sorry that guy was a dick."
He raised his head. His face was blank, which was always a sign that he was mad.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked.
"Nothing, I guess."
"You want me to be silent?"
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Yeah, Ellie. I think it is what you mean. So I'm just here pulling staples out of this couch. Being silent. Not asking questions."
I'd had enough of this conversation already. I didn't want to tell him what was going on because I could think of no good that would come of it. I just wanted to leave. But I was living at his house and working at his business, and plus I loved the bastard, so I took one more swing. "I have to go. It's just a business thing. It's nothing dangerous or illegal or bad. It's just a business thing. I'm about to go get in the car and drive off. I'll be back in a couple of hours. But I don't want to just turn around and leave if there is anything you need to discuss with me."
He pulled out a staple. "Well, thanks for all that information. There's nothing I need to discuss with you now. You cleared it all up." He dropped the staple in the bucket.
I opened my mouth, but everything that I could think to say was defensive and stupid. I just went out to the car and drove off.
I felt like shit, but I'd have to wait to talk to him about it. It worried me, of course. I didn't want him to be mad at me, but it wouldn't do me any good to fret about it right then.
Nate was like our father. In most ways, he was a better, stronger man than our father, but he inherited the old man's basic attitude toward life. He rarely wanted to make his feelings known, and he never wanted to tell you he was angry at you. When Nate was mad, he just went cold, like an engine that died.
Me, I'm like the old woman. Mom's anger went off like a bomb—it was bad, and then it was over. Though the damage could linger, she generally tried to help you recover. What a broad. She was a go-getter and a multi-tasker before those terms had even been coined. If she'd been given more direction when she was younger, she probably could have gone to college and moved up the corporate ladder. She would have made a damn fine captain of industry. As it was, she was an office manager. She worked ten-hour days and spent her smoke breaks bitching about my old man's lack of ambition.
Then, about the time I turned fifteen, one of the broads at her work talked her into going to a revival meeting. And that was it. My mother cooked dinner one Monday night, said goodbye, and four hours later a born again Christian came home in her place. After that, she made us go to church with her three times a week—Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night.
None of us understood it at first. I was embarrassed that my tough old broad of a mother was suddenly a Bible-quoting, teetotaling Jesus freak. She hadn't lost any of her toughness, though—which was a problem once she started telling me I couldn't see R-rated movies or listen to secular music or hang out with my unsaved friends. She'd turned into a regular hardass for Christ, and I wasn't having any of it.
In some ways, I guess our relationship never recovered from that. She was bossy, and I'm just like her, so we were probably always going to have problems when I hit my teens. We were always destined to fight over who got to be the voice of authority. But when she started quoting the Bible at me, it felt like she was cheating. The whole point of quoting the Bible is so you claim to be right about everything. At least that was the whole point for someone like my mom.
Well, maybe not the
whole
point. I guess she'd always been looking for something else in her life. She'd always been insecure about my dad's lack of class, about our ratty house, about the fact she never had a decent car even though her husband was a mechanic. She felt pretty let down by life, I guess. When she got saved, I think it all finally made some kind of sense to her, like she'd finally figured out
He raised his head. His face was blank, which was always a sign that he was mad.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked.
"Nothing, I guess."
"You want me to be silent?"
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Yeah, Ellie. I think it is what you mean. So I'm just here pulling staples out of this couch. Being silent. Not asking questions."
I'd had enough of this conversation already. I didn't want to tell him what was going on because I could think of no good that would come of it. I just wanted to leave. But I was living at his house and working at his business, and plus I loved the bastard, so I took one more swing. "I have to go. It's just a business thing. It's nothing dangerous or illegal or bad. It's just a business thing. I'm about to go get in the car and drive off. I'll be back in a couple of hours. But I don't want to just turn around and leave if there is anything you need to discuss with me."
He pulled out a staple. "Well, thanks for all that information. There's nothing I need to discuss with you now. You cleared it all up." He dropped the staple in the bucket.
I opened my mouth, but everything that I could think to say was defensive and stupid. I just went out to the car and drove off.
I felt like shit, but I'd have to wait to talk to him about it. It worried me, of course. I didn't want him to be mad at me, but it wouldn't do me any good to fret about it right then.
Nate was like our father. In most ways, he was a better, stronger man than our father, but he inherited the old man's basic attitude toward life. He rarely wanted to make his feelings known, and he never wanted to tell you he was angry at you. When Nate was mad, he just went cold, like an engine that died.
Me, I'm like the old woman. Mom's anger went off like a bomb—it was bad, and then it was over. Though the damage could linger, she generally tried to help you recover. What a broad. She was a go-getter and a multi-tasker before those terms had even been coined. If she'd been given more direction when she was younger, she probably could have gone to college and moved up the corporate ladder. She would have made a damn fine captain of industry. As it was, she was an office manager. She worked ten-hour days and spent her smoke breaks bitching about my old man's lack of ambition.
Then, about the time I turned fifteen, one of the broads at her work talked her into going to a revival meeting. And that was it. My mother cooked dinner one Monday night, said goodbye, and four hours later a born again Christian came home in her place. After that, she made us go to church with her three times a week—Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night.
None of us understood it at first. I was embarrassed that my tough old broad of a mother was suddenly a Bible-quoting, teetotaling Jesus freak. She hadn't lost any of her toughness, though—which was a problem once she started telling me I couldn't see R-rated movies or listen to secular music or hang out with my unsaved friends. She'd turned into a regular hardass for Christ, and I wasn't having any of it.
In some ways, I guess our relationship never recovered from that. She was bossy, and I'm just like her, so we were probably always going to have problems when I hit my teens. We were always destined to fight over who got to be the voice of authority. But when she started quoting the Bible at me, it felt like she was cheating. The whole point of quoting the Bible is so you claim to be right about everything. At least that was the whole point for someone like my mom.
Well, maybe not the
whole
point. I guess she'd always been looking for something else in her life. She'd always been insecure about my dad's lack of class, about our ratty house, about the fact she never had a decent car even though her husband was a mechanic. She felt pretty let down by life, I guess. When she got saved, I think it all finally made some kind of sense to her, like she'd finally figured out
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