Can I Get An Amen? (25 page)

After the service my mother and Aunt Kathy headed off in my mother’s car to Prince of Peace, while my father and I rode back home together.

“Your mother says that Katherine hasn’t called her to make plans to see Aunt Kathy yet,” said my father. His use of Kat’s proper name always indicated his displeasure with her. “You know, she really should make the effort to see her aunt.”

“I know,” I said, once again finding myself in the role of Kat’s spokesperson. “She plans to.”

“Aunt Kathy has done a lot for her. She needs to understand the importance of family.” His jaw shifted as he stared at the
road. “She needs to understand the importance of a lot of things.” Had he elaborated, I knew exactly what he would have said. Manners, dignity, propriety—my father put tremendous stock in such things. And Kat had thumbed her nose at them that night with the Arnolds.

I didn’t argue with him; I sat there as if I were the one getting the lecture.

When he pulled into the driveway, he didn’t shut the car off. “I have some errands to run, kiddo.” His tone had softened. “If your mother gets home before I do, tell her I’ll be back for dinner.”

I eyed him nervously. “Sure, Dad.”

He gave the top of my head a sad, paternal pat. “You’re a good girl, Ellen.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, wondering what I had done to be labeled “good,” the designation sitting uneasily.

I got out of the car and my father pulled away, his car gliding smoothly over the long, blacktop driveway. In a few hours he would be back, carrying a small brown paper bag that he would immediately stow in a never-opened drawer in his desk.

. . .

Luke ended up taking a later train from the city, so I found myself alone in the house. I was never alone there. In our old house, the rambling center-hall colonial, you could tuck yourself into one of the many small rooms and feel hidden away, but here, in this cavernous space with the vaulted ceilings, the emptiness was amplified. I grabbed my keys, got in my car, and went to Jill’s.

Jill had already started the pregnant-person waddle, resting her hand on her lower back and sticking out her nonexistent belly as if she were in her ninth month, not the seventh week.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, knowing that Jill had been dying to tell me.

“Ugh,
so
sick!” She took a sip of herbal tea. “I haven’t wanted to touch food. And meat?” She looked like she was about to vomit. “I can’t even watch Greg eat it.”

“I’ll bet he loves that,” I said sarcastically. Bacon and eggs, Philly cheesesteaks, and prime rib were the core of Greg’s diet.

“No, you wouldn’t even believe how sweet he has been about it. He’s been going to Whole Foods and getting us salads from their salad bar every night.”

I warmed at that endearing image, of thick-necked, bulky Greg lining up with his recyclable container in hand, using the tongs to grab the mixed greens and suspiciously eyeing the dressing assortment, wondering what the hell tamari was.

As if on cue, Greg walked into the room, swaggering toward the fridge to get a beer. “Ellie!” he said as he jerked open the door. “You came to see the little mama?”

I gave Jill a look, unsure whether to acknowledge her pregnancy. Last I had heard, it was still top secret, with Greg not aware that I knew.

Jill rolled her eyes. “He knows you know.”

I stood to give Greg a hug. “Congratulations.” I wrapped my arms around his thick body. It was like hugging a steer.

Greg snapped up the tab on his Coors Light. “You’re next,” he said, pointing at me with a sausagelike finger. “Fuck all this infertile business. Those doctors don’t know shit. You just need yourself a Polack.”

“Greg!” scolded Jill.

Though I felt myself redden, I wasn’t offended. Greg meant no harm. And though I never knew how much Jill told Greg about what had happened with Gary and me, I assumed that it
was everything. “It’s okay,” I mouthed to Jill, meaning both Greg’s comment and his knowledge.

Greg sat down at the table and readjusted his Mets cap.

“So, how’s business, Greg?” I asked.

“Ah, you know.” He shrugged. “The shops aren’t doing so bad. We got two more opening up over the next couple of months. If I’d have known the freakin’ economy was going to shit the bed, I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. But people still need their gas and their Powerball, right?”

“But if the new stores don’t do well…,” I started hesitantly, “and you’ve just invested all this money in them…”

He let out a muffled, closed-mouth burp. “Then I shut that shit down.”

“But won’t you owe, to, like, lenders and whatnot?” I was out of my comfort zone here. Financing a house was a far cry from financing a business.

“Oh, the banks get their money.”

“But what if you don’t have it?” I tried to hide the desperate edge to my voice.

“Like I said, the banks get their money.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned back to look at me. “Why? You got some business deal I don’t know about, kid?” He was only half kidding.

“No, no, I just… I feel bad for all the people who are going through tough times right now,” I said, thinking of two people in particular.

He looked off, as if having a moment of silence for all the fortunes lost to the downturn. “Yeah, it’s a bitch right now. But you gotta be ready for this kind of shit. Some of those people who lost their shirts just made some bad decisions. That’s all there is to it. It’s like Darwin and shit.”

“Greg,” said Jill. She stared at me with restrained concern
before turning to look at her husband. “Could you do me a huge favor? I am starting to feel a little sick. Could you go to the store and get that ginger tea I like?”

“You’re out already?”

She nodded. “I had the last bag this morning.”

“Jeez.” Greg leaned toward Jill’s belly. “Quit making your mama sick,” he said in his version of a stern voice; then he stood and grabbed his keys off the countertop. “All right. I’ll be back.”

As soon as Greg was out the door, Jill asked, “Elle, is everything… okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, pretending to be confused. “Why?”

“You just seem…” Though she didn’t force the issue, Jill knew me too well to believe my questions were theoretical.

I
t was snowing when Luke got off the train, big fat flakes that lumbered lazily down from the sky. They melted the second they hit the windshield of my car, which had been running while I waited.

“This is crazy,” he said, opening the door and gesturing to the winter wonderland around him, a swirl of snow dusting the seat of my car. “It wasn’t snowing at all when I left the city.”

“We’re supposed to get four inches. Maybe you’ll have to spend the night,” I said hopefully.

“Uh, no,” he said definitively. “That is the beauty of public transportation.”

As we drove back to the house I caught him up on the latest with our parents, on what I had heard between Mom and Aunt Kathy.

“Elle, don’t get so worked up. Hasn’t Mom been claiming financial ruin for as long as you can remember?”

It was true. Even in the fattest of days, she used to remind us
that the rug could be pulled out from under us at any moment. “We just need to remember to thank the Lord for all we have, because it’s him that’s providing it. He could take it away like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Then things would really change around here.” My mother never forgot her humble roots, always feeling that at some point the jig would be up and the life in which she found herself would be knocked down, like the obsolete set of a canceled production.

I looked at Luke accusingly. “But
you
were the one who told me you think Mom and Dad are in trouble.”

“Ellen, I said that things are tight, and they are. But it’s not like Mom and Dad are going to be out on the streets. I mean, it’s Mom and Dad.”

I thought about that as I drove, cruising slowly down the whitened streets, following the tire tracks of the car ahead of me.
What if you’re wrong, Luke?
I thought as I held on tight to the steering wheel.
What if we’re all just staying in character?

Luke, believing that he had adequately squelched my fears, began rambling on about his and Mitch’s upcoming weekend in Vermont.

“You and
Mark
should come,” he said, elbowing me in the ribs.

The mention of his name managed to coax a smile from my lips. “I don’t know if we have hit weekend-trip status yet.”

“Why not?” asked Luke. “He’s totally into you.”

“I don’t know if he is
that
into me,” I said, thinking about how he had cut things short last night, hesitating before adding, “He hasn’t touched me, beyond, like, kissing.” It wasn’t the revelation I typically made to Luke or Kat, but I was looking for the sort of reassurance that Luke always seemed to provide.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his face scrunched in confusion.

“Yeah. I thought something was going to happen last night, but…” I explained the reason Mark had given for his early exit.

“Give the guy the benefit of the doubt,” urged Luke. “It’s nice that he wanted to help his friend. And how was he supposed to know that you were the type of floozy who gives it up on the second date?”

“It was
not
the second date,” I said as I counted the number of times we had been out together and realized that it wasn’t much more than that.

“While we’re on the subject of
Mark
, can you ask him for the Web address of his nonprofit? Mitch Googled it and couldn’t find anything.”

. . .

Aunt Kathy and Mom both descended upon Luke the second he walked in the door.

“Oh, Luke!” squealed Aunt Kathy as she rushed toward him.

Luke glanced at Aunt Kathy’s chest and then shot me a look as he was enveloped in a flurry of silicone and mohair. She leaned back and patted his cheek, studying his face. “You look
good
, honey,” she said with surprise, as if she expected a skeletal frame and oozing sores.

“You, too,” replied Luke, as he petted her shoulder. “Love the sweater.”

“Luke, you have to fill me in on all the New York hotspots. Your momma and I are going into the city while I’m here, and we need to know where all the
cool
people are hanging out.” Aunt Kathy said
cool
in the most uncool of ways, as she launched into a bizarre dance that was all gyrating hips and pumping arms. “I’m gonna get your momma to cut loose.” She bumped Mom’s hip with her own, sending my mother off balance.

“For heaven’s sake, Kathy.” Mom was trying to be reproachful but couldn’t help but be delighted. “Imagine us old birds at a club.”

Aunt Kathy doubled over laughing and Mom couldn’t help but join in. Luke and I exchanged warm looks. This was why we loved Aunt Kathy; it was in her presence that we got to see flashes of my mother as a girl.

“How was Prince of Peace?” I asked snarkily, emboldened by the jovial mood and by Luke’s presence.

Aunt Kathy leaned dramatically against the counter, like she was saving herself from a weak-kneed tumble. “It was
wonderful
,” she breathed. “I wish we had something like it back home.”

From the fridge, my mother pulled a huge Tupperware container full of a sloshy brick-colored liquid and peeled off the lid, revealing an unappealing layer of congealed fat that stuck to the plastic. She scraped it back into the container with her finger. “You’re going with me next week, Ellen. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“We’ll see,” I said, having no intention of joining her.

My mother stood at the stove. The gumbo landed in a large stainless-steel pot with an unappetizing splash. She ordered Aunt Kathy and me to peel the shrimp. “They’re from the Gulf,” she said proudly. “They’re not those farm-raised
Chinese
kind.” The Chinese were villains in my mother’s eyes, bent on poisoning the world with melamine-laced formula and lead-based toys.

When dinner was ready my father emerged from his office and we all quieted down, letting his silence set the tone. Aunt Kathy tried to keep the conversation going with what seemed like unobjectionable talk about old family memories. “Do y’all remember when you kids came to stay with me and Uncle Bill, and Kat ended up sleepwalking to the bathroom and lying down
in the tub?” We all muttered that we remembered. “I called the police before I found her! And there she was, fast asleep and talking about going swimming.”

My mother pushed the gumbo around in her bowl. “It’s too bad your sister couldn’t humble herself and come over here tonight.” Though she was addressing Luke and me, she looked at neither of us. “It would have been nice to all be together,” she said bitterly.

“I talked to Kat on the train ride over here,” said Luke tentatively. All eyes were instantly on him. “I think she’s planning on coming over sometime this week.”

My mother and father exchanged looks, and my mother wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “It certainly would be nice of her to tell
me
that.”

“I’m sure she will,” said Luke. “She’s just been busy, I think.”

My father snorted in amused contempt.
A hairdresser,
he seemed to be thinking.
Busy.

Dinner wound down after that. Aunt Kathy and my mother drove Luke back to the train station and my father retired to his office. As I headed upstairs, I caught a glimpse of him through a crack in the door. He was staring at the black screen on his computer the way the lobotomized might stare at the floor. I rapped on his door and pushed it partway open.

“Dad?”

His head snapped up. “Hey, Ellie,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“You okay?”

“Sure. I’m okay.” He tried to give me a smile. “Why?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “You seem like you have… a lot on your mind.”

“I do.” He nodded thoughtfully, averting his eyes. “But everything will work itself out.”

I said good night and hurried to my room, not wanting my father to have to endure the concerned stares of the daughter who once considered him invincible. Who, in many respects, still did.

Closing the door, I lay down on the bed and dialed Mark’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Ellen,” he said. His voice was deep and scratchy, the way Gary’s used to sound during a trial. He always said it was from having to talk so loudly.