.What?”

“Go ahead,” Mr. Drumm said, nodding toward his partner. “Tell her.”

Mr. Burgen hadn’t spoken at all yet, and still didn’t look entirely comfortable. But as he turned in his chair to face me, I could see an uncharacteristic softening behind his usually hard countenance.

“Obviously any accident at the foundry requires an accident report,” the man said. “Osha regulations and all that. We expected negligence on your part, especially after what Mr. Tallman told us.”

“You mean Mark?”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “Mark.”

“He wasn’t even there,” I shook my head. “I mean he wasthere, but not when—”

“Oh he was there,” Mr. Burgen interrupted me abruptly. “We know this because when we reviewed the camera footage from that night, we saw exactly what he did.”

I’d been bouncing my leg — a nervous habit of mine — the whole time I’d been seated. But all of a sudden, my leg stopped.

“Cameras?”I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Mr. Burgen answered. “Installed them last year. They became a requirement of the insurance company, but that’s not important. What’s important is what the footage revealed.”

I was completely bewildered. Totally dumbstruck.

“At one point you left the pouring room,” Mr. Burgen went on, “and almost immediately Mark Tallman entered. He swapped out the chain you were using for the casting ladle. Changed the thicker cable for a thinner one, with no explanation.”

I searched my mind, trying to call up the memory of that night. Had I left the pouring room? To go to the bathroom maybe. Or to stop at the vending machine, which happened to be clear at the other end of the building.

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