Page 127 of Error Handling

“Well.” Mary wipes her mouth and then fiddles with her napkin. “Current research suggests it’s not the fat, it’s the sugar. And we’ve cut back on that. Except on this vacation.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mom says.

“I was anurse.”

“Well, I’m an English professor, but that doesn’t make me an expert.”

“That makes no sense, Mother,” I say. This is going about as well as I thought it would. “Did they find any other problems while they were in there?”

“Just the one artery. They’re putting a stent in when I get back to Ohio.”

I purse my lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, now I’m worried that you’ll have a heart attack and not tell me.”

“He would do exactly that,” Mom says.

Dad shoots my mom a look. “How do you know, Pat?”

“When we were married, you never told me anything. That’s one of the reasons we got divorced.”

“We got divorced because—”

“Patty?” Mary interjects. “Can you please pass me the salt?”

I glance at Chris. He’s laser-focused on his baked cod, probably wishing he could disappear into the floral wallpaper.

“My name isPatricia,” Mom says, glaring at Mary. She doesn’t move to grab the salt.

Mary recoils. “Forgive me,Patricia. I won’t make that mistake again.”

My mom still hasn’t made a move to pass the salt, so I grab it instead and hand it to Mary.

An uncomfortable silence bathes the room in tension. I grab another fry and nibble. Mom picks at her fish. Dad’s fish isalmost gone. A bolt of lightning cuts through the dark clouds gathering over the ocean.

“So, Chris,” Mom says.

My muscles tense.

“Sarah tells me you’re an HR representative.”

I whip my head to look at Chris. He stops chewing.

Before I can diffuse the situation, Mom continues, “I saw the nice work you’re doing in Sarah’s apartment though. It’s so nice to have a hobby. You can have a real job during the day to support your family, and then piddle with your tools at night.”

Chris looks at me, the skin around his eyes pinched in anger. “You told your mom I’m an HR rep?”

My jaw drops.

“Aren’t you?” Mom asks.

“No,” Chris says. “I’m a handyman.Justa handyman.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” my dad chimes in.

Mom looks both confused and displeased. “Why did you tell me he’s an HR rep, Sarah? That’s a far cry from tinkering on houses, which is fine if you’re single, but once you’re married, you can’t keep playing with your power tools in the basement.”