Tilt - Alan Cumyn [35]
Janine’s father paused. The four of them were sitting at a round table in a back alcove — candlelight, linen napkins that seemed to have been starched. Darkness pressing from the outside.
“. . . is the home, of course. Cover your mortgage. But that’s only the start. What if you lose your job? Or you fall ill? What if —”
“Stan isn’t married, dear,” Janine’s mother — Gillian — said. “He doesn’t have children and he doesn’t want to think about it for years and years.”
“The smart investor,” Janine’s father went on, “looks at those risks. What about retirement? Okay, you tell me you’re sixteen years old. You think retirement is a hundred years away. Do you think the government is going to look after you when you’re sixty-five? Consider the deficit. Consider the ominous shifts in global trade —”
“Joe.” Gillian placed her thin hand on his long forearm. “Maybe we can talk about other things.”
Janine was studying her plate across the table from Stan. Her tiny lizard shoulder tattoo peeked out at him. If this wasn’t dinner, if they were alone, he could reach over — if he brushed aside some of her black, black hair . . .
“Tell us about your family, Stan,” Gillian said. “What does your father do?”
A slurp of sauce caught in the back of Stan’s throat and he sneezed some of it, without thinking, onto the white linen napkin.
“He’s a carpenter,” Stan spat out.
“A carpenter!” Gillian exclaimed. “You know, I’d really like to expand the family room. But it’s so hard to find someone . . .”
Joe glared at his wife. Janine shook her head slowly, staring a rut into her plate.
“Contractors rip you off,” Joe said. “No offense to your father, Stan. But if it’s at all possible to do the work yourself . . .”
Gillian snorted. “Two words, dear. The bathroom. And three more. Lest we forget.”
Joe picked up his chicken leg dripping with sauce and tore a chunk from it with his teeth like Henry VIII in some movie.
“The bathroom was years ago. I’ve learned a lot since the bathroom.”
“You have learned to hire a contractor. Somebody who will do it right the first time.” Gillian turned to Stan. “How long has your father been a carpenter?”
Stan had to concentrate to pick up his own chicken leg cleanly.
“I’m not really sure. I think only a couple of months. He was in real estate before that, and a lawyer before that.”
Silence. Finally Joe said, “A lot of lawyers decide they want to do an honest day’s work in midlife.”
“You just said most contractors are shysters,” Gillian said to her husband.
“For God’s sake!” Joe said. “I’m getting to know Janine’s boyfriend.”
Stan felt all eyes on him again now. Was he supposed to say something? Silence stretched like ice taking over the room. Then the words just popped out of him.
“My father left us five years ago and never sent a dollar to help my mom with my sister and me. I never talk to him, he never writes, he’s missed every birthday since I was eleven. Then yesterday he just showed up again, and today he brought Feldon, my half-brother.”
Stan sucked the chicken bone. He was breathing like a marathon runner.
“They’re all back there right now in the living room. My mom, her boyfriend, Gary, Ron — that’s my dad. I wouldn’t be surprised if World War III has broken out. That’s why I showed up early.” He wiped his fingers properly on the napkin. “This is really delicious,” he said.
Gillian was trembling.
“You poor boy,” she said. “You’re getting the full wallop.”
“The what?”
“Life’s all hitting at once. The way it does sometimes. That’s why we all need to go out dancing.”
Stan glanced at Janine, then back at her mom.
“The universe kicks you in the teeth and the only thing to do is dance like crazy. You’ll see. Tonight is going to be a huge release!”
15
They drove in the rainy dark. Stan sat in the back behind Gillian. As soon as Janine clicked her seatbelt