Work Text:
“Curtis!”
Darry raised his head, ignoring the wave of dizziness that quickly followed the motion. His boss was calling to him—he needed to respond. Jonathan Reynolds had done so much for him over these past few months, from getting him his father’s old job to giving him bonuses a week early when he felt extra hungry, so it was only right to pay him back with good work.
“Can you help Martin lay down summa that roofin’?” Mr. Reynolds pointed to the beat-up truck, where their coworker was busy unloading bundles of shingles from its bed.
“Yes, sir!” Darry replied, descending the ladder as quickly as he could manage. He liked Martin; he was a good, hard worker who shared a lot of his same ideals, but best of all, he’d been good work friends with Darry’s father. Sometimes, on the rare slow day, he’d get to hear stories about Martin’s time roofing with him. It showed Darry a side of his namesake that he’d never gotten old enough to see—and while it wasn’t as good as experiencing the real thing, he always finished those shifts with less of an ache in his muscles than usual. When he’d first joined the company, less than two weeks after he’d turned twenty-two, most of the workers there had just ignored him, or worse, given him looks of indescribable pity. But not Martin. Martin had clapped him on the back and showed him how to hold a hammer.
He owed a lot to Martin, too.
With the two of them working together, it took less than five minutes to unload the rest of the bundles. Today, they were mostly working on the highest parts of the house, which had two stories and lots of area to cover. Darry had worked with Martin for more than long enough to know exactly where he wanted to start, so he figured he’d go on ahead and do some setup there.
“Careful, Junior!” Martin yelled across the lawn. “There might still be some gaps!”
“I’ll keep an eye out!” Darry yelled back, feeling a little warm inside. That was another thing about Martin he liked—since he’d known Darry’s father for so long, he’d taken to calling him Junior long before they’d ever actually met. It was what Darrel Sr. had referred to him by every time he came up in conversation, he’d learned.
Martin joined him on the roof just a few minutes later. He’d been right; there were a few gaps left in their area, so Darry made sure to point them out to him before they got into it.
“It’s shaping up to be a real scorcher,” he said, feeling the way the sun beat down on his back. Darry hoped he wouldn’t have to put on sunscreen today—he was almost out, and getting more was always less money that went toward his brothers.
“You’ve been saying that all week,” Martin replied lightly, unrolling the bundle he’d brought up with him.
“And it’s been true all week.” Darry carefully positioned the first nail, then grabbed the hammer from his toolbelt with his other hand. Martin held the roofing in place as he beat it into the supports underneath.
“It’s too hot for May,” Martin told him. “It didn’t used to be this hot. It’s all them factories up north, I’m tellin’ you.”
“I wouldn’t know any better,” Darry responded, reaching for another nail. But as he lifted his head, another dizzy spell hit him, and before he knew it he was catching himself on the side of the roof.
“Glory, Junior!” Martin exclaimed. “What on Earth was that?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Darry tried to get back to work, but Martin’s gentle hand caught his.
“No sirree, bub. Your dad would skin me if he saw me letting you work like this. Let’s get you on solid ground.”
Darry, to his credit, knew better than to argue.
Martin went down the ladder first, making sure he could catch Darry if he fell. Darry didn’t fall, though, because he was fine. Martin was making a big deal out of nothing, but the sooner he complied, the sooner he could be checked over and get cleared to go back to work.
“Reynolds!” Martin yelled. “Junior’s gonna sit down for a few minutes. He fell.”
“Is he conscious?” Mr. Reynolds shouted back, already on his way over to them. Martin pulled out a chair for Darry. It was one of those fancy porch chairs, one that he felt too dirty to be sitting in. He had to admit, he was dizzier than he thought he was; once he sat down, it felt like his world was tilting sideways for a few seconds before everything righted itself.
“He’s conscious!”
Mr. Reynolds came close enough that he didn’t need to raise his voice anymore. “Good,” he said, crouching down and giving Darry a once-over. “We don’t need to be callin’ your brother outta work, here. You keep your bum in that chair until my say-so, got it, Curtis?”
“Yes, sir,” Darry replied nervously.
“Martin, go fetch him some water, will you? I’ll stay.”
“Yes, sir. Feel better, kid.” Martin messed up his hair a little, then made his way to their communal cooler. Most of the men preferred to keep their water nice and cold on days like this.
Mr. Reynolds sighed. “You work too hard, Curtis. You know that?”
Darry fixed his gaze on his rapidly twiddling thumbs. “Yes, sir. But my brothers don’t got no one else to do it.”
It was true, and Mr. Reynolds knew it. He needed this job—an unplanned day off might be the thing that took Pony and Soda away from him. That was why, Darry was sure, he hadn’t immediately sent him home after something as dangerous as a fall like he would with someone else. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was just working on the ground the rest of the day, though. He shoved down his rising guilt at the idea. It would be better than doing nothing at all.
“Take an hour,” his boss said. “Drink some water. Eat something if you have it. You’ll still get paid.”
“But sir—”
“—no buts, Curtis. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still on the clock. That means you get paid—and you follow orders.”
Darry sat for a moment, dumbstruck. Martin came back with two bottles of water and handed them both to him before climbing back onto the roof. One bottle went on the back of his neck, and the other he quickly downed.
“Thank you, sir,” he finally replied, remembering his manners a bit too late. Mr. Reynolds smiled at him anyway.
“You should learn to rely on the people around you some more,” he said before patting his knee and returning to work.
“ . . . yes, sir,” Darry whispered, even though no one could hear him.