ch 1 The Shed
"Appendicitis?" McCormick responded when Hardcastle gave him the news. "But, he was just here this morning, he said it was nothing," he continued, thinking back to Frank's visit. He had declined breakfast, saying he had a little too much partying the night before.
"Well, it was something," Hardcastle answered.
"So, how is he?" Mark asked.
"He's doing as well as can be expected. They got to it before it ruptured, that's the important thing."
"I knew someone that had that in prison, we were all jealous cuz he got to stay in the infirmary for a week talking to the nurses. Kinda makes you think, ya know, … he was just here in the kitchen talking to us, and now he's in the hospital."
"Yeah, and you've got work to do."
"We should send him a card," Mark continued.
"He'll be home in a few days, we can bring him some candy," Hardcastle acknowledged, then pointed out the window toward the side yard, "how far did you get on that shed?"
"It's almost all scraped, I can start painting on Monday."
"Monday! You've been fooling around with that shed for 2 days now," Hardcastle yelled.
"It's a bigger job than you think!" Mark yelled back.
"Yeah, and you also don't want to do it!" Milt paused and lowered his voice for effect as he pointed out the window again, "finish it this morning and start painting this afternoon!"
"I'll never be able to finish today!" Mark said nastily, as he stormed out muttering to himself. "I can't believe him. Does he think the only thing in my life is these chores? God, he is such a donkey," he continued to mutter to himself as he made his way toward the back of the property, to the shed.
It had been so overgrown with weeds, that he'd spent most of the first day just exposing the wood before he could even start to scrape the paint. He stood staring at the shed and sighed. It was unfair, but, this was his lot in life, and there was no way around that. He'd just have to try his best, and however far along with the job he was at the end of the day would have to be good enough. As he bent to pick up the scraper, he felt a slight pain in his stomach. He rubbed it absentmindedly as he started to work.
The morning dragged on, with Mark slowly feeling worse. He finished the 3rd side of the shed and had started on the 4th when Hardcastle came out to check on his progress.
"It's time for lunch… is this all you've got done?"
Mark stopped working and looked the judge in the eye defiantly, hoping his expression didn't show any pain related to his worsening stomach ache. "I'm not hungry," he said.
Milt laughed, "hah! that'll be the day. You just remember I can pull your ticket any time, and I want this job done and done right!"
Mark cringed inwardly at the threat, just as he did every time the judge brought up his proper place in their unique arrangement. "I'll eat later," he said softly and went back to his scraping. If he had to quit early because he was sick, he wanted as much of the job to be done as possible.
Hardcastle stormed back into the house angrily. Why did McCormick have to be so stubborn! All he wanted was an honest day's work out of the kid, he didn't want him to miss meals. McCormick was just doing this to spite him. Well, two could play at that game! With that, he made a sandwich for himself and put away the other food. Then, he went into the den to eat alone.
Mark worked for another hour, his stomach feeling more and more painful. Finally he had to stop and bend away from the shed to vomit. Not much came up. As he stood up a wave of dizziness washed over him and he reached out for the shed to steady himself. That was probably because he'd had nothing to eat or drink since breakfast, and even then he hadn't eaten much. He sighed, like it or not, he was going to have to stop working, and he dreaded having to tell the judge. He hadn't even finished scraping the last side of the shed yet. But, he really had no choice, he told himself, as he angrily trudged toward the house.
Hardcastle looked up from his desk when the door to the den opened. "Lunch is in the kitchen," he said coldly.
McCormick heard the cold tone and responded angrily, "I told you I'm not hungry." He paused and then continued in a softer voice, "I'm not feeling too well judge, I'm gonna call it quits for today."
Hardcastle stared at him, "I know what you're doing McCormick and it won't work!"
"What do you mean?"
"You got a good idea from Frank Harper, didn't ya!"
"What?" McCormick's anger almost covered his hurt feelings.
"He got sick, so now you think you'll give it a try so you can stop working on that shed!" Hardcastle accused. "You think you're the first person to pull that kind of stunt? Huh?"
"As usual judge, you are so interested in being right, that you are missing the point!" Mark responded in a low, angry voice. "I really am sick!" he repeated, enunciating each word.
"Pretty convenient illness if you ask me, think it's your appendix too?" Hardcastle said sarcastically.
"I'm not asking you!" McCormick barked back, and with that, he turned and left the den.