Secret Lucidity(62)
Why won’t he let me in on what’s going on?
Whatever the reasons, I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. Against every instinct of mine, I put my car back in drive and leave David behind to suffer in isolation, wishing all the while I could hold his sufferings in my arms.
MY HANDS HOLD THE WHEEL, but it doesn’t feel like they’re in control when turn by turn I near his house. As I draw closer, I pull out his garage door opener from my center console and press the button from down the street. The second my back tires are in, I close the garage while taking one last glance over my shoulder to be sure no one has seen me.
I walk in for the first time without his knowing, feeling a wealth of unease.
I shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be so presumptive to think I have rights to his personal space. I don’t leave though. Not because I want to put my stamp of ownership on him—that isn’t it at all—it’s just that something isn’t right, and I’m worried. I know I should probably give him space, but there’s something unexplainable pushing down on my shoulders, shouting in silence for me to stay so I can be here when he gets home.
Stepping into his living room, I drop my backpack onto his couch and look over to the kitchen island to see a menagerie of glass bottles. A very similar ornamental arrangement that decorates my mother’s nightstand. I walk over to the mess and start picking up crushed beer cans and tossing them into the trash. The scent of liquor causes my stomach to churn—the smell so familiar to my mother. I grab the bottles and shove them back into David’s liquor cabinet before collecting the glasses sitting out and washing them, wondering the whole time what could possibly have him this distraught.
I clean because I don’t know what else to do, and when I finish in the kitchen, I decide to distract myself even longer. I pull the bank envelope from my bag, and take a seat on the couch. I find the phone number at the bottom of the letter and make the call.
“Mutual Equity of Oklahoma,” the man says. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I got a letter in the mail the other day that I need to talk to someone about.”
“Can you tell me what the letter is in reference to?”
Looking down at the paper, I read the bold face type aloud. “It says it’s a Notice of Intent to Foreclose.”
“One moment.” The sounds of him pecking at his keyboard can be heard before he continues. “And who am I speaking with?”
“Miss Hale,” I tell him, hoping he’ll just assume I’m my mother.
“Mrs. Hale, there should be a case number in the upper right-hand corner of the letter. Could you read it to me?”
I give him the number, and after a few seconds on hold, he returns to the line.
“Thank you for holding. Okay, it looks like you have defaulted on your loan for four consecutive months and the lender has filed court proceedings to seek a judgment for money due.”
His words fly straight over my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I mean, I understand the non-payment stuff, but can you explain what you mean by court proceedings?”
“Along with the letter, you should have also received another letter explaining the proceedings and your court appearance date.”
God only knows where that letter is, and I know it’s going to be pointless to get a lucid answer from my mom about it.
“I don’t seem to have received the court letter. Can you tell me the time and date of when it’s going to be?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that information readily available. What I can do is make contact and have them reissue the letter via certified mail to ensure you receive it. If we do that, you should have it by the end of this week. How does that sound?”
“That would be great,” I tell him.
“Is there anything else I can help you with today, ma’am?”
“Umm, do you know what will be happening in court?”
God, I must sound like an idiot to this guy.
“You will appear before the judge, and he will let you know how long you have to pay in full. If you fail to meet the terms of the court, you will then be evicted, and the house will go into auction.”
“So, we’ll be forced out?”
“If you do not resolve your delinquency, then yes.”
How could my mother be this careless to put our home at risk?
After another minute or two of talking, we end the call, and I drop my cell phone onto the coffee table. The seriousness of this situation is literally beyond my comprehension. I’m seventeen, and I couldn’t even grasp half the words that man just spoke to me. But I know enough to understand that if my mom has to go to court, it’s pretty damn serious. I wonder if she even knows, if she’s even called the bank like I just did. Is she even aware that if she fails to show up on her court date then we will lose our house?
I know we’ve blown through the money in the one bank account she allows me to use to do the grocery shopping. It’s the same account I’ve been using to pay some of the other bills. But what about my dad’s bank accounts? How many accounts are there? And did my dad leave any money to me when he died? If so, is there any left, or has my mom spent it all?
Questions multiply in my head, questions I’ve never thought of until now. Stress overwhelms me when I contemplate how bad this could be.