Can I Get An Amen? Read online

  “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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It 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 polic
e 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.

  “I just wanted to see how your friend was doing.”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” he said quickly before correcting himself. “I mean, he’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “I’m excited to see you on Friday,” I said, rolling over onto my side so that my back faced the door. I pictured him sitting in his living room, his thin gray T-shirt stretched over his chest, his bare feet up on the coffee table. The lights would be dim, with just a reading light on above him.

  He exhaled, as if thinking the same thing I was, as if imagining our being together. “I wish it could be sooner,” he said, and I waited for him to offer either an invitation or an explanation. “I just have a really busy week at work. I have something scheduled every single night.” I wondered what he was doing, whether it was the type of thing that a girlfriend could join him for.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I know you’re busy.”

  “Maybe I can take you to lunch?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment at another G-rated, approved-for-all-audiences, thirty-minute daytime date. At least I would get to see him. At least he would slide his hand onto my lower back and kiss me good-bye. “That would be great.”

  . . .

  Before work on Monday, I went to the bank, stood in line, and requested a cashier’s check for six thousand dollars. “Made out to Roger Carlisle,” I told the teller, spelling his name out slowly. I felt that I owed my parents at least that much for living with them over the past several months. I tucked the check carefully into an envelope in my purse, keeping the bag under my arm as I left.

  My mother was at a prayer meeting when I got home that night, and my father was at his usual post in his office. I knocked gently before walking in.

  “Dad?”

  He was seated at his desk, facing the bay window in front of him. His back was hunched slightly, his shoulders rounding under his blue-and-white windowpane shirt. “Hi, Ellie,” he said gently and without turning around.

  I held the envelope awkwardly as I hovered behind him. “I just wanted to give you this.” It was burl wood, his desk, a beautiful piece that I remembered him and Mom picking out. The surface was so highly polished that it reflected my hand as I laid down the check.

  “What’s this?” My father still did not look at me.

  “It’s for room and board for four months.”

  He stared at the envelope with a defeated, hopeless look, like it was one of the apocalyptic headlines from his financial papers. He made no move to touch it.

  “So that’s it,” I said, to fill the dead, empty air. “And I’m going to get a place of my own after the New Year.”

  “Have you started looking?”

  The question felt like a blow to the gut. “I’ve started browsing—you know, just seeing what’s out there.” I couldn’t explain my resistance to finding a place of my own. Unlike Kat, I’d never liked living independently. My parents’ home had been a sanctuary, a refuge when I left Boston, and moving out would mean that I was truly alone.

  “Maybe your sister can ask around her complex, see if anything is available.”

  “Yeah,” I said, backing away. “That’s a good idea.”

  I closed the door as I left. Only then did I hear the envelope being torn open.

  . . .

  Brenda was aflutter at work all week with talk of her upcoming trip to Chicago and soon-to-be-born grandchild. “Jake says that Nora feels like she could go any day now,” she said, sitting on her hands, almost unable to bear the excitement. “I just hope she lasts until I get there.”

  “When is her due date?”

  “Christmas Eve.” Brenda was flying out on the twentieth and would stay for ten days, at which point her ex-husband and new wife would go for a visit. “I hope she’s not late,” she said, her face darkening as she imagined her replacement ingratiating herself, changing diapers and tickling chins with her long red nails. She would be the type of woman who would wear strong perfume to the hospital and dress the baby in uncomfortable, starched clothing.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll bet Nora will go into labor when you’re there.”

  Brenda looked at me gratefully. “That would be wonderful. Just imagine if he was here in time for Christmas.”

  Brenda had purchased a shocking number of gifts for the baby, legacy items that would serve to mark her territory, to solidify her role as grandmother. There was a rocking horse, a sterling silver cup, a cashmere receiving blanket. Brenda didn’t have tons of money, but she was sparing no expense for the baby.

  “I’m going to give him a Christmas ornament every year. It’ll be our tradition.” This year, she had found a blown-glass baby bootie with a satin ribbon for hanging. “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?” she asked. This question invariably came from those who started in August, taking the time to find that just-right gift and tucking it away lovingly for months.

  “No,” I said plainly. “I really haven’t started.”

  “There’s still time,” said Brenda, meaning that there was no time. She used the exact same tone that I had used when assuring her that she would be present for her grandson’s birth.

  When I was with Gary, we had always spent Christmas with his family. This would be the first Christmas in five years that I would be with mine. And while I hadn’t really taken much time to shop in the past, usually devoting just one solid evening to online ordering, I decided that this year I wanted to find something special for everyone. This year seemed important somehow, seminal.

  Gary and I had spoken only twice since the final hearing. Each time, he’d reached out, wanting to foster something close to a friendship. I decided that I would get him a gift, along with gifts for Daniel and his mother—not really as an olive branch, but more as a reminder. I didn’t want to be so easily forgotten. And even though I had come a long way toward accepting that Gary and I weren’t right for each other, it still hurt that he had realized it first.

  And then there was Mark. M
ark was much harder. The first occasion for exchanging gifts was always so telling. Gary and I had started dating just before Valentine’s Day, and it was when I received two dozen red roses at work that I knew we were officially together. But that wasn’t Mark’s style. How intimate a gift, how much to spend: these were the things that Kat would know.

  . . .

  “Ellen, I am so busy,” scolded Kat. She spoke loudly to be heard over the din of the salon. “Why are you calling me at work anyway?”

  “I called you yesterday and you never called me back,” I retorted.

  “All right, well, what is it?”

  There were so many things that I could have said. Yes, I wanted her advice about Mark, but I also missed her; I wanted to hear her voice. Despite our trip to Boston, I felt that there had been a distance between us since that night with the Arnolds. But as I opened my mouth, my intentions stumbled, and I said only, “I was just wondering if you are coming to see Aunt Kathy.”

  She exhaled. It was a long guttural noise that sounded as if she were clearing her throat. “Are you serious? That’s why you’re calling?”

  “Yeah, I mean, everyone has been wondering where you are.”

  “I’ll come when I can, Ellen,” she said.

  “You should probably call Mom and let her know.”

  And with that, Kat hung up.

  . . .

  Over the next day or two, I didn’t see my parents. My mother and Aunt Kathy had gone to Connecticut to visit one of Aunt Kathy’s friends from when Uncle Bill was stationed out of Groton; my father was either not home or holed up in his office. Jill was absorbed into Greg’s family’s holiday preparations. “Theresa is going to show me how she does her stuffed cabbage so I can make it on Christmas Eve.” So with few distractions, I began to look in earnest for a new place to live. I was on Craigslist when Parker bounced into the office.

  “Don’t you look cute!” oozed Brenda when she saw her. Parker was dressed for a day at the mall with lime green driving moccasins, a cashmere trench coat tied above her pregnant belly, and a pair of designer maternity jeans.