Tilt - Alan Cumyn [22]
Stan’s mother seemed distracted. Was it more than this situation with Lily? Maybe it had to do with the governance committee at work. Stan had no idea what such a committee did. They governed something, perhaps, and at times she talked about it a lot.
Stan’s mother had worked in the same office for years. She was pretty high up by now, but she wasn’t running the place.
It was hard to imagine his mother running anything.
“How was work today, Mom?” Stan asked. “Everything all right with the . . . governance committee?”
No reaction. Did she even hear?
Lily started humming. She didn’t like people talking about things that didn’t concern her.
“The governance committee has got its head up its ass,” Stan’s mother said finally. “I’ve stopped worrying about the governance committee.” She let out a long stream of breath through taut lips.
Stan could remember when she used to smoke. He was very small then and she would hug him fiercely and blow the smoke over his head. He remembered the sting of it in his eyes and nose.
“We did get an unusual memo today from head office,” she said then. “All nonessential travel has been canceled. There’s a general staff meeting called for 9:15 Monday morning. With a video link-up, too . . . Stanley!”
It was nothing. Two children crossing the road on the yellow. He wasn’t planning on running the light anyway.
It was all under control.
“So you think the place is —”
“Shaky. The accountants have been walking around not looking anybody in the eye for weeks now. Of course, the downturn has meant that funders are far less likely to . . .”
Stan’s mother’s organization, New Page, sent books to disadvantaged countries all over the world. This much Stan knew. Most of the books were donated, but they still had to be shipped and there still had to be a partner at the other end to make sure they got to waiting schools and libraries. Languages had to be coordinated. The books had to be collected, sorted, evaluated, catalogued and warehoused before they were sent.
It all took a lot of organization. Somehow this crazy woman beside him kept herself together during the work day to do her part.
“It’s not, like, bankruptcy, is it?” Stan asked. He was just driving now, his hands and his feet controlling the car. He was driving and talking at the same time. He had a vague idea that nonprofits couldn’t go bankrupt, but he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know what it is,” she said.
They were almost home. A couple more blocks.
Lily suddenly stopped humming and said, “Dad is coming for dinner, okay?”
Stan’s mother slammed her foot against the floor. If she’d been driving she would have set off the airbag.
“Lily, don’t tell such lies!”
“It’s not a lie. He’s coming! He’s coming!” She made an angry song of it and twisted in her seat in time with the words.
“I don’t care what your principal calls you. Don’t lie, young lady! You know the difference between truth and lies.”
“He’s coming! I saw him!”
“If you can’t show me that you have at least one foot in this reality there’s no way I will ever let you go to that special school. Do you understand?”
Stan didn’t hear Lily’s reply. He was distracted by something — someone — sitting on the front porch. Stan had to concentrate to glide the car up the narrow driveway. All he saw, at first, was a flash of gray.
Then he parked and they could all look at the strangely bearded man sitting on the steps as if he’d forgotten his keys.
“Daddy!” Lily squealed, and she was out of the car and squirming in his arms.
10
It wasn’t Stan’s father. Couldn’t be. For one thing, Stan’s father was taller than this mopey man. He was tall and angular and athletic. Stan’s father used to skate right past all defenders — two, three quick strides — and cut around the net with his long reach and tuck the puck inside the post before anyone even knew what had happened.
Stan’s father could whip a baseball the length of the driveway and curve it so wickedly you had to watch the spin on