Necessary Decisions

Chapter 2: Hard Times

Chapter 2: Hard Times

Chapter 2

Hard Times

Lonny Hackett grew up poor. Hard-working poor. The kind of poor that made a man proud because he’d worked all day and his muscles ached. The kind of poor that made him smart from scrimping to pay bills and haggling over prices.

Like most poor people, Lonny dreamed about getting rich. He didn’t want a lot. Just enough to let him buy Lucia a new dress now and then. Or a new pair of shoes. Take her out to dinner on Friday nights. The kids too, if they’d go. Enough so he didn’t have to pray every single night that his old truck would start in the morning and get him to work. Enough to stay home when he got real sick.

He dreamed about it a lot, especially during the winter months when construction was slow and Lucia had to take on extra work to help with food. His mama had always told him that money ruined everything. When he was young, he figured she was right. He still believed in what she said, that money could ruin him…but he wanted to try it out sometime.

Maybe in the next life.

Lonny quit daydreaming then finished striking the joints on the brick facing for a drilling rig company. It was the first nice job they’d had in months. Thank God for the oil industry.

As he moved to the spots exposed to the afternoon sun, he put away his iron striker and used a smooth, wooden one he’d made out of hickory. Wood wouldn’t burn joints—an important consideration in Houston’s climate—and hickory was hard enough to polish joints instead of stripping them.

Lonny stepped back and smiled. He might be down to half of his hours, but that was no reason to slack off or do shoddy work. He wiped sweat from the corner of his eye then got his coarse brush and cleaned the mortar off the brick. Occasionally he used the wooden handle to scrape dried cement from the edges. When he finished, he placed his tools in his canvas bag, slipped his level through the handles, slung it over his shoulder, and climbed down the scaffold to the parking lot.

Mr. Mattusek, the boss, stood off to the side, talking to one of the concrete crew. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Mattusek.” Lonny waved as he headed to his truck.

When he was almost there, he heard his name called.

“Lonny, you got a minute?”

He tossed the tools in the back of the pick-up—a ten-year-old blue Chevy with a metal toolbox fastened to the bed—grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler then headed over to Mattusek. If he was lucky, he’d get more work out of this.

“You need something done, Mr. Mattusek? You know I need the work.”

Mattusek turned his head to the side. “I hate this shit.”

Lonny’s gut lurched. He felt as if he might throw up.

“I’ve got to let you go,” Mattusek said. “I don’t know for how long, but I promise you’ll be the first one I call back.”

Lonny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “What about the restaurant we were supposed to get? And the—”

Mattusek was shaking his head. “We didn’t get the contract for either. The financing fell through on the restaurant, and we lost the bid on the other. Somebody undercut us.”

Unable to talk at first, Lonny managed to keep his dignity. He shook Mattusek’s hand and thanked him for the years they worked together. “Call me if you get anything. I mean anything.”

“I will,” Mattusek said. “Promise.”

Lonny got in his truck and headed for home. How am I gonna tell Lucia?

As he thought that, the phone rang. It was her. “Hey, baby,” he said. “I hope you have a few filets on the grill topped with my favorite mushrooms.”

“How’d you know, old man? And just in case your dreams come true, stop and pick up some real milk to go with those imaginary steaks.”

“You got it. See you soon.” Lonny felt like running, getting on the freeway, and heading west, or south into Mexico. Anywhere to get away from his responsibilities. If it weren’t for Lucia and the kids, he’d pack up and leave. Instead, he pulled into the corner store and slowly walked inside. He checked the price on a gallon of milk then counted his money. He grabbed a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar for Lucia, a Heath Bar for Jada, and a bag of crunchy Cheetos for Mars.

May as well make them happy with my last few bucks.

Lonny set everything on the counter and yanked the crumpled bills from his pocket. “Dave, how’s it going today?”

“Not bad. Business is slow, though.”

“About to get slower, I imagine.”

Dave rang up the order. It left Lonny with $1.08. “I’ll tell you what, give me one of those Texas Lotto tickets. What’s it up to?”

“Thirty-nine million.”

“Thirty-nine million…I could use that.”

“Cash option?”

“Regular’s fine. I get the cash option, I’d spend it all at once.”

Dave handed Lonny the ticket. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Lonny clutched the ticket in his hand.

Come through for us, Lord. My family needs this.