The Fixer

Chapter 3

I drove to the hardware store to pick up Jaxon when his workday was over, letting Roddy have my late shift. The store closed at six—early in the evening. In this small town, perhaps in the majority of small towns, stores often didn’t have the extended working hours of those in larger cities. The lack of competition made that possible; if you wanted a rubber washer to fix a dripping faucet in the bathroom, you had to purchase it during the day and at Beal’s Hardware. There was nowhere else in town where you could buy it.

I had to wonder. If the hardware store did have extended hours, would Jaxon and Coop be working those hours as well? As it was now, Jaxon and Coop were too young to be working the hours they were. Another strike against Mr. Beal, it seemed to me, even if the work they did wasn’t backbreaking labor.

Jaxon came out in a good mood. “My father must not have spoken to Mr. Beal,” he said. “Mr. Beal was as nice as usual. But he was worried, too.”

“Oh? Why was that?”

“When there were no customers in the store, he had Cooper and me join him for a talk; he told us we had a problem. I thought maybe he was going to say I was his problem. I was worried. But no, it was not that at all. He said he has been having problems with his taxes the past few years. They, the tax people, do not believe the numbers he provides them on his tax forms, or they say he’s taking invalid deductions. He’d turned in his tax forms in April when they were due, and now the IRS has informed him that they will be sending a man out to do a routine audit of his books and a spot inventory in the store. He said it will be a surprise audit, but they are notifying him shortly in advance of the audit so we will let the man in; he says the store will have to be shut down during the man’s visit. But they will not tell us when it will occur. When he comes, the man will present his credentials. He has the authority to look at the books and to do an inventory of whatever he wants, and we have to let him in. Mr. Beal hates having to close the store while he is there. He said his customers count on him being open.”

I was pulling into my driveway by then. “I need to get dinner started,” I said. “You must be ravenous. You can continue with this when we’re inside.”

He surprised me. “Mr. Neil, you made me breakfast. I can cook. I can make dinner or help you make it.”

“Really? That’s great. I never cooked till Margaret passed. I’ve been teaching myself, but I’m not very good at it. I can use any help I can get.”

“I cooked at home. My father did not like to do things he called women’s work, like cooking and cleaning and shopping and laundry. If I did not do these things, they did not get done. I do not know what he is doing now that I am not there. He is probably eating at restaurants all the time now. The rest of it, maybe . . . I do not know. He did not seem to mind living in a mess. I cannot stand that. There is a word for mess I cannot think of.

“Clutter?”

“Yes, that is the word. And there is another one, too.”

I had to think. “Squalor?”

“Yes.”

I still had to get used to hearing something that should be said with excitement or triumph that was being said unemotionally. I had the notion he could feel those emotions. I could tell he liked it when I found the words he was looking for. He didn’t express that emotion, though. I was still becoming accustomed to his way of speaking, though, as I spent more time with him.

“I bought some pork chops and was going to cook them. That’s easy to do, right up my alley. But if you want to make something to go with the chops, that would be great.”

“I will do that.”

We worked together in the kitchen. I was getting to like Jaxon. One thing that amazed me was he never was negative. Most teens were experts at sneering at most everything and putting things down, criticizing whatever they saw. Jaxon didn’t do that.

I had met a lot of kids in my time, adolescents, and they were as different as snowflakes. Jaxon was like that, too, but where many teens weren’t terribly nice and tended toward narcissism and sarcasm, Jaxon seemed very open, very honest, and not mean at all. He also didn’t appear to have a governor on his speech. He said what he thought without filtering anything out.

We ended up with pork chops, noodles with sautéed chopped green and red bell peppers, onions, garlic and mushrooms, green beans out of a can, and a green salad with a dressing Jaxon made rather than out of a bottle. “My father didn’t give me much money for groceries, so I learned how to do things the cheap way,” he said.

The dressing was excellent. When I complimented him, he said, “I like cooking. It is very orderly and systematic. What works one time will work the next if you do everything the same. I wish people were like that. They don’t act the same even when I say the same things.” Then he segued into what he’d started talking about in the car without a pause.

“Mr. Beal said he was told that if the place was in tip-top shape, the auditor’s inventory would go more quickly. Otherwise, the investigation could take much longer. Mr. Beal told us he wanted the man out of the store as quickly as possible because the store had to be closed while the man was there. Also, if it was neat and easy to inventory, it would show him that we had nothing to hide.”

Jaxon cut off a slice of chop and put it in his mouth. I had to wait while he ate it. Then he drank some milk and dabbed at his lips with his napkin before he was ready to resume his tale, which he did as though he hadn’t stopped talking at all.

“I asked if the man would inventory everything, because to do that would take several days with only one man doing it. Mr. Beal said no, it was supposed to be a spot check to see if what we had in stock agreed with what our own inventory reported us having, plus new stock and minus what we had a record of selling.”

“That sounds like a pretty thorough audit to me.” I was surprised the IRS did this and thought to myself they must suspect Mr. Beal wasn’t being honest with them and for more than a few dollars. That reminded me about Mr. Mapes thinking the laws of the land were inferior to the laws of his church. Maybe that was why he was doing things like working underage boys more hours than were allowed. I asked Jaxon about what he thought about Mr. Beal’s honesty and if he cheated on his taxes.

“I do not have a way to know one way or another. I do not see how he keeps track of either inventory or money. He is the one to reorder when he sees we are getting low on something, or when Cooper or I inform him of that. But I like him. He’s nice to me. I do not think he would be dishonest or try to cheat the government.”

I gave that a thought, then had a question. “You worked there last year. Was he audited then? Did you have to prepare the store for that last year?”

“He said his tax return had been audited, but there hadn’t been a visit to the store. He said he has done everything correctly and does not understand why they are focusing on him.”

“Strange. But this is all off-message, as they call it these days. We need to be talking about your situation. We need to figure out how you can continue working at the store if Mr. Beal learns you’re gay. We need to figure out how you and Coop can stay together. And mostly, we need to figure out where you can live if it’s not going to be at your father’s house.”

Jaxon looked up at me and met my eyes. He didn’t do that often. “I like living here with you much better than at home. I was always scared there. I did not know when I would get hit. What was all right one day got me in trouble the next day. That was why I was always scared.”

“I like you, too, Jaxon, and like you staying here. You’re good company, and Clancy likes you, too. He’s an excellent judge of character. But even so, this isn’t the best long-term arrangement for you. One thing I want to do, what I’d planned on doing when I retired, was some traveling when summer is over and school‘s back in session. There are a lot of places in this country that I’ve never seen. I want to wait till September because that’s when the tourist season finishes and places aren’t going to be so crowded. I want to visit many of the national parks. I want to see the Mississippi River, visit New Orleans, see the Everglades, the Tetons, Carlsbad Caverns, Yosemite. If I’m going to do that, I can’t wait. I’m young enough now, but who knows what the future will bring? This means we have to figure your situation out before school starts.

“But Jaxon, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. And I won’t leave you until we’ve done that. Until you’re happy and safe and settled. If it means I can’t travel this year, there’s always next. You’ll be here with me until we’ve worked out a more permanent situation.”

I needed to talk to Mr. Beal. I wanted to get a feel for the man. He was breaking the law in several ways. Yet Jaxon liked him, which presented me with an enigma. I’d have to be careful, though, not to give anything away about either Jaxon’s or Cooper’s personal dilemma. Feeling Mr. Beal out and not giving anything away would be difficult, but of critical importance.

I decided the best way to do it would be a little sneaky, but I liked sneaky. Anything that worked, as long as it was ethical and, well, I was going to say legal, but ethical was a better way to put it. Sometimes legality got in the way of righteousness.

I drove Jaxon to work after breakfast. He made the breakfast, which amazed me because boys his age don’t get up till past the time they need to in order to face their commitments of the day on time. Somehow, they manage to avoid being late. But to make breakfast for himself and me, he had to be out of bed way earlier than was necessary. He was showing me he could be useful in my house. I hadn’t given him any indication that I wanted or expected that. The more I saw of Jaxon, the more I was impressed.

I wanted to make a statement to Mr. Beal by arriving with Jaxon. I thought it would give me a bit more agency with him. I knew a lot of people in town, but I’d never met Mr. Beal.

We both walked into the store just before 8:30. Coop and Mr. Beal were already there, standing by the checkout counter talking to each other. They looked up when we entered, and Mr. Beal, looking at me, said, “I’m sorry, we won’t be open for another half hour.”

“Hi,” I said walking up to him and offering a hand to shake. “I’m Neil Davidson. I’m looking after Jaxon these days, and I thought it would be good to meet with you. Jaxon speaks highly of you. Could we meet privately for a few minutes before you open?”

He smiled at me and said, “Sure. Let’s go to my office.” He led me to the back of the store and into a small room that looked like it was principally a storage area. It was filled with loaded shelves and many boxes and had a small desk squeezed into a back corner. Talk about your opulent offices—this was the opposite. As cluttered as the room was, the desk matched. Papers and ledgers and pens and staplers and assorted office supplies littered the desktop.

There was a straight-backed chair in front of the desk and the same sort behind it. He took that one and waved me to the other.

“Jaxon’s a great help here,” he said. “I don’t sell enough to have much of a payroll. Jaxon does what I’d expect from two boys his age. And he’s happy all the time.”

He smiled again. It was obviously my turn to speak. Careful, I thought. Be careful.

“I’m just getting to know him. He didn’t get along with his father and moved out. I found him walking on the highway to Ontagua. I drive the bus route there. He wasn’t really walking to a set designation; he was just walking. He’s living with me now while he figures everything out. I think the only stable things in his life right now are you and his job.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know anything about this.”

“It’s very recent. I imagine he may be embarrassed about it. Anyway, he told me you’d been paying his dad rather than him, and I think it would be best if you changed that, now that he’s no longer living at home.”

I stopped and met his eye, trying to look as friendly and non-aggressive as I could. Just a cordial man making a simple suggestion.

“Oh. Well . . . see, Mr. Mapes approached me about hiring Jaxon at the store. I’d never met Jaxon before. When Mr. Mapes asked if I’d hire him, he said Jaxon was autistic and might not work out, but maybe I could try him. He said I didn’t even have to pay him minimum wage, but he thought Jaxon should start learning how to do a job in the real world and maybe help earn his keep at home at the same time; that Jaxon wouldn’t be much help to me, and I should feel free to pay the boy what he was worth, but I should send the money home so it could be kept safe for him.”

I wrinkled my brow but kept it as unnoticeable as possible. “In that case, as he doesn’t need to earn his keep at home any longer, and he certainly doesn’t with me, either; his pay should go to him. I’m retired, have plenty of room for him since my wife has passed, and I don’t need any money to support him. But I also think he should be earning what he’s worth for his own self-esteem. Is he worth minimum wage? Didn’t you say he does the work of two?”

Mr. Beal almost frowned but restrained it. “I’ve been paying him minimum wage since the end of his first week here. The same as I pay my son Coop. They’re both worth more than that, but if I were to pay either of them their worth, I’d have to let one of them go, and they’re so good together, I’d hate to have to do that. Coop would probably quit if I let Jaxon go; he’d be that pissed at me. I can’t run this store by myself; I do need their help.”

“And you don’t object to paying Jaxon directly rather than his father?”

He stared at me for a moment. I couldn’t read him at all. I’d gotten good at reading teenagers; Mr. Beal was a blank wall. Then he said, “I’ll ask Jaxon if that’s what he wants. I guess I’ll have to tell Mr. Mapes about this if Jaxon does want to receive his pay. To suddenly stop the money coming to Mr. Mapes seems, well . . . rude isn’t the right word. But it’s a change in how we’ve been doing things, and it’s only common courtesy that he be informed.”

While we were talking about this and Mr. Beal didn’t seem defensive, I thought this was a good time to mention the hours the boys worked.

“You’re aware of the labor laws for working underage children, I’m sure.” Said that way, trying not to make him defend himself, I thought I’d get more information and not shut him down. His response surprised me. He smiled! Not what I expected. Although, his lips tended to smile more than his eyes.

His eyes were enigmatic. “Both boys like working in the store, and maybe I do take advantage of that a little. But I give them lots of breaks. I know when the store will be busy and when it won’t be. My working hours are nine to six, six days a week, and a half-day on Sunday. That means we’re open nine-hour days most of the week. The boys get a one-hour lunch break, so for them it could be eight working hours. Most of the time, though, they don’t work more than half that. Two hours off in the mornings is usual, then two more in the afternoon plus paid time for lunch. Saturdays are the only days we’re pretty much busy all day, and they do work more hours then.

“But look. They often stay in the store even when I’ve told them they can skedaddle for a couple of hours. They like the job and the store and maybe even me! It’s not like I force them to do anything.”

I couldn’t find fault with that, and I was starting to be impressed. Still, while worrying I might be going too far, I wanted to know more in my effort to protect Jaxon. I’d need to work my way into my next question. “This sounds a lot better than what I was worrying about. Some people take advantage of kids. I can see you’re not like that at all. Jaxon told me you go to church, the same one Mr. Mapes goes to. Maybe being a churchgoer is part of the reason you care about the kids. I’ll tell you I don’t understand Mr. Mapes at all. Why would anyone have problems with Jaxon? Jaxon seems like a great kid. I guess you know Mr. Mapes pretty well?”

Then I smiled. Nothing wrong with them going to the same church. Nothing wrong with them knowing each other. Nothing at all. That was what that smile said, hopefully loud and clear. If I were implying that the two of them were friends and that had something to do with why Mr. Beal was paying Mr. Mapes Jaxon’s wages, well, that was definitely not what I was suggesting.

He wasn’t going to answer. He didn’t like the question. I could see that. I could see the fence going up in his eyes. But then he relaxed; I could see that, too. “No, not really. It was after church when he approached me about Jaxon working for me. I hadn’t met either of them before that.”

Not much information, but he stopped. Darn. He did make it a point that he and Mr. Mapes weren’t close, that they only met that once. But he didn’t say that, either, leaving it open whether they’d seen more of each other after that initial meeting.

I nodded, just to be doing something while thinking. “I just met him, too, while getting some of the things Jaxon had left at home. He’s a pretty intimidating man.”

Mr. Beal grimaced. “He does seem to have some strong views. And he has no reluctance spouting them.”

“Yes, I could see that. I’m afraid some of his beliefs don’t concur with some of mine. I’ve had to wonder if maybe some of those views have something to do with Jaxon moving out.” Risky, but I needed some idea of Mr. Beal’s thoughts! He wasn’t giving me anything but a feeling he was supportive of Jaxon. Would he still be when he learned of Jaxon’s sexuality? I hadn’t made a bit of progress there.

“Yes,” he said, agreeing with me, “if you’re standing there talking with Mr. Mapes, it seems politic to go along with his views on things.”

Mr. Beal was better at keeping me in the dark with regard to what his personal feelings were than I was at trying to let the light in. I’d gone as far as it was safe to go. One thing stood out to me about our conversation. I’d have to consider it further.

I thanked him for his time. I hadn’t been in the store before. That might seem odd, but Margaret had bought the supplies we needed for our gardening at a large garden center in Ondagua, and if we needed replacement light bulbs or new filters for the forced-air furnace, she’d gone to Mr. Beal’s instead of my going. Therefore, I took a little time looking around before leaving. He had a plethora of things there, almost more than the store could hold, and in great variety. Narrow aisles with head-high shelves were packed with merchandise. It seemed every nook and cranny in the place was filled with goods for sale. I had to imagine how difficult it would be to inventory the place.

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