Center The Pendulum (eBook)

Chapter 1

Jenn put the car in park and took a long, deep breath. Without the engine running, the sudden silence only emphasized the steady hiss of the rain on the windshield. It had been raining all morning, and although she’d left early, the traffic had been terrible. In the end, she was still 20 minutes early for her first day, but it didn’t leave her much time to gather her thoughts and prepare herself.

“OK, I can do this,” she whispered.

She flicked down the visor, checked her makeup one more time, and shook her head. What a morning and what a start to her first week in a new job.

Things had started out badly when Tyler had overslept and she had to practically drag him through breakfast, then pack his school bag and get him into the car. He’d complained the whole way, demanding to know why he couldn’t just sleep for another 10 precious minutes.

Why did everything have to feel like a battle? He’d been sullenly quiet the whole drive after they finally made it to the car, still mad at her for missing his last touch-football game too. After battling the drop-off line for what felt like an hour, Tyler had barely spoken to her as the door slammed shut and he’d vanished into the crowd of other preteens, headed through the entrance to school.

A gust of wind rocked the car, and the sound of the rain grew louder, steady and monotonous.

“OK, I can take a hint,” she muttered. At least she had an umbrella.

As she pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck and readied herself to get out, she took another look at the broad brick building across the parking lot. It looked even less welcoming in the rain than it had when the sun was out a week ago, and it wasn’t exactly a theme park then. Still, she had high hopes that it would be a place where she could really make a difference. Her last job had been with a much bigger company, and in the end, she’d felt like all she did was answer the same set of questions and shuffle email. When a friend let her know that the head of HR at Wilthorne Manufacturing was retiring, she’d decided to apply, and well, here she was, on a cold and rainy Monday morning—about to make a difference, she hoped.

The rain slackened briefly, and Jenn took the opportunity to quickly open the door, pop up her umbrella, and pick her way through the parked cars and glistening puddles. The entrance to Wilthorne Manufacturing was roughly in the center of the long, low building, flanked by two large bushes and a flower bed that looked in need of a lot of attention. Still, she made it without getting too soaked and paused under the entrance awning to put her umbrella down and take stock. This wasn’t going to be so bad. She’d met her new boss, Steven Wilthorne, during the interview process, and he was, surprisingly, both young and full of energy. After all, she’d heard the CEO, his dad, was kind of a stick in the mud. Likewise, Carol, who would be working part time for her, seemed friendly enough even if she managed to convey a definite sense of “been there, done that” about every topic that came up.

The familiar first-day butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she reminded herself she knew what she was doing and here she really could make a difference. As she reached for one of the double doors, it swung open and a short man in a heavy brown rain jacket walked out.

He stopped suddenly when he saw Jenn, his gray bushy eyebrows raising just a fraction in surprise. As he fished in his pocket for something, Jenn stuck her hand out and put on her most winning smile.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Clarke. Good morning!”

He paused, the same eyebrows sliding back down to resume what looked like their natural location, just shy of a scowl. “Hello, Jennifer Clarke,” he replied, his voice like gravel sliding across concrete. “I’m Roger.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held a small plastic lighter up, flicked a flame into life, and lit a cigarette.

“Smoking break?”

“I don’t smoke,” he said, tucking the lighter back into his pocket along with the cigarettes. “Wife made me give up years ago. I just like the smell. Lighting one up calms me down.” He wafted his hand back and forth, then flicked the cigarette away toward the bushes.

Jenn watched the bright arc as it spun through the air. It landed in a puddle and vanished. “Got you,” she said. OK. She was wondering whether to just cut her losses and head in when the older man shrugged and pulled the door open for her.

“I don’t recognize you. First day?” he asked.

Jenn put her hand on the door and took half a step inside. At least it was warmer there. “Yes. First day for sure. I’m the new Director of Human Resources.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you?” she asked, still holding the door open between them. “Do you work here, too?”

“Not anymore,” he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and peered up at the sky. He began to leave, paused, and turned back. “Good luck, Jennifer Clarke,” he growled. “You’ll need it.”

He strode away across the lot toward an old pickup truck parked at the far end, head down, hands thrust into pockets.

Jenn let the door close slowly, took a deep breath, and turned to face the reception desk. It was still early, barely 8:00 a.m., but the receptionist was already there, eyeing her with a look that managed to convey polite interest and mild suspicion at the same time. Jenn realized water was dripping slowly but steadily from her coat and umbrella onto the carpet.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Clarke.”

“Oh! Mr. Wilthorne said to let him know when you arrive. My name is Marcy. I’ll call him now. Sit over there if you like and I’ll go put that umbrella in a sink.”

“Thanks, Marcy. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the water.”

Jenn unfastened her coat and, instead of sitting, walked over to the far wall that was covered in framed pictures of pieces of engineering equipment and trucks and a large portrait of an elderly man glaring at the world from under the most terrifying brows she had ever seen. Dramatic eyebrows definitely seem to be in fashion here, she thought.

While she waited, the door opened and closed several more times as people came into the building, each time followed by a gust of icy wet air. She paused again by the portrait. That, she realized, must be old Mr. Wilthorne.

“Handsome fella, isn’t he?”

Jenn turned and found herself looking at a much younger version of the same face. “Steven,” she said, “good morning!”

He sighed, and his faint smile faded quickly. He nodded toward the door. “Welcome to the company, Jennifer. I’m glad you’re here, although I’m not sure it’s really all that great a morning. Things have started out a bit rocky.”

“Please call me Jenn,” she said as she followed him into the main building.

They walked down a long hallway, past a row of offices and the door to the manufacturing floor, and then into his office at the far end.

When he’d closed the door behind him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“So, not a good start to the week?” she asked.

“No, not good. We just lost our best machinist.”

“Happy fellow? Likes to not smoke?”

Steven nodded. “Roger Miller.” Steven sat on the corner of his desk and gestured to one of the plush chairs by the window. “Beyond being our best machinist, Roger’s been here for years, pretty much as long as we’ve been in business. He helped start the company, with my dad. They’ve argued before, but today was different.”

“And he quit?”

Steven nodded. “Yep. And I’m afraid it’s not just Roger. Jennifer,” he paused and grimaced, “Jenn, I have to tell you I’m afraid you’re walking into quite a situation.”

Jenn looked around the room: wood-paneled walls, a desk that looked so old Henry Ford might have used it. Yet there were several pieces of modern art hanging on the walls and, on the desk, a wide monitor and an expensive-looking laptop. A large, framed photograph of a woman and two small children shared the end of the desk with a strange valve-like piece of engineering on a wooden base. It was an odd mix.

“What kind of situation?”

Steven stood and stretched his back. “Here’s the thing. Roger knows more about running this place than anyone else, including my dad. And with him gone, I think we might lose a few more of our people. We can’t afford to have that happen, Jenn. If we lose the Chicago order, we’re sunk. And without Roger, I’m not sure how we can win it.”

“It’s a big order?”

“The biggest we’ve had, but they expect the world and then some. Even if everything was working perfectly, it’d be a stretch to win it as it is . . .” He trailed off.

Jenn stood and took a long calming breath. This wasn’t her first rodeo, she reminded herself. Still, at least in a rodeo they...