“I see what you mean about not being able to trust anyone,” Jake said as he put his hand on her back and gave her a gentle push forward. Confused, Robin stumbled forward.
Wirt Supplies and Packing was a much larger warehouse than Peerless, but without the fuss of offices up front. There were only two that she could see, each with two desks and stacks of papers piled high on the floor, the filing cabinets, and the desks.
“Hope you’ll forgive the mess,” Girt said and proceeded to show them through her operation. She explained where the packing materials were made and stored, the various types of bags, plastics, and boxes they made and sold, the different strappings, the wooden pallets, the storage units, the cushion products.
It was plain Girt was proud of her operation. She said that her father had started the company, that she had bought him out when he got sick with cancer. Bob helped her manage the operation, they employed thirty-two people, most of whom were longtime employees.
“That’s quite an accomplishment,” Jake observed.
Girt beamed at him. “We pride ourselves in being good to our employees. That’s one thing I’d have to know, that my people were going to be taken care of.”
“Does your father get involved anymore?” Robin asked.
“Oh, he died,” Girt said matter-of-factly. “He’s been gone two years now.”
The casual way she said it was like a fist to Robin’s gut; unconsciously, she put a hand to her stomach. Jake quietly took her hand and held it.
They moved through the last warehouse where the cushioning products were prepared for shipping, but Robin wasn’t paying much attention. She was too engrossed in the number of similarities between her and Girt. When they finished the tour, Girt invited them up front for a soda. On the way, Robin asked why she would consider selling a business of which she was so obviously proud.
“Not sure I will,” she admitted. “But you people and American Motorfreight—they’ve made noises about buying me out, too—it’s just all made me think about things a little different.”
“Like life?” Jake asked.
“Yeah,” Girt said with a laugh. “Like life. I’m a single mom, you know, and I have to think of my son.”
“But can’t you keep this and look after him?” Robin asked, suddenly and strangely convinced she did not want Girt to sell.
Girt smiled as they walked up to the main office. “Not really,” she said and motioned for Robin to precede her. “Meet my son, David,” she said as Robin stepped across the threshold.
Seated in a wheelchair, his head strapped to some godawful contraption and his arms and legs horribly twisted at odd angles, David grinned at her. Next to him, Bob was mixing something up in a Slurpee cup.
“David’s got cerebral palsy,” Girt said and walked over to her son, ran her hand along the top of his head. “If I sell Wirt, I’ll never have to worry about taking care of him again. I keep thinking about that.”
“Oh God, “Jake murmured softly, and Robin silently echoed his plea.
Chapter Twenty-one
They had lifted off, en route to Houston. Robin was still lost in thought about Burdette and Girt and her son. She looked at Jake sitting across from her, his legs crossed, his sandy brown hair wildly disarranged by his tour of Burdette from the back of a pickup truck, reading a local paper from a convenience store. Amazing, how easily he seemed to fit with people from all walks of life. She couldn’t seem to do that. Why? Why couldn’t she befriend Reba and Sue and Sylvia right off the bat? Because you’re arrogant.
“What are you thinking?” Jake asked without looking up from his paper.
Startled that he had sensed her retreat, Robin shifted uneasily in her seat. “Nothing.”
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, looking up. “That’s so unlike you.”
“Very funny.” She grinned, looked at her hands. “I was just thinking about Girt.”
“She’s good people,” Jake observed, putting aside his paper.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think so before today. I assumed all sorts of things about her.”
“That’s just human nature. You get impressions of people over the phone or e-mail that get blown out of the water when you actually meet them.”
“But it’s more than that. I don’t know . . . I don’t understand how you can walk into a room and be so easy, but I can walk into the same room and feel like . . . like my back is against the wall. Like I am surrounded by the enemy.” She winced at that, glanced out the window. “I think Dad is right. I think I really am arrogant.”
Whatever she expected Jake to say, she did not expect him to laugh. He moved forward, braced his arms on his thighs. “Robin. I don’t know what kind of trip your old man has laid on you, but you are not arrogant. You are strong-willed and you know what you want. And you’re aloof; you have a tendency to hold yourself out. But you’re confusing fear with arrogance.”
“Fear? I’m not afraid!”