The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(86)

“Monday, I go to work.”

“What are you talking about?” Ernie said.

“My mother can’t afford the care facility, but she also won’t admit it. The insurance doesn’t cover all the expenses, and their savings won’t last more than a year. I hired myself to run the store. Betty said she’d train me to order merchandise and pay vendor bills.”

“What about Stanford?”

“I’m going to defer for a year, until my mother gets back on her feet.”

Ernie turned away, upset.

“She’ll never go for that, not in a million years,” Mickie said.

“She won’t know,” I said.

“How will she not know? Hello, you live in the same house.”

But we didn’t, not anymore. My mother stayed with my father until closing and, as a result, rarely arrived home until well after nine. By that time, she was too tired to do anything except kiss me atop the head and go upstairs to bed.





25

Every morning that summer, I awoke at six and went to the store to ready it to open. I stayed until it closed, ran the deliveries, then went to visit my father for an hour before covering whatever sporting event I could pick up from the Times to make extra cash. As the fall approached, I began to see Ernie and Mickie less and less as they prepared to leave for college. The night before their departures, I planned what I sacrilegiously referred to as our last supper.

I cooked a meal fit for three kings—barbecued steaks, mashed potatoes, green peas, and a squash soup. I even baked and frosted a cake, decorating it with candles and frosting and writing, “Good Luck, Mickie and Ernie.”

“You keep this up and I might marry you,” Ernie said as I put the spread on the table.

“Get in line,” Mickie said.

As the three of us dug in, Ernie asked, “Have you told her yet?”

“No.”

“You’re going to have to soon.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “I hardly ever see her anymore, and when we’re home, I might as well be invisible. Maybe she won’t figure out that I never left.”

“She’ll figure it out,” Mickie said. “And she isn’t going to be happy about it.”

“She has no choice in the matter,” I said. “She can’t get by without me. She can’t do it all by herself.”

“Neither can you,” Mickie said. “You’re exhausted, Sam.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“No? How long will it be for?” Mickie asked.

“I told you, just until I get the store settled and running smoothly.”

Ernie laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You,” he said. “I talked to Betty today. She raved about what you’ve done. She says the store never ran this smoothly.”

I knew from the numbers that income was up 15 percent, and Frank was filling more than a hundred prescriptions a day. We were so busy, we were discussing bringing in a second pharmacist on our busiest days. And I was making an annual salary that would help make ends meet for my mother and pay all four years’ tuition at Stanford.

“You have a knack for business,” Ernie said.

“I’m meeting with a tax attorney in the morning to create a corporation. Frank wants to buy into it after his six-month probationary period ends,” I said.

Mickie dropped her fork. “Probationary period? Holy shit, Hill, you’ve become a hard-ass.”

“I had to be certain he was the right fit,” I said. “If it works out, his monthly payment will bring in extra money every month, which will help my mother get by when I’m no longer pulling a salary. I’m going to suggest she take over my position, but I’m not sure she’ll do it if it takes her away from my father.”

Ernie wolfed down a slice of cake and pushed back from his chair. “I have to go see Alicia,” he said.

“Jesus, can’t you give it a rest for one night?” Mickie said.

“I wish. She calls me all the time now. She’s afraid I’m going to find someone else and forget about her.”

“You will,” Mickie said.

“Thanks, Mick.” Ernie stood and slipped on his coat. “Maybe I should have you talk to her for me and provide that comforting reassurance.”

After Ernie left we cleared the dishes. Mickie said, “They won’t last three months.”

“Probably not, but did you have to say it?”

“He said it before I said it.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“He didn’t have to say it. It was in his tone and body language. He doesn’t love her.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because I practically grew up here, and I saw what your mother and father have,” she said. “What they have—that’s love.”

I didn’t disagree, and their kind of love seemed more and more rare. I wiped down the table with a rag. “They deserved a lot better than what they got.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair, Sam.”

I threw the rag in the sink. “Thanks. That really cheered me up. Why don’t you just tell me it’s God’s will, like my mother?”