Forgiven

By P.B. Child

Forgiven is the story a man searching for understanding as the joys and tragedies of his life stack up behind him. Patrick sets out on a career in the engineering and construction industry after the death of his father, determined to provide a secure life for his wife and children. He does not anticipate the turbulence that will befall him and his adventurous friend Ross, however, and together they are forced to navigate through an ever-evolving world. Their careers take them from the Midwest to the Southeast, out to California, and down to the Caribbean and Central America. Along the way they deal with cultural and generational change, struggling to find the path which will bring meaning to their lives and to those they love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638856429

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sun shone down hot on my backyard where my father stood over the barbeque grill that Friday afternoon. I was returning from playing baseball with my buddies in the park across the street. When my parents had moved into the area, they had taken care to move into a neighborhood with plenty of kids, and I had spent the last several years playing baseball with the guys. We were getting older now; most of us were fifteen and would be driving soon, but we still enjoyed sports on our own without the confines of a school or league. Those games then seemed special in my mind now, as they were truly the end of an era. My shirt was soaked with sweat from the ballgame, but before I showered, I had something I needed to ask Dad. Something that could only be asked when my mother wasn’t around.

My dad had gotten away from work a little early as was typical for a Friday. He was in the backyard working on hamburgers in the kettle barbeque, wearing his brown cotton work pants and a short sleeved shirt. I plopped down on the grass nearby. No beer for me yet. I was drinking some lemonade Dad had set out on the picnic table.

Hit ’em hard, son? he asked, in reference to the game.

Okay, I said, nothing special. I bet David and Jack won’t play with us next year. They’ll be good enough to make the high school team. We’re trying to squeeze one last good year out of everybody. It’s still fun.

Dad chuckled a little and nodded his head. Good for you guys to play without too much supervision, he said. Teaches you how to get along and solve your own problems.

Dad, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. Problems. I heard you and Mom arguing last night after I went to bed. I know it’s none of my business, but are you guys okay? I mean, Jack’s mom and dad just split up. It seems to be going around school, you know?

Dad turned and looked at me, not in anger or with a smile, but with a look that let me know he took me seriously. He was doing that more and more as I got older. It made me feel a little more grown up.

Son, he said, a lot of stuff goes on in a marriage between husband and wife. Some of it boils over a little every now and then, but that doesn’t mean bad news. It’s God’s way of letting you know you need to pay more attention to your wife.

God seems to be around more and more, then. It’s making me nervous.

I understand, but don’t be. Mr. Hyde puts pressure on me at work, and even if I try not to, I know I pass some of that on to your mom and you kids. She likes to remind me of that to help keep things evened out. Believe it or not, I’m glad she does that, even if I get a little snappy when it comes out. When you go inside, notice the flowers I brought her on the kitchen table. I’m not letting your mom go anywhere. I need her too much.

I nodded. I’d probably already pushed the bounds too much.

But I’m glad you brought this up for another reason, he said. One you probably won’t be nodding about.

I looked up at him again with questions in my eyes.

Your mom was telling me I was making a mistake with something that concerns you. She’s right, but I told her it can’t be helped. I won’t be able to take you to the White Sox game tomorrow like I promised. We’ve got a big job starting at the steel mill next week, and Mr. Hyde wants me to take a few men and get some of the pre-cleaning work done this weekend. Your mom wants me to say no or get someone else, but I think it’s a dangerous job. I better handle it myself.

Damn it, Dad, that’s the second time you’ve cancelled on me about the Sox. It’s the Yankees, too. They won’t be back in Chicago again this year even if we do make it later. Why does work always come first?

Because it keeps a roof over our heads, hamburgers on our table, and you kids in school. You know I’d rather be at the game.

He grimaced, then turned and looked at me again. And I’d better not hear you cussing again today! One-time special exception for extreme duress.

It seems you’re always telling me you’re doing something you’d rather not do. Is that what I have to look forward to when I outgrow the ballgames in the park, a world full of crap nobody wants to do? Thanks a lot!

I stalked off. I can’t remember if I spoke to him again that night during or after dinner. I do know I never had a meaningful conversation with him again after Saturday; that was the day he was pulled from the vessel in the mill. Was he distracted by worries about me or hurrying because he wanted to get back and try to make the game?

Several months later, he was back at home. He was alone on the sofa watching the Cubs on channel nine. My mother propped him up there with several pillows and left me to watch him. She and my sister were out somewhere; I forget where exactly. The look on his face was so empty. I hadn’t heard him speak since he’d been home, even though we all talked to him as if he would suddenly respond. I sat down next to him and took his limp hand in mine. I needed to tell him I was sorry.

Dad, I began, were you worrying about me? That day at the mill? Silently he started straight ahead. I didn’t know if he could hear me, but surely he could somewhere, wherever he was, so I continued. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time the day before, I said. You were right, you were treating me fair. You always treated me fair. I’ll always remember that.

I paused. I still had more, but it was almost as hard to talk to a silent father as it had been to an animated one.

Dad, I just wanted to tell you I’ll make you proud. I won’t be a ballplayer or an astronaut, but I’ll be a straight-up man. I’ll treat my family as right and fair as you treated yours. I promise I will.

Silently I sat there holding his hand, unaware just how that promise would come back to haunt me.

Chapter 2

I met Lisa at the office supply store where she had helped me buy equipment and furniture for our construction office. Then, the next Sunday, we found ourselves sitting close by each other in church. We got into the habit of sitting together. I had been used to church up in Indiana, all the way up near Chicago, where the long winter had all the women dressing in pants and heavy coats. Down here in Alabama’s warm weather, church brought out the finest in the women. Lisa was no exception. She was always dressed up beautifully yet tastefully. Somehow this made her more attractive than if she had been wearing a bikini on a beach. We would chat a little before and after the services, and before long, we began dating.

I think we began to get serious when I got sick. I was still a skinny young man, and I picked up a case of strep throat that had been going around the jobsite. The weight just fell off me, as I couldn’t keep anything down, and I was down to one-fifty before I knew it. That wasn’t much on my six-foot-one frame. Lisa noticed my absence from church, and when I called to cancel a date, she got concerned. The next day she showed up with some freshly cooked yet bland food she thought I could handle and dragged me to one of the doctors I had been avoiding. It took about a week and some antibiotics, but eventually I was back on my feet.

The next big step had been meeting her parents. Lisa explained to me that her extended family got together about every six months, once in the spring at a local state park and once in the fall in the basement of her parents’ church where they would put the Iron Bowl on TV and all root for Alabama. The spring gathering was coming up. Rather than have me meet all fifty or so of the relations in one go, she planned to take me to her parents’ house early in the morning to get ready and then we could go with them to the reunion. It sounded pretty innocent at first, but as the day drew closer, the thought of it began to intimidate me.

When I stopped by her apartment to pick her up, all thoughts of backing out evaporated. She was dressed in a denim skirt and simple blouse, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, but somehow, she absolutely glowed. I knew she was excited for me to meet her folks; perhaps this is what had put her in such a good mood. Her beautiful smile came easily as we chatted on the ride over to her parents’ house. During the meeting with her parents, while she was helping her mom put casseroles and desserts together, I chatted with her dad about the weather and Atlanta Braves baseball. He took it pretty easy on me, not pressing me about my intentions toward his daughter or anything like that, but Lisa kept tabs on me anyway, poking her head in often to ask me to reach up high for a dish or pull something hot out of the oven. I was guessing her mom managed just fine when I wasn’t there!

Lisa and her parents were all so friendly and relaxed that I was at ease enough to meet fifty of my soon-to-be closest relatives at the picnic that followed. I lost count of how many siblings each of her parents had; four or five each as nearly as I could tell. Everyone wanted to meet the new boyfriend, but none of them gave me a real hard interrogation; it was all friendly. The thought of joining such a warm, loving family appealed to me, and my thoughts took another step down the road to being serious. By the time of the fall reunion, we were engaged.

That turned out to be a good thing, because the Iron Bowl that year was a little more than the average non-Alabamian could take. The Iron Bowl is the rivalry football game between the two large state universities, Alabama and Auburn. At that time Alabama’s archrival Auburn had the world’s greatest athlete, Bo Jackson, as its star. Alabama had won the previous nine games in the series, however, and seemed to have Auburn’s number. Even against the great Bo Jackson, they only trailed by one point at halftime, scored right away after the second half started, and the Alabama fans from Lisa’s family (in other words, everybody there) had the Hueytown church basement rocking with cheers. Things tightened up toward the end of the game, and the crowd in the basement was on pins and needles after Bo rambled for fifty-some yards deep into Alabama territory.

Lisa’s family was much too polite to toss any cursing around, especially not in the church basement, and extra-especially not at coach Bear Bryant. They were none too pleased, though, and the referees came in for a fair share of criticism. With the ball just a yard or two away from the Alabama goal line, and with everyone knowing he would get the ball, Bo Jackson flung himself over the linemen toward the goal. When he came to earth and bodies were sorted out, the refs ruled it a touchdown. Auburn had the lead. You could have heard a pin drop in Hueytown.

There was still about two minutes left in the game. I was too nervous to talk to anyone; this was serious business going on here. Alabama completed one pass but had another intercepted, seemingly handing the game away. A minute later, however, Bo incredibly fumbled as he tried leaping over the line again for a first down. Alabama recovered, and cheers shook the church once again. It was not to be, however, and time ran out on Alabama, their winning streak, and their dominance over Auburn. Most of the women cried, as did a couple of the men.

Through it all I kept my eyes on Lisa’s father, Charles Roundtree. While others were turning red in the face, he remained cheerful and philosophical. He questioned some of the play calling, that is part of the fun of being a fan, but he didn’t yell at the kids who messed up. When Auburn emerged victorious, he was one of the few to say what a great player Bo Jackson was, that you couldn’t expect to beat him every time. I helped him clean up the church as others left, and he talked about some of the great players that had come through Alabama in the past and how close we might be to the end of Bear Bryant’s tenure. All I could think of was what a great father he must have been for Lisa, and what a great grandfather he would be for her grandchildren.

As I carried Lisa back to her apartment at the end of that day, I told her how much I admired her father.

Oh, Daddy’s something special, all right, she said. He’s the first one in the family to go help someone out if their house needs work or to give them a little money to tide someone over if he gets laid off. When they say Heart of Dixie, that’s what they’re talking about.

Lisa, too, had acquitted herself well during that afternoon’s tragedy. Although she had uttered several gosh-darn its and even a few dad-gums! she had remained dry-eyed at the defeat of her team. If I was going to fall in love with a Southern girl, I was thankful it had been her. In my eyes, it was Lisa who was the Heart of Dixie.

Chapter 3

Ross McDougal roared into the construction site on his motorcycle every morning as if he owned the place. Although he was just another one of the ironworkers, not the foreman or anything, he had a certain panache that drew everyone’s attention. Tall and lanky, but muscled, not thin, he walked with a swagger that seemed to portend future greatness. When I would look at him, I remembered the saying I heard at the power plant job in Georgia: the ironworker foreman was the guy who had won the last fight at the bar. Ross looked like future foreman material.

I was not a frequenter of the local Birmingham bars, so not much for me to worry about there. I was the office man, not many years out of engineering school, working as the project engineer. Recently married to Lisa, I wrote the subcontracts and helped the project superintendent manage the contractors. I also did the drawing take-off and bought the materials for our own construction forces. The company I worked for, Granite-Hyde Constructors, would be building all the concrete structures for the state bridge but had contracted out the erection of the steel bridge girders, electrical lighting, and other specialty work such as painting. The job was fun for a young man, more fun than working in an engineering office on a drafting board as I had when I first graduated. I walked the job every morning and afternoon, checking in with the foreman as to materials they would be needing soon and tracking their progress. Out of school only five years, my wife Lisa and I were building a life there in Alabama.

Late one particular afternoon I was touching base with the steel erection foreman up on top of one of the concrete support piers. I liked to meet them at their location rather than down in the trailer; it put them a little on edge to know I was checking on their progress. If they were behind schedule, they would try to catch me in the trailer in the morning before I could visit them, so I had to vary the timing of my job walks to stay unpredictable. The steel work was going well, though, so the foreman had not been avoiding me. So well, he told me, that people from the city occasionally stopped by and looked through the construction fence to see the men working above. This bridge had been needed in town for a long time. That day, he went on, our superintendent had told him a man from the newspaper was around taking pictures. (This was back in the eighties, when folks still got news the old-fashioned way, reading factual reporting in the newspaper.)

Seeing that photographer must have been the prelude to what happened next. I heard Ross let out a yell, then look down and give a big wave. With a quick start, he took two long steps, then leapt from one bridge girder to another, a span of about nine feet. Thirty to forty feet above the pavement below. He landed like a cat and waved again as the men around him hooted and cheered.

Startled, I turned to the foreman. You better tell that guy to get his tools. No way Todd doesn’t fire him. Todd was my boss, our superintendent.

Naw, drawled the foreman, what Todd don’t know won’t hurt him. Don’t say nuthin’.

He must’ve broken about a dozen safety rules with that stunt. Are you telling me that is regular business for you guys?

Don’t say nuthin’, he said again, with a strong edge to his voice that time.

Don’t worry, I won’t have to. That photographer he was waving at will take care of that for me. We can wait and see.

Sure enough, the next morning, the front page of the paper greeted me with a picture of an ironworker leaping through midair, taken by a photographer from the ground as if he were looking up at an eagle. When I got to work, I could hear Todd yelling at the foreman from his office at the other end of the trailer. Then I heard him yell, Pat, is that you? Get your ass in here!

Clearly, I had not thought this through. My presence there yesterday was about to become a problem, part of the bigger excuse. I had to be on my toes for this one. Yessir! I called out.

When I pushed open the door, the foreman was there with a red-faced Todd. Todd threw the paper down on the desk, the photo facing up. Did you see this BS that went on last night?

Yessir, I sure did. Hasn’t this guy fired that jerk yet? I told him he’d better.

Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you run off the whole lot of ’em?

Because they’re about a week and a half ahead of schedule, and we’ve got enough other problems on this project without me making more. Besides, it looked spur of the moment. Why punish everyone for the actions of one guy? You were gone by then. Who was I gonna tell?

Yeah, chimed in the foreman, picking up the thread, and I’ll tell you why we’re a week ahead of schedule. It’s because that guy is one hardworking sumbitch and pushes everyone else. You send him home and we ain’t gonna keep up the progress, I tell you what. No fat bonus for everyone. You know that’s true. The whole job depends on our steel.

Todd just stood there and fumed. The foreman was right; we all wanted a share of the bonus from the state for finishing early. That was one hand. The other hand was the visit from OSHA we were sure to get that day, and the phone call from the office up north that was sure to follow. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He really didn’t want me telling the bosses that he had a regular habit of cutting out early every day for the bar while I took care of the evening details. Finally, he spoke.

Well, get his ass off the job today. I don’t want the state inspectors to see his face. Maybe in a day or two this will die down and you can bring him back. I’ll make sure Mr. Harmon sees the logic in that. Mr. Harmon was the lead inspector for the state. Todd would have to buy him off with a few drinks, maybe something a little more. I didn’t want to know. That wasn’t my end of the project. I was the straight man.

Saturday came, and I heard Ross’s bike roar up from inside the trailer. The state guys usually didn’t show when we worked weekends, although occasionally they did a spot inspection to keep us honest. My guess was Todd had arranged for this to not be one of those weekends. Late in the day I climbed up one of the ladders to where the ironworkers were. The foreman just smiled and shook his head at me. We dodged a bullet with that one. I thought for a moment all three of us were history. Good thinking, bringing up the schedule. And reminding Todd he was AWOL.

Gotta have friends in this business, I said to him as Ross strode toward us.

Hey, I hear I owe you a little thanks for my two-day vacation! I hear it could have been a lot a longer. He stuck out his hand. It engulfed mine as I shook it. I squeezed hard just to hold my own. I knew he could crush mine like a grape.

No problem, just trying to keep us all out of trouble. Can we keep the calisthenics to a minimum? There’s no one to impress out here.

That didn’t impress you? Bet you can’t do it! he sneered, and with a long step and a leap, that son-of-a-gun did it again! Right across to the next girder.

I don’t know what possessed me. He probably didn’t know I had walked some iron on my last job, or how much basketball I had played at college. But with a little bit of rising temper, I too took a couple long steps and leapt across to join him.

The girder was not quite as wide as I thought. I got the front half of my boot on, enough to pull my second foot on, but I could feel my momentum begin to pull me over. All I could think of was what an idiot I was, and to prepare myself for what was sure to be a brutal landing on the pavement. I was almost startled by the iron-like grip on my bicep, which I used to gain my balance. I looked up at Ross’s wide grin.

Gotta have friends in this business, dontcha! he exclaimed.

Yeah, buddy! was all I could say as my heart pounded.

Chapter 4

Ross was a regular visitor at my trailer in the evenings after that. He would stop by if he saw Todd’s pickup was gone and my car was still there after his crew knocked off. I kept some beer in my car, and we would swap those out with the cold ones Todd kept in the fridge locked in his office. I had made Todd give me a spare key, reasoning with him he might need a sick day or something and I would need access to the petty cash or other documents he had. I was really more worried about him getting in a wreck or arrested with a DUI.

It turned out Ross had an engineering degree himself, but like me had found the construction world a lot more interesting. He was a few years older, and he talked about moving into a steadier line of work. The ironworker money was good, but the work was drying up in the area. He was wondering how hard it would be to find work like mine around town.

I don’t know, I told him. I am starting to worry a little about it myself. After this job, no telling where our next one will be. We’re still the outsiders around here. We took the locals by surprise with the low bid on this one. They’ll be ready for us next time.

So what you’re telling me is, if you have any contacts in the business, you’ll be using them on yourself instead of me.

No, what I’m telling you is I’m committed to Granite-Hyde Constructors, and if they tell me to move, I’ll move. I’m telling you I’m not really in with the locals. I can get you with some of the other subcontractors. They should have some connections. Do you know Joey, our earthwork contractor? Seems like I see their equipment all around town. He ought to know someone who might have an opening, or at least who landed some big projects lately. Might even be someone on the private side, get out of this state business.

Ross stroked his long chin thoughtfully. Thanks, he said finally. I went to school with that guy’s son. I hadn’t thought of him in a long time—maybe it’s time we got reacquainted.

Ross’s boss must’ve observed we got on well, because he left Ross on the project to finish up the details after the big work was finished. He was the foreman now, and his guys did all the small stuff, putting up the guardrail and signage, and using their lifting equipment to help the other subcontractors. It worked, too, and I tried to make sure to feed them enough work to string them out as long as possible. Gotta have friends.

The Friday their work finally finished, Ross came into the trailer for one last beer.

Thanks for the tip about Joey, he told me as he shook my hand. His son isn’t worth much, but he knows I pull my weight, and he’s putting me on one of his projects. Guess I’ll either bail him out of trouble or be the fall guy.

I’ll be betting you pull him out, I said. Our paths will cross again. That seems to happen a lot in this business. He laughed over his shoulder as he hopped on his bike and tore on off down the road.

When I went back in the trailer, I heard the phone ringing in Todd’s office. I hadn’t locked it after that last beer, so I went in and picked it up.

This is Jack Hyde, I heard a gruff voice on the other end exclaim. The big boss.

Hey, Mr. Hyde. This is Pat. Todd’s out in the field right now. Not sure I can get him on the radio; I think I saw his on the charger. Anything I can help you with?

Cut the BS, son, we both know where Todd is. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions. Anyway, you’re the one I need to talk to. Okay, I said, hoping that did not sound as suspicious as I felt. What can I do for you?

You can come to Indiana. We’ve got a car plant to build downstate, and everyone said you pulled a good bit of the load down there. We could really use you up here. What do you say?

This really put me on the spot. Lisa was an Alabama girl; I wasn’t sure Indiana would be Southern enough for her. I wasn’t really sure that anywhere but Alabama would be Southern enough for her. We hadn’t been married long, and although I had explained to her the transient nature of my job, she kept dropping hints about me finding work with another contractor in town. She wouldn’t really want to hear how Mr. Hyde