Surprisingly for Tim, yesterday went by very apace as he went out for some coffee at the local tavern with the Johnsons.
Tim headed to the bakery early in the morning and found Robert already there, organizing everything for today's work. An awkward silence fell amidst until Robert finally said something.
"So I hear the Johnsons have adopted you?"
"How'd you know?" Tim asked quizzically.
"When you leave in a town with forty inhabitants, word gets around quite quickly," Robert said, glaring at his business partner.
"News does travel faster than the speed of light, I will admit that," Tim said, scratching the hair under his chin.
Robert didn't reply and kept attending to cleaning the front counter, and Tim let out a sigh, knowing something was agitating him.
"Is there any problem whatsoever with the Johnsons adopting me?"
"Well, no, but… actually, yes, Tim, there is a problem with that. Why'd you never ask me if you could live with me instead of these vagrants?"
"Well, you know… we're business partners, so…" Tim began, but the words spilled into a heap on the ground.
"Let me ask you this, Tim. Is it going to destroy your image and your reputation that the fabulous and amazing Tim Johnson, more exalted than the Great Jay Gatsby, has to live with a black man and can't afford his own house?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Robert? They're black too. It doesn't make a difference whatsoever."
"What I'm talking about, 'Sir Johnson,' is you've barely known these people for a day and you've known me for months and you never asked me to take you in, but yet you accept them," Robert said intricately.
"What's the big deal, Rob? You're acting like a five year old again. Everything is a big problem with you."
"The big deal is you're taking these people into your life and not me, your best friend," Robert explained.
"You're just crazy talk. You assume too much. That's always been one of your worst qualities, judgin' a book by its cover."
"This ain't no Prince Charming marrying a princess fantasy, Tim! They're the Johnsons! They're insane!"
"Okay, I do admit they are awkward in some ways, but they are very generous."
"They may look stupid and seem stupid, but don't let that fool you. They really are stupid."
"They can't be that bad. You always over exaggerate. You make things seem worse than they are realistically and put everyone down."
"They're probably heading up North, telling anyone they see how they've met the fabulous and almighty Tim Johnson! Just wait a day, half the country's press will be knocking down these walls to get an interview."
"I specifically told them not to spread that news around. They seem… somewhat trustworthy, but I am almost certain they would never do such a thing."
"Well, unfortunately for you, that buffoon Harry Johnson can't keep his trap shut! If you would enter his mouth in a race it would win every time. We knew each other when we were in medical school and he was a yapper! And his wife! She brags and gossips all the time! She's worse than he is, and that's saying' somethin'!"
"You loaf head, you don't know that! People change!"
"Why do you think I left the North and come down here, huh? So I could evade those kind of people!"
Tim twitched furiously and snarled at him. "You told me because you wanted to take chance and to make it look like black people are very capable of doing white work, not that! I cannot believe you would lie to me!"
"Tim, I did not lie to you. With reasons there come various details, and those two were the predominant ones."
The two sat there, catching their breaths.
"Look, we're short on ciabatta, so I'm heading to Vicksburg to buy some. I hope you don't try to leave me now that you've got 'owners'," Robert said, grabbing his stuff and heading out. Tim glared at him and shook his head.
That man… he's still learning. He will know soon enough.
A few minutes later, a man with a brown fedora and ugly green suit stumbled in. He tripped over a floorboard and slid to the counter. This should be good, Tim thought.
"Uh, excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Tim Johnson?" the man asked in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.
"In the flesh. Welcome to Ya'lls Bakery Needs. How may I stir you with showing you are fine variety of breads?"
"Oh, no, I'm good, but thank you," the man said, grabbing Tim's paw. "Scott Dansel, Real Estate Financer from Federal Finance Corporations up North," the man said, revealing his slimy, yellow teeth.
"Um, pardon?" Tim asked.
"Well, you're an accountant, are you not?" Scott asked.
"Yes, I am, or was, but still am. I've worked on the finance fields I'm afraid ages ago."
"Well, you seem to know what you're doing since you are doing a fine job upholding this establishment."
"Bring it to the point, bub," Tim said, annoyed of Scott's customary welcoming nature.
"My manager is interested in your capabilities as an accountant and wants you to work for him, but not directly. You see, he's offering you a job to a new franchise we just set up in a... somewhat popular town. It's a bigger and better city than this dump, I can assure you that."
"And where is this 'bigger and better' city?"
"Maycomb, Alabama," Scott grinned.
"Maycomb. Maycomb. Who lives there? Why, yes, I believe that lawyer, goodness, what's his name… Finch, Atticus Finch lives. Yes, I've heard good things about that man. Certainly an offer to uphold," Tim said. "But listen, Mister Urgency, I don't have time for this kind of tedious errand that your boss wants. I can't just leave this business for something I gave up quite some time ago."
Scott scratched his hair which was infested with lice and leaned on the counter. Tim slowly scooted back.
"I, uh, I hear you have a fortune, but you choose not to use it for some apparent reason," he winked.
Tim gulped and began to sweat. His tail furiously wagged back and forth as he tried to reply.
"Yes, but it's confidential only to me, sir. That is solely my personal business, nothing for public domain," Tim responded.
"We're in the middle of a depression, son, use it! Show those bums on the street a dog can make a better living than them."
"It's a very generous offer, Scott, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to consult this matter with my business associate."
"Damn it, you stupid dog, don't you understand anything?" Scott yelled, breaking into an unexpected rage that surprised Tim a little. "You're getting a higher pay, better living conditions, and a better job opportunity! This is the South! No one respects a black man I'm sorry to say! So if you're going to turn this grand opportunity down, then let the devil strike my unworthy and incompetent soul."
Definitely not what I call a superb business specialist, Tim thought. He inhaled the air and finally exhaled a sigh and gave a small "fine."
"Very good, I'll inform my boss. You leave this Thursday," Scott said. He didn't bother shaking Tim's hand, but Tim would turn down the offer anyway to shake the greasy thing.
After a few hours and an influx of customers, Robert showed up. He put the purchased items on the counter.
"You seem troubled," Robert noted. "Look, maybe I did get aggravated this morning, and I sincerely apologize for it, but the Johnsons? Really? They're notorious from where I come from. They're vagabonds and try to find anything to make a family, or so it seems like."
"Apology accepted, dear friend, but that's not the reason," Tim replied. He wanted to tell Robert the truth, but some unbalanced force was holding him back. Thursday was only two days away, so he would have to break the news sooner or later.
At the end of the day, Tim stayed to clean up while Robert went home to lie down from a migraine he developed returning from Vicksburg.
At six, Tim headed to his new house. The Johnsons were gone, which didn't surprise Tim after his altercation with Robert that morning. At about nine, there was a large slam and loud chatter and he figured it was them. After what seemed like an hour of yacking, the volume died down.
Tim sat in the darkness, eyes opened, brain clouded, and knew what he had to do.