Fellas,

Every Saturday morning, trucks arrived, dock doors opened, forklifts hummed, and another shift began.

By Monday, almost no one would remember it.

"Take the trailer in bay four first," Mack called across the warehouse.

"The driver said there are three damaged pallets in the back."

"Got it," Tino answered, already climbing onto his forklift.

Mack watched him disappear between two rows of stacked pallets before turning toward his office. Saturday mornings were usually quiet.

A few deliveries. A handful of employees. Enough time to catch up on paperwork before the phones started ringing. Lately, though, the silence had become something else.

It gave him too much time to think.

He unlocked his office, switched on the lights, and set his coffee beside the keyboard. A stack of invoices sat on the corner of his desk, already reviewed and clipped together.

He checked the dates.

Then the purchase-order numbers.

Then the totals.

When he finished, he opened the top drawer. The drawer had bothered him all week. Mack emptied everything onto his desk.

He wiped the inside of the drawer with a paper towel. Then he printed labels.

PENS.

MARKERS.

PAPER CLIPS.

STAPLES.

He pressed each one carefully against plastic dividers.

When the drawer was finished, he opened the one beneath it…

He stepped into the hallway and inspected the bulletin board.

“Morning, boss.”

Mack turned.

One of the drivers stood near the time clock.

“Morning.”

“You need me to take anything out back?”

“Check with Tino. He has you on the empties.”

“All right.”

The driver started away.

“And, Paul.”

Paul stopped.

“Your inspection sheet from Thursday is missing the mileage.”

“I wrote it on the white copy,” Paul said

“It isn’t on the yellow one.”

Paul stared at him for a moment.

“I’ll fix it.”

“Before you leave.”

“Got it.”

Later that morning, Tino leaned against Mack's office door.

"Bay four's done," he said. "Two crushed pallets. Pictures are already in your inbox."

Mack nodded without looking up.

"Paul still needs to finish that inspection sheet."

"The yellow one?"

"Yeah."

Tino let out a small laugh.

"Boss... we haven't used the yellow copy in years."

"There are three copies for a reason."

"I know. I'm just saying, nobody looks at that one anymore."

Mack finally looked up.

"Have him fill it out."

Tino shrugged.

"All right."

He stepped into the office, his eyes wandering across the shelves until they settled on a framed photograph.

"I forgot about this."

Mack followed his gaze.

It was an old picture taken on the boat.

Mack stood behind the wheel with one hand resting on the throttle. Three employees crowded together behind him, smiling into the camera.

His wife sat beside him wearing oversized sunglasses, one hand pressed against her stomach while the other clung to his arm.

Tino laughed.

"She got seasick before we even cleared the marina."

"That was a good day."

"It was."

"You should take the boat out again."

Mack looked at the photograph for another moment.

"Maybe."

Tino nodded toward the warehouse.

"I'll get back to it."

As the office door closed, the warehouse returned to its familiar rhythm.

Forklifts backed through the aisles. Dock doors slammed shut. Pallets scraped across the concrete.

Mack stared at the photograph a moment longer.

It had been taken during one of those summers when it seemed like they had everything.

The business was growing. Friends filled the backyard almost every weekend. She greeted everyone with a hug. Mack handed them a drink before they even had a chance to ask. It was the kind of house where nobody knocked twice.

Success brought bigger paychecks, a larger house, weekends on the boat, and parties that seemed to last all summer. Somewhere along the way, what had once been a reward became a requirement.

One drink became several. Friday nights became the entire weekend. The same habits that once filled their weekends eventually emptied their marriage.

The drinking made the arguments easier to start and harder to end.

For years, they convinced themselves they were just going through a rough patch.

By the time either of them admitted things had changed, there wasn't much left worth arguing over. The divorce wasn't explosive.

It was exhausted.

The parties stopped. The boat stayed covered. Friends slowly disappeared. The house grew quiet.

Mack buried himself in work.

Saturdays became easier than home. He stayed late, found problems that didn't exist, reorganized things that didn't need reorganizing, and answered emails no one expected until Monday.

Anything was better than sitting alone with what was left.

Somewhere inside that loneliness, his life slowly began changing. The parties disappeared. The drinking disappeared with them.

He filled the empty hours by walking, then running, then taking better care of himself. He lost weight, slept better, became more patient with his children, and found himself listening more than talking.

At first, every change was made with one goal in mind: getting her back. Somewhere along the way, though, the changes stopped being about her. They simply became the man he was learning to be.

Months later, she agreed to coffee. Then dinner. Then another conversation. The children smiled more. Old jokes slowly returned. Before long, she was spending evenings at the house again.

Eventually...

she came home.

The house wasn't quiet anymore. The driveway held two cars. Voices filled the kitchen once again. Mack had finally gotten back what he'd been fighting for.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of his office, he found himself searching for one more reason to stay.

What happens when you finally get the thing you've been fighting for, only to discover you've outgrown it?

Tino stepped into the office.

“Hey, boss. Just reminding you, I’m leaving early Monday.”

Mack looked up from his computer.

“Court?”

“Yeah.”

“Again?”

Tino smiled.

“Again.”

Tino had two boys. He had them three days a week, but over time, he'd discovered another way to steal a few hours with them:

Haircuts.

Officially, Tino picked the boys up every other week because somebody had to take them to the barber.

Unofficially, nobody had ever established how long a haircut was supposed to take, and Tino wasn't about to ask.

He took them to the same barbershop every time, where two haircuts could somehow consume half an afternoon.

Afterward came pizza; same place, usually the same booth, and always the same question: "What'd you learn since the last cut?" The answers usually started with jokes about school, girls, friends, or who was trash at 2K, but eventually something real came out.

Tino had learned not to force it. Those little pockets of time meant even more lately, because much of the rest of his time with them was being decided inside a courtroom.

By then, everyone in the warehouse knew about his court dates.

This would make five. The previous four had ended the same way. She didn’t show.

“When do you have to leave?” Mack asked.

“Eleven.”

“All right.”

Mack nodded and turned toward his computer.

“Good luck.”

Tino tapped twice against the doorframe.

“Appreciate it.”

Monday morning, Tino arrived early.

Court wasn’t until the afternoon, and after wasting four days on hearings that went nowhere, Tino wasn’t giving up another. He’d work the morning and leave at eleven. By eight o’clock, he had already cleared two inbound trailers.

The third was supposed to arrive shortly afterward. The driver was twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes became thirty... At 9:45, the truck finally backed into the dock.

Tino looked at his watch.

“Of course.”

He opened the trailer.

The first pallet told him everything he needed to know.

Tino climbed inside.

The farther he walked, the worse it got.

Tino stepped back onto the dock.

“Mack!”

“I gotta be out of here at eleven.”

“I know.”

They started working.

By 10:45, they had made progress, but they weren’t close to finished.

Tino checked his watch again.

“I gotta wrap this up.”

Mack shook his head.

“We need to finish the count.”

“Tim can finish it.”

Mack looked toward Tim.

“I want you to finish it.”

“Why?”

“Because you started it.”

Tino stared at him.

“Mack, I’ve been telling you I have court today.”

“And I told you I know.”

“So Tim can finish it.”

Mack lowered his voice.

“He’s going to take twice as long.”

“So let him take twice as long,” Tino said checking his watch.

He turned around and went back to work.

The next seventeen minutes felt longer than the entire morning.

Every damaged case irritated him.

The driver asking whether he could leave irritated him.

Mack asking if the final count matched irritated him most of all.

At 11:17, Tino dropped the paperwork onto Mack’s desk.

“There.”

He changed his shirt in the parking lot and pulled away with one eye on the road and the other on the clock. Every red light felt personal.

When he reached the courtroom, he slowed himself down before opening the door. He was breathing hard, but he had made it on time.

An hour after he arrived, his name was called.

Tino stood.

He looked toward the other side.

Empty.

He already knew.

The judge glanced through the file before looking up.

“We’re going to reschedule this matter.”

“Again?”

“This is the fifth time.”

“I understand your frustration—”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’ve been here every time. I take off work, I come down here, I sit here, and she doesn't show up. If I didn't show up five times, would you keep giving me another date?”

The judge leaned forward.

“That’s enough.”

Tino shook his head.

“Unbelievable.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said it’s unbelievable. I do everything I’m supposed to do, and somehow I’m the one who keeps getting screwed.”

The judge sat back.

“Mr. Puello, if you believe this is helping your case, I strongly suggest you reconsider. I have given you an opportunity to express your frustration. I have also instructed you to stop. From this point forward, you will address this court respectfully and speak when you are given permission to speak. Do you understand?”

Tino's jaw tightened.

A new date was selected.

Another day he would have to take off.

He followed every order. Made every appearance. Sat through every continuance. For months, Tino had done everything the court asked of him.

Then, in sixty seconds, none of it mattered.

Funny thing is…

Mack couldn't do much about what was waiting for him at home.

But there was a drawer he could organize.

A yellow sheet he could insist upon.

A damaged load he could make sure was handled exactly the way he wanted.

Tino couldn't make someone appear who refused to show.

He couldn't choose whether another continuance was granted.

Nor decide what the judge would consider fair.

But he could keep talking.

So he did.

When a man cannot move the mountain, sometimes he begins rearranging the stones around his feet.

Just pay attention to where you put them.

Until next time,

Barkim