Chương 5
“Dad.”
“Things have been tight.”
“How long?”
“Your mother can explain it better.”
“You told me to move out.”
“I was angry.”
“You raised the rent first.”
“Costs go up.”
“Your mortgage didn’t.”
He swore under his breath.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me.”
He said nothing.
I waited.
Finally, Dad spoke.
“If you’re not going to help your family, just say that.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
There were a dozen cruel answers available.
For once, I did not use any of them.
“I’m not sending the eight hundred.”
He hung up.
Ten minutes later, Mom texted me.
Your father didn’t tell you everything.
I read the message three times before replying.
What didn’t he tell me?
The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then appeared again.
Nothing came through.
I stood from the folding table and opened the refrigerator even though I already knew what was inside.
Eggs.
Milk.
Mustard.
Half a package of sliced turkey.
The normality of it annoyed me.
My mother had just suggested some hidden financial disaster, and I was staring at mustard.
I closed the refrigerator.
My phone buzzed.
Not by text.
Mom was calling.
I answered.
“What didn’t he tell me?”
She took a breath.
“Can you come over?”
“No.”
“Mike.”
“You can tell me on the phone.”
“It’s complicated.”
“That usually means somebody doesn’t want a record of what they’re saying.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
She went quiet.
I could hear the television in the background.
Some game show audience applauded while my mother tried to decide how much truth I was entitled to.
Finally she said, “Your father’s hours didn’t just get cut that winter.”
I waited.
“He was laid off.”
My grip loosened on the phone.
“For how long?”
“Seven months.”
I sat back down.
“That was three years ago.”
“I know.”
“You told me he was working reduced shifts.”
“He was embarrassed.”
“So you lied.”
“We were trying to protect him.”
“From me?”
“From everyone.”
I rubbed my thumb along a gouge in the edge of the folding table.
“What does that have to do with now?”
“We fell behind.”
“How far?”
“Enough.”
“Mom.”
She exhaled.
“We used credit cards for groceries and utilities.”
“That still doesn’t explain the mortgage.”
“Your eight hundred kept the house payment current while we handled everything else.”
“For three years?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
I said nothing.
She corrected herself.
“Not exactly.”
That meant yes.
I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees.
“What happened when Dad went back to work?”
“We had balances.”
“How much?”
“This is why I wanted you to come over.”
“How much?”
“Mike, numbers don’t tell the whole story.”
“They usually tell the part everybody hides from me.”
She made a frustrated sound.
“About twenty-three thousand.”
I stared at the wall.
The apartment had one small nail hole above the light switch.
I focused on it.
“Credit cards?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“A personal loan.”
“How much is that?”
“Eleven.”
“So thirty-four thousand.”
“It wasn’t thirty-four all at once.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“I know that.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Do not talk to me like I’m stupid.”
I stood so fast the chair scraped behind me.
“I’m not calling you stupid.”
“You’re judging us.”
“I’m trying to understand why I’ve been paying the mortgage while you charged me extra for parking.”
“That money went into the house.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Then show me.”
She stopped.
That silence told me more than the number had.
“Show me where the extra money went.”
“Your father would never agree to that.”
“Why not?”
“Because these are private finances.”
I laughed.
The sound came out bitter.
“My money was private until you needed it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You literally asked what my bonus was every time I got one.”
“Because we’re family.”
“Then family finances aren’t private.”
Another silence.
Mom’s voice dropped.
“You’re enjoying this.”
That hit me hard enough that I stopped pacing.
“No.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m really not.”
“You finally have leverage and you like it.”
For a second, I wanted to deny it completely.
Then I looked at the phone in my hand.
There had been a moment on the porch when refusing them had felt good.
There had been another when Dad admitted they needed the money.
I hated that she had seen something true.
“I like not being cornered,” I said.
“That’s different.”
“It doesn’t feel different from here.”
“Maybe it isn’t.”
She did not answer.
I could hear a faucet running in the background.
Probably Jake filling a glass and leaving it beside the sink for somebody else.
Mom spoke again.
“Your father made mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
“He kept thinking he could catch up.”
“With what?”
“The debt.”
“How?”
“Overtime.”
“He complains every time they offer overtime.”
“He didn’t used to.”
I remembered Dad leaving before dawn two summers earlier.
I had assumed he was working normal hours because Mom said business had picked up.
Maybe he had been doing sixty-hour weeks too.
Maybe I had been too angry to notice.
That did not erase anything.
It did make the picture uglier in a different direction.
“Did he stop because of his back?” I asked.
Mom hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dad had complained about his lower back for years.
He refused doctors unless the pain got unbearable, then complained about the bill afterward.
“How bad?”
“He can work.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He can work.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Protect him.
Protect the story.
Protect whatever version of Dad could still be presented as fully in control.
“Does he know you’re telling me this?”
“No.”
“That’s going to go well.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“You always do that when you’re angry.”
She was right again.
I hated that too.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want us to get through this month.”
“That means eight hundred dollars.”
“Yes.”
“And next month?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
May you like
“With what money?”
“We’ll adjust.”
