Chương 6
“You’ve had three years to adjust.”
“That is easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re one person.”
I stopped.
Mom continued before I could answer.
“You don’t have a mortgage, two cars, insurance, medical bills, groceries for four people, repairs, taxes, all of it.”
“You had groceries for three people after I paid for mine.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It kind of is.”
“And Jake is still in school.”
“Two classes.”
“He is trying.”
I sat down again.
My anger returned so quickly it almost felt comforting.
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is he gaming right now?”
“He can’t study every second.”
“He barely studies at all.”
“You don’t know everything he does.”
“I lived ten feet from him.”
“Stop attacking your brother.”
“I’m not.”
“You always resent him.”
The words hung there.
I stared at the floor.
“Do you know why?”
“You think we favor him.”
“You do.”
“He needs more support.”
“So did I.”
“You were always independent.”
That sentence did something to me.
It was not loud.
It was not cruel in the usual way.
It was worse because she meant it as praise.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
“Mom, I wasn’t born independent.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I learned not to ask.”
She said nothing.
For once, I did not fill the silence for her.
Finally, she said, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I don’t either.”
“Then what are we doing?”
“I’m going to sleep.”
“Mike.”
“I have work at six.”
“You always make everything about work.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I said, “Good night.”
I ended the call before she could answer.
The next morning, the replacement scanner arrived at the shop.
Luis signed for it because I was underneath another truck.
He left the box on my bench with a note taped to the top.
TRY NOT TO LET IDIOTS DRINK ON THIS ONE.
I read it twice.
Then I laughed hard enough that one of the younger techs looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He pointed at the box.
“New scanner?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.”
I opened it carefully.
The plastic smelled new.
For most people, a diagnostic scanner probably looked like a thick tablet in an ugly case.
To me, it meant I could do my job without borrowing equipment.
It meant independence in a language I understood.
Around ten, an insurance adjuster called about the damaged one.
She asked how it happened.
I gave her the shortest version possible.
“Someone used it as a doorstop.”
There was a pause.
“A doorstop?”
“Yes.”
“A vehicle door?”
“Garage.”
Another pause.
“Was the person authorized to use the equipment?”
“No.”
“Do you know who damaged it?”
“Yes.”
“Relationship?”
“My brother.”
She typed for several seconds.
“Was there alcohol involved?”
“Yes.”
More typing.
“Do you intend to seek reimbursement from him?”
I looked across the shop.
Luis was balancing a flashlight on his shoulder while arguing with a stubborn hose clamp.
“I haven’t decided.”
“We may need that information later.”
“Okay.”
When the call ended, I stared at Jake’s contact on my phone.
I had photographs.
I had the cracked scanner.
I had his face in one of the pictures, beer cup in hand.
I could make him pay.
At least I could try.
The thought should have felt clean.
It didn’t.
At lunch, Jake texted me.
Dad found out Mom told you.
A second message followed.
They’re fighting.
Then another.
Like really bad.
I put the phone down.
A minute later, it buzzed again.
Can I come over?
I stared at that one for a long time.
My first instinct was no.
My second was also no.
Then I pictured him sitting on the couch while Mom and Dad shouted around him.
Jake was twenty, lazy, spoiled, selfish, and fully capable of leaving a dirty plate wherever gravity suggested.
He was also my brother.
I sent him the address.
He arrived after eight carrying a fast-food bag and a look I had never seen on him before.
Embarrassed.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“So this is it?”
“This is it.”
He looked up at the garage apartment.
“Kind of small.”
“Good evening to you too.”
He climbed the steps.
Inside, he turned slowly.
“You really only have one chair?”
“I live alone.”
“You need another chair if people come over.”
“You are the first person who has.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Thanks.”
He handed me the bag.
“I brought burgers.”
“With whose money?”
He looked offended.
“Mine.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“Mom gave me twenty.”
I laughed.
“There it is.”
He smiled despite himself.
We ate on the floor because I gave him the chair.
For several minutes, neither of us mentioned our parents.
Jake complained about a professor who refused late assignments.
I told him the professor sounded dangerous.
He threw a fry at me.
It landed near the refrigerator.
He started to leave it there.
I looked at him.
He sighed, got up, and picked it up.
“Your place has too many rules.”
“My place has one rule.”
“What?”
“Don’t make me clean up after you.”
He sat again.
“That’s fair.”
The words surprised both of us.
After a minute, he stared at his burger.
“Dad punched a cabinet.”
I stopped chewing.
“Is Mom okay?”
“He didn’t hit her.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She’s okay.”
“Did he threaten her?”
“No.”
Jake rubbed his thumb against the paper wrapper.
“He was mostly yelling about money.”
“What did she say?”
“That he should’ve told you.”
I leaned back against the cabinet.
“And?”
“And he said she had no right to tell you anything.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
Jake looked at me.
“There’s more debt.”
I did not move.
“How do you know?”
“I heard them.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jake.”
“I seriously don’t.”
He wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Dad said something about a second loan.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of loan?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
“Did he say a bank?”
“No.”
