Chapter 1: The Boy in the Warehouse
“Why aren't you using the hand truck?””
Curtis stopped just inside the warehouse doorway, his keys still dangling from one hand.
His fifteen-year-old son was standing near the packing table, struggling to hold a cardboard box almost as wide as his chest. The box was packed with merchandise, its bottom bending slightly under the weight. Isaiah's elbows trembled. His shoulders were hunched, and his sneakers shifted against the concrete floor as he fought to keep the package from slipping.
Behind him stood at least thirty more boxes.
Some were already labeled. Others were waiting to be sealed. A few had been stacked so high that they leaned dangerously toward the aisle.
The hand truck was lying on its side less than six feet away.
Curtis looked from the equipment to his son.
“Isaiah?””
The boy flinched.
He turned quickly, almost losing his grip on the box.
“Dad?””
“Why aren't you using the hand truck?””
Isaiah lowered his eyes.
“Renée wouldn't let me.””
For a moment, Curtis said nothing.
He walked across the warehouse and took the box firmly from his son's arms.
“Let go. I've got it.””
Isaiah released it immediately.
Curtis placed the box on the hand truck, then pulled a chair away from the packing table.
“Sit down.””
“I'm okay, Dad.””
“I didn't ask if you were okay. Sit.””
Isaiah obeyed.
Curtis crouched beside him, studying his face. His son's cheeks were pale, and a few strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead. His T-shirt was damp with sweat.
Curtis glanced at the clock above the loading door.
It was 4:17 p.m.
He had left the office early because a client had canceled their afternoon meeting. He'd planned to surprise Isaiah by taking him out for dinner.
Instead, he'd found his fifteen-year-old son doing work that would have exhausted two grown employees.
“Where is she?”” Curtis asked.
Isaiah looked toward the unfinished orders.
“On vacation.””
“With who?””
“Her kids.””
Curtis straightened slowly.
Renée's two children, Madison and Tyler, had gone on a vacation with their mother. Curtis remembered hearing something about a resort in Florida, but he'd assumed Isaiah was staying home because he had school activities.
School was currently on break.
He looked at the warehouse again.
“How long have you been here today?””
Isaiah hesitated.
“Since seven.””
“Seven this morning?””
A small nod.
Curtis glanced at the clock again.
“Have you eaten?””
Isaiah didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Curtis's eyes moved to his son's hands.
Both palms were red. The skin near the base of his fingers looked irritated, and a small blister had opened beneath his right index finger.
Isaiah noticed his father staring and quickly closed his hands.
Curtis felt something tighten in his chest.
“Does that hurt?””
“No.””
“Isaiah.””
“A little.””
Curtis took his son's right hand gently.
“Why didn't you wear gloves?””
“Renée said they were for employees.””
Curtis stared at him.
“Employees?””
Isaiah looked uncomfortable.
“She said I wasn't supposed to waste supplies.””
Curtis released a slow breath through his nose.
He had founded their online home-goods business six years earlier, starting with a rented storage unit and a borrowed delivery van. Now the company occupied a sizable warehouse outside Columbus, Ohio, with twelve employees and hundreds of daily orders.
He had always believed the business was doing well.
He had also believed his wife was helping him manage the household while he handled operations.
Apparently, he had missed something.
“Why were you packing all these orders alone?””
“Someone had to do it.””
“Where were the employees?””
Isaiah shrugged.
“Renée said she sent them home.””
“Why?””
“She said there wasn't enough money to pay everyone.””
Curtis looked at the stacks of packages.
“Then why are we still accepting orders?””
“I don't know.””
His son sounded so small that Curtis had to look away.
He pulled another chair closer.
“Listen to me. You're not touching another box today.””
“But Dad, there are still orders due tomorrow.””
“I'll handle them.””
“She said the customers would complain.””
“Let them complain. You're fifteen years old.””
Isaiah stared at the floor.
Curtis reached for his son's shoulder.
“Look at me.””
The boy slowly raised his head.
“Have I ever told you that you have to earn your place in this family?””
Isaiah shook his head.
“Then why are you acting like you have to?””
The boy swallowed.
“I just don't want to cause problems.””
Curtis felt his jaw tighten.
“Who told you that you were causing problems?””
Isaiah didn't answer.
Instead, he glanced toward the warehouse entrance.
Curtis followed his gaze, then looked back at his son.
“Did someone threaten you?””
“No.””
“Did someone tell you not to call me?””
Isaiah's fingers twisted together.
“Not exactly.””
Curtis waited.
His son finally whispered, “Dad, please don't get mad at me.””
Curtis's expression softened immediately.
“I'm not mad at you.””
“You look mad.””
“I'm upset because you're hurt. That's different.””
He lowered himself until their eyes were level.
“You are my son, Isaiah. You don't have to carry the whole warehouse on your back.””
Isaiah's eyes became glossy.
“Okay.””
Curtis reached into his jacket and pulled out his black phone.
“I think it's time I called Renée.””
Isaiah reacted so quickly that Curtis barely had time to notice.
The boy reached out and grabbed his father's forearm.
“Don't call her!””
Curtis froze.
Isaiah's breathing had changed. His eyes darted toward the warehouse door, then toward the small office overlooking the loading area.
“What is it?””
“Please, Dad.””
“Isaiah, talk to me.””
“Her phone is the reason I couldn't tell you.””
Curtis lowered his own phone slightly.
“What do you mean?””
Isaiah swallowed.
“She took mine away, but there's something on it. Something you need to see.””
Curtis looked at his son's hand gripping his sleeve.
“What is on your phone?””
Isaiah glanced toward the door again.
Then he leaned closer and whispered:
“Dad, please don't let her know I told you.””
Curtis's phone remained unlocked in his hand.
May you like
He had not made the call.
And suddenly, he wasn't sure calling his wife was the right first move.
