Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron

had taken root in our relationship and flowered despite any nurturing by either of us. “It was a nice funeral,” I said by way of a greeting.
    She set her book down and gave me a sad smile. “He was a good man. Are you okay?”
    I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem real yet.”
    â€œI know. And then when it does sink in, you sometimes wish you could go back to being in denial.” I wondered if she was thinking of her father. “So, did you see my mother?” She glanced away, as if she didn’t want to hear the answer.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid she speak to you?”
    â€œYes. She said the usual things. ‘I’m no good for you, I’m a loser’ … like that.”
    She pressed her hands to her head in an odd headache gesture. “My whole life…,” she started to say, and then she was crying.
    I crossed over to her, concerned. “Honey? Katie? What is it?” I put my arms around her.
    She didn’t reply for a moment. Her tears flowed silently, and she reached for a tissue to wipe her eyes. Jake’s collar rattled as he came into the room, sensing something. He leaped onto the bed, probing Katie’s face with a wet nose and then a pink tongue. She hugged him to her. “Oh, Jake,” she said mournfully.
    â€œIs it Milt?” I asked.
    She shook her head, then shrugged. “Oh, a little, I guess. It’s more that I couldn’t go to the funeral because of my mom. Which is just one more way she’s running my life, you know? And when I went to work, answering the phones at Dad’s old office, I thought I was finally making my own decisions, but the only reason Dad worked there in the first place was because she got him the job. Even now that I’ve taken the real estate exam, it still all flows from her, you know?” She caught my noncomprehension and laughed sadly. “I guess this doesn’t make any sense.”
    â€œYou’re saying you feel controlled by your mother.”
    â€œI’m saying I don’t know who I am anymore.”
    Something told me I was heading into a conversation I might not like, but that didn’t stop me. “What does that mean?”
    â€œI mean, I have these roles, like I’m your fiancée, my mother’s daughter, and if I passed the test, I guess I’m a real estate agent, but who am I? Who is Katie Lottner?”
    Jake and I glanced at each other. She appeared to be in real pain, a pain neither dog nor man seemed able to understand.
    â€œI thought about going to the bar as usual,” she continued. “And there’s laughing and drinking, and then Wilma Wolfinger throws a beer in Claude’s face. Like nothing happened, like Milt never died. And I realized, this is how every day goes now.”
    â€œActually Wilma did sort of a Hawaiian lap dance for Claude.”
    She gave me a wan smile. “This topic is a little too emotional for you, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, no,” I protested, though inside I was practically screaming, Yes, yes . I just couldn’t escape the feeling there was something worse going on here than I perceived. “I just want to make sure … Are you still pissed off about that Amy Jo woman, at the Shantytown festival?”
    â€œNo. I told you I accepted your explanation.”
    I wondered if I should probe the difference between accepted your explanation and I believe you . I decided to leave it alone. I regarded my fiancée. Even with her face scrubbed of makeup and her hair pulled back in a scrunchie, she was still breathtakingly beautiful.
    â€œIt’s just that we spend practically every night at the bar.” She sighed.
    â€œBecause I work there. I’m a bouncer. It’s not like they’d hire me to do that at the church.”
    â€œYou work there. You get paid to work there?”
    Was that what this was all about? I remembered reading somewhere that married couples mostly