Charles Sheehan-Miles

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Republic: Chapter Two (Part Two)

Republic

Charles Sheehan-Miles

Chapter Two (Part Two)

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Chapter Two (Part Two)
May 26

“I’m sorry, sir. According to this, you’ve been provided severance pay for nearly four months. You’ll just have to come back and apply in October.”

Murphy swallowed his frustration. It was galling to be in this position, begging help from a government beauracrat. But he had a six year old to take care of, and didn’t have the luxury of pride. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the neat, precise desk, behind which sat a woman whose smile didn’t illuminate her eyes.

“I get that. The issue is, the severance pay doesn’t extend to health insurance. I have a very sick son at home, and it is critical he stays covered. And I can’t get him covered until you certify that I’m unemployed and seeking work.”

The woman behind the desk tilted her head as if to say, so what?  Murphy was unnaturally irritated by her heavy makeup.

“There’s nothing I can really do about that, sir. You’re not unemployed until the severance pay runs out.”

Murphy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting for patience. He looked up and said, “Without treatment, my son might be dead by then.”

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but there is nothing I can do. You might consider contacting someone in the state health department, but we cannot list you as unemployed until October 1, at the end of your severance period.”

Better to not say anything. Nothing at all. Murphy stood, unintentionally scattering papers onto the floor, and walked away.

Outside, it was grey and wet, rain coming down in a flood, despite the fact that it was nearly June. Half a dozen cold, rainy springs in a row. So much for global warming.

It could be a lot worse, he thought. He owned the old house outright; though it had been a real struggle, they’d kept with a fifteen-year mortgage and even paid it off two years early. When the deed came, delivered certified mail, they framed it, then drove to Washington to catch a play at the Kennedy Center and celebrate. Murphy wasn’t much of a drinker, and neither was Martha, but that night they’d gotten drunk on happiness. She’d grown rounded at the edges as they’d grown older, but that night she was radiant. It was likely as not that Kenny Jr. had been conceived in the Hotel Harrington around the corner from FBI headquarters.

In addition to the house, he still owned Martha’s shop in the center of the town. It had been a hideous indulgence to close and lock the doors, keep paying taxes on it, fending off all offers of a quick sale for the prime retail spot. Just never seemed right to sell off all that was left of her life’s work. Now he’d have to. That alone ought to cover Kenny’s insurance premiums for a few months, maybe a year. Long enough to find a new job, anyway.

Too bad about that bill from the IRS; he’d just written them a check for twenty thousand dollars. Just about cleaned out his savings.

“You look like you’re doing a bit of woolgathering there, Colonel.”

Startled by the bass voice, Murphy looked up, embarrassed to be found just standing outside the door of the unemployment office. It was Joe and Mandy Blankenship. Mandy had worked at the plant, in Karen Greenfield’s department. Joe was a coalminer, which meant that he was more often unemployed than not.

“I confess. You can tell you’re getting old when you think of ten years ago like it was this morning.”

Mandy smiled, but the smile wasn’t genuine. “Somehow seeing you here makes it all real, Ken.”

“It’s real enough,” he replied. “How are you two? Kids okay?”

“Oh, Bill’s an old hand at this, what with the coal mines,” Mandy said. “We’ll be all right, I suppose, long as we can keep up on the mortgage. I didn’t get much in the way of severance pay, though. Hadn’t been around long enough.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“By the way,” Mandy said, “Have you heard any of that talk from Bill Warner about forming a union?”

Murphy shook his head. “No. Tell you the truth, I can’t see how a union would make much difference at this stage.”

“I thought I heard he’s trying to put together a deal for the workers to buy the plant.”

Murphy grunted. That would be a hell of coup. “I’ll definitely check into it, that could make a big difference,” he said.

They said their goodbyes, and Murphy made his way out into the rain as the couple entered the unemployment office. In the car, he turned on the radio and heard the news: there had been a bombing in Arlington, Virginia, outside the Pentagon. Without a second thought, he dialed Valerie’s number in Washington.

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