The Nest(14)

“We’re following the terms,” Francie said.

“Your mother is right about that,” George said. “Leo can refuse his share, but we can’t refuse to give it to him.”

“Un-believable,” Jack said.

Melody wanted to speak up, but she was stuck on how to address her mother. Her older siblings had started calling Francie by her first name in their teens, but she’d never been able to do it and something about saying “Mom” in front of Jack and Bea embarrassed her. Also, she was a little scared of her mother. Her mother was a little mean. For years, the Plumbs had told one another that their mother was just a mean drunk. If she would just stop drinking! they’d say, She’d be fine! Shortly before Leonard died, she developed some out-of-the-blue alcohol intolerance and did stop drinking. Cold turkey. (Years later, they would realize Francie’s sudden sobriety had to do with Harold, the conservative, teetotaling businessman and local politician she swiftly married after their father died.) They eagerly awaited her transformation only to discover that they already knew her true nature: She was just a little mean.

“Here’s the thing,” Melody said, clearing her throat and waving a little in Francie’s direction to get her attention. “We’ve been counting on the money and have made plans and—” Melody hesitated. Francie sighed and clanged her spoon around her coffee cup as if she were stirring in sugar or cream. She let the spoon drop and rattle a little on the saucer.

“Yes?” Francie said, gesturing for Melody to wind up. “You’ve made plans and—”

Melody froze, unsure of what to say next.

“This is a blow,” Jack said. “This is a financial blow on top of several financial hits over the past few years. Is it unreasonable to expect you—as Leo’s parent and given your means—to absorb some of this financial loss?”

Melody was nodding as Jack spoke and trying to gauge her mother’s reaction. There was a part of her, a tiny, contracted part of her, that thought maybe she could get her mother to help with college tuition.

“Leo’s parent?” Francie said, nearly looking amused. “Leo is forty-six. And you’re not the only one who has taken a financial hit over the past few years. Not that any of you bothered to inquire after us.”

“Why?” Bea asked. “Are you and Harold okay?”

Francie had folded her hands in front of her and was looking down at the table. She started to speak and then stopped. Bea and Melody and Jack looked at one another nervously. “Harold and I are fine,” she finally said.

“Well, then—” Jack started, but Francie put up a hand.

“We will be fine, but most of Harold’s money is tied up in commercial real estate, which is a soft market right now. Obviously.”

“And the money Dad left for you?”

“It’s long gone. We used it to shore up Harold’s business until we’re on an upswing.” Francie straightened her shoulders and raised her voice a little, like a teacher reassuring a room of students during a fire drill. “Everything will be absolutely fine when the market corrects the way it always does. In the meantime? We’ve had to cut back, too. Harold has his own children to consider. At the moment, our liquid assets are negligible, and that will be our situation for quite some time. We’ve all had to readjust our expectations and plans given the recent economy.” Francie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, appraising her offspring. “Besides, Leo is your brother. It never occurred to me that you would not help him out of this dire situation—”

“A situation entirely of his own making,” Jack said.

Francie pointed a finger at Jack. “Your father set the conditions of the account so that I could tap into it in case of an emergency for this exact reason. This was a family emergency.”

“Which part qualifies as an emergency?” Jack said. “Leo’s years of no work and all play? His marriage to a world-class spendthrift? Crashing a Porsche he couldn’t afford because his dick was in a waitress’s fist?”

Across the table, Francie put the tips of her unsteady fingers to her eyelids, which were creased with a violet shadow making the lids look more bruised than anything else. “I don’t want to have this conversation again.” She opened her eyes and looked around the table, surprised, as always, when face-to-face with her children.

Francie knew she wouldn’t win any prizes for motherhood—she’d never aspired to any—but she hadn’t been this horrible, had she? What had Leonard wrought with the money he thought would just be a small dividend later in their lives? How had they raised children who were so impractical and yet still so entitled? Maybe it was her fault. She’d wondered that often enough, what mother hadn’t? She’d been twenty-five and married less than a year when Leo was born, and Jack and Bea had followed so quickly. She’d been overwhelmed to the point of being listless. And just when she felt she was coming back to her old self, gaining control of the situation—Leo was six, Jack four, Bea months away from three—everyone finally sleeping—and surprise! Melody. She was bereft when she found herself pregnant with Melody and for many years after, counting down the hours of the days until she could have a drink to dampen her anxiety. These days, she supposed, she’d be diagnosed with postnatal something and given a pill and maybe it would be different. Harold—solid, confident, reassuring Harold—had rescued her.