Chương 4
“And they told me I had to contribute.”
“Okay.”
“Do you see the difference?”
“That sounds like a you-and-them problem.”
I laughed once.
“Fair enough.”
He went quiet.
Then he said, “Are you really not paying?”
“No.”
“Like ever?”
“I don’t live there anymore.”
“What if they lose the house?”
The question hit harder coming from him.
“Are they going to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dad say that?”
“He said if you keep pulling this crap, things could get bad.”
I looked toward the office.
Luis was arguing with a parts supplier on speakerphone.
Someone dropped a metal tray in Bay Two.
The crash made Jake say, “What was that?”
“Work.”
“Oh.”
I waited.
He did not speak.
I asked, “How much money do you have?”
“What?”
“In your account.”
“Why?”
“Because if the house is in danger, you live there too.”
“Man, I don’t have money like that.”
“You bought a new graphics card last month.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I saved for it.”
I nearly said exactly.
Instead, I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“What do you pay toward the house?”
“I told you, I’m in school.”
“You take two classes.”
“Don’t start.”
“Do you pay for groceries?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“No.”
“Car insurance?”
Dad had added Jake to their policy after he got his license.
Jake stayed silent.
I had my answer.
“What do you pay for?”
“My stuff.”
“Right.”
“That doesn’t mean I can just give them eight hundred dollars.”
I looked at the cracked scanner.
“No.”
My voice dropped.
“It doesn’t.”
Something in my tone must have reached him because he stopped arguing.
Then he said, “Dad says you’re trying to teach everybody a lesson.”
“I’m trying to move out.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He laughed without humor.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
After work, I drove to a hardware store and bought a cheap folding table.
The apartment did not have anywhere to eat except the counter.
I assembled the table incorrectly the first time.
Carol came upstairs carrying two pieces of mail and stood in the doorway watching me remove the legs.
“You know those generally point down.”
“I was experimenting.”
“With gravity?”
“Apparently.”
She handed me the envelopes.
“Previous tenant.”
I glanced at them.
“Not mine.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you bring them up?”
“I wanted to see if you’d bought furniture.”
I stared at her.
She shrugged.
“I’m nosy, not dishonest.”
One of the table legs slipped and hit the floor.
Carol looked around the apartment.
“You need a chair.”
“I noticed.”
“I have two in the basement.”
“I can buy one.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
She left before I could argue.
Five minutes later, she returned dragging a wooden chair with a faded blue cushion.
It squeaked when I sat on it.
“Perfect,” she said.
“It sounds injured.”
“So do you.”
I looked up.
Carol was examining the refrigerator magnets she had left behind.
One was shaped like Ohio.
“This your first place?”
“Yeah.”
“That explains the eggs.”
I glanced toward the open refrigerator.
“What’s wrong with the eggs?”
“You have eggs and mustard.”
“I also have milk.”
“Luxury.”
She took the Ohio magnet off the fridge and put it in her pocket.
“My husband bought this in Cincinnati in 2009.”
“I was wondering.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No.”
She smiled.
Then she left.
At six-forty, Dad called again.
I watched the phone buzz across the folding table.
The chair squeaked underneath me.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was tired now.
“Come home.”
“I am home.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
I looked around the apartment.
The bare walls made every sound seem slightly larger.
“What do you need?”
“We need to talk about money.”
“I figured.”
“Your mother says you won’t send the payment.”
“That’s right.”
“You think because you got mad and ran out, you don’t owe anything?”
“I moved out.”
“You had a room here all month.”
“It’s the first.”
“September payment covers August.”
I frowned.
That was new.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Then why did you call it September rent every year?”
Silence.
He cleared his throat.
“That’s not the point.”
“It is if you’re saying I owe it.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“Then explain it.”
“Mike.”
“No, explain it.”
His temper surfaced.
“Because you lived under my roof.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I leaned back.
The chair squeaked.
Dad heard it.
“Where are you?”
“At my apartment.”
“You actually signed a year lease?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then he asked, “How much?”
I almost answered automatically.
I had spent years reporting my finances to him.
Hourly rate.
Overtime.
Bonuses.
Tax refund.
Every increase became evidence that I could afford to help more.
“I’m not discussing that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my business.”
He laughed.
A short, ugly sound.
“Your business.”
“Yes.”
“You live in my house for twenty-five years and suddenly everything is your business.”
“I paid you for four of those years.”
“You think eight hundred dollars covered everything?”
“I think it covered the mortgage.”
The silence this time was different.
Complete.
I sat forward.
Dad finally said, “What are you talking about?”
“I saw Mom’s banking screen.”
His voice dropped.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You went through her computer?”
“No.”
“Then how did you see it?”
“She left it open.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to look.”
“I didn’t go looking.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“The mortgage is eight hundred.”
He did not answer.
“Every month,” I continued, “I sent eight hundred, and the mortgage came out right after.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Maybe not.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Okay.”
“Your mother handles the accounts.”
“Then why are you arguing about it?”
He breathed into the phone.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
A dog barked somewhere behind Carol’s house.
Dad spoke again, quieter.
“We need that money.”
That was the closest he had ever come to saying it.
Not rent.
Not contribution.
Not responsibility.
Money.
“How long?” I asked.
“What?”
May you like
“How long have you needed my eight hundred to make the mortgage?”
He did not answer.
