Free You Only Get So Much by Dan Kolbet Page B

to shreds, but some of them were worth it, like Jane was. For
some reason Mom's torture test didn't faze Jane. Jane didn't talk about her
past much, something that Mom latched onto right away. Yet she had an answer
for every question and didn't seem bothered by being asked. This of course gave
me an inflated sense of self, because she had to go through the fire just to be
with me, which meant I was worth it. Or at least I thought so then.
    The only other girl who
really got the one-two punch from Mom and survived to tell the tale was my high
school girlfriend Michelle. I haven't thought of her in decades. Michelle
Sherwood. She was something else—beautiful—but that was a long time
ago when I was just a stupid kid.
    I shake my head loose of
the memory of Michelle and reintroduce my senses to the dinner around me. We
eat in silence. Mom, helping to feed Dad, who despite his afflictions, is still
able to down a solid, albeit small, meal. I take this as a good sign. He
doesn't have to eat mush through a straw or some concoction through a feeding
tube.
    "I wanna go to the
park," Gracie says while I clear the table. "And play on the
merry-go-round."
    I'd been putting it off
for days, not because I had anything against the park, but because her playing
on the playground was terribly boring and I quite honestly didn't want to sit
there.
    "Yes, William, we
should do that," Mom says before I can open my mouth and make up an
excuse. "Your father will enjoy the park too."
    So, off we go on foot to
the park down the street. Mom, pushing Dad in his chair. Me giving Gracie a
piggyback ride. Kendall and Ethan, walking side by side far behind the rest of
us. One big happy family.
    Little did I know that
our gathering was about to get more permanent.  

Chapter 14

 
    "William, I don't
like to talk about money," Mom says, which is her code for we're about to
talk about money, so listen up.
    "OK," I say,
sitting up a little straighter on the park bench overlooking the playground.
Ethan and Kendall are helping Gracie on the monkey bars and looking none too
pleased to be doing it. The park is busy with the chatter of dozens of children
and doting parents chasing after them.
    Dad is parked across
from us, silent as usual.
    "We've come to the
end of our resources, William," she says.
    "I'm not sure I
know what that means," I say.
    "It means the
savings that I thought I would never even have to touch is now depleted and we
can no longer afford to stay at the GreyHawk."
    All those ignored phone
calls from Emanuel Sanchez were obviously pleas for my financial assistance. Of
course I knew this, which is why I childishly ignored him. Apparently that
didn't work.
    "Mom, I don't have
any—"
    "I know you don't,
otherwise why would you live like a hermit in the forest for two decades?"
she says.
    "Twelve
years."
    "Right, just 12.
Anyway, we relied on Trevor. He helped us out, but now that he's gone I don't
know what else to do. We have nowhere to go. They are going to give away our
place at the GreyHawk to someone else. They are very cruel that way. Ready to
send us out onto the street."
    I find it ironic that
Mom feels it's cruel to get kicked out for not paying their bill. That's how it
works, no matter how old and sweet you are. And Mom isn't all that sweet to
begin with.
    I wasn't lying about my
financial situation. I don't have the money to pay for their care. I make just
enough in royalty checks from Isolated Highway to get by each month and I do not live a lavish
lifestyle by any means. My cabin is paid for. The truck—a piece of crap
—is paid for. That's all I own. If I was starting over on my own today,
I'd be the one getting booted for not paying my rent.
    Should I get a job? What
would I be qualified for? Selling life insurance again. Real estate? God, I
hope it doesn't come to that.
    "What about Trevor
and Jennifer's estate?" I ask. "Can't we dip into that?"
    Since I was the
court-appointed guardian for the kids, I was also in control