Morning Thanks

Garrison Keillor once said we'd all be better off if we all started the day by giving thanks for just one thing. I'll try.

Friday, September 28, 2018

"What a Man Would Do" (iii)




Mom and son talk.
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"We'll talk about it later," Mom says, opening the dishwasher. "You go practice piano. "We got things to talk about--me and your brother."

"What things?" Steph says.

"Things you don't have to hear."

"That's not fair--"

"We got things, too," she'd tells her, "your brother and me. You and I aren't the only ones with personal stuff."

She'd known everything, his mother had--who was at the party, what and how much there was to drink, what time people left--the whole sorry mess. Somebody came into her office, she'd told him, some teary girl, and spilled her guts.

"I want you to know that I know," she says. "But I want you to know this too--I'm breaking every law in the book by talking to you like this. It's unprofessional, but I'm doing it because you're my son," she says. And then, "A girl came to see me--"

Had to be the one called Adrie.

"She told me about this party with Mallard guys. At Sumner's house. She said it was at Angie Sumner's house on Apple River Road--Friday night."

He carried their glasses to the cupboard.

"Don't run away," she says. "I know very well somebody is getting by with it, and it's not right, Darren. It's not right and you know it, because you know what happened."

What did he know?--I mean, really. That he shouldn't have been there--sure. That he'd been with this chick he shouldn't have been with, not with Kristine out of town--he knew that too. That some guys had too much to drink--yeah. That things happened--okay, things happened. But if those women didn't want they heat, they shouldn't play with fire. He flipped open the dishwasher and started pulling out dishes.

"You were there," she says. "I'm sure you were. Kris was out of town. You didn't have a date. You were out with the boys, right?

Out with the boys, she says.

Adrie has got to be the one spilling the whole mess. No dream date either. Got hips like a sow. "Guys want a party?" she says when they saw them in the square. What did she expect--church?

"You were there," his mother says again. "What happened?"

He put the glasses in the washer, slipped the plates like a deck of discs into the bottom rack.

"What happened, Darren?" she says again.

"You already know," he told her. "What'd she tell you--this girl?"

"I want your side," she says. "I've breaking confidence just mentioning it."

Who gives a crap about confidence when the three of them are living in Andy's Mayberry podunk town because everything in their lives fell apart when the old man left? Who gives two bits about some promise to some big party girl animal cruisin' for guys anyway? Who gives a shit?

"This girl came to me," she says, "because she didn't have anybody else--couldn't tell her parents--you know how people are around here, how strict." He can feel the way she's talking at his back, and she's mad. "This girl doesn't want anybody to know what happened--because of the beer, Darren." And then she says, "Dammit, look at me. Come back into this room and sit down. I mean it."

He could have told her to back off, but he would have killed her. He could have sworn at her, but he would have broken her back. She was double-barrel mad. But he hadn't done anything except cheat on Kristine, and that wasn't the big deal because it wasn't anything to speak of. That wasn't what his mother was after either.

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