Page 53 of Error Handling
Kahlil is a romantic at heart, something I’m just now learning. I’m not in the mood for poetics though. I want to keep my head down and try not to think about Sarah. Yet there she is. On my mind. Constantly.
I want to see her again, and yet I don’t. She has the power to unknowingly thwart my professional goals, and I don’t want that. Unfortunately, we didn’t meet a year or two sooner. We could have had a whirlwind romance and then ended it before it got too serious.
Romance. Why am I even thinking about romance? I can’t afford to lose another year of my life floundering in a state ofdeep depression when things don’t work out. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m not prepared to go through it again.
Saturday proceeds uneventfully with an At Your Service call to fix another plumbing leak, this one not as dramatic as Sarah’s. I also get a call to remove a squirrel from an attic. It’s a job for animal control, but I give it a shot and manage to corner the rodent and coax it into a cage with almonds.
I sleep late on Sunday morning in anticipation of a long day of work. Sarah needs a few hours of alone time to work on a paper. Since there’s no rush, I go through a couple of cups of coffee and fix myself a proper breakfast of eggs and toast before hopping into my truck and heading over.
When I pull up to the curb in front of Sarah’s house, my phone rings.
“Hey, Mom. I just got to a job. Can I call you back later?”
“Can it wait a moment? You make your own hours, don’t you? Isn’t that one of the perks of the job?”
Her comments are innocent enough, but she’ll use them to springboard into criticism. If I was a betting man, I’d put a large sum down on it.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Your father is sick. I need you to come home.”
My gut tightens. “Is he ‘sick’ like the time you told me to drive home just so you could ask me to take over the business?”
She sighs. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
“Yes, you would. You already have.”
“I never lied to you. He was sick, Chris.”
“With a cold.”
“A cold is serious for someone with heart failure.”
I rub my face with my free hand. I’m not in the mood for this. “What’s going on with Dad?”
“He has double pneumonia.”
I don’t know whether to believe her. If she’s telling the truth, I’m concerned. Since she’s set the precedent of lying to manipulate me, I decide to play it cool.
“He hasn’t been able to work all week,” Mom continues. “The bills are piling up and I don’t know how to pay them.”
“You can usually pay them by check or with online bill pay.”
“Your Dad gave me access to the business accounts after his heart attack, but I’ve never been able to make heads or tails of them.”
“I’m sure you can let the bills sit until Dad starts feeling better. Is he on antibiotics?”
“They gave him IV antibiotics and a Z-pack.”
“Are they helping?”
“I don’t know. He’s always asleep in his chair with the TV blaring.”
I glance at Sarah’s house. I promised her I’d fix her sink today before working on the kitchen sub-floor. She’s been without the kitchen sink since Wednesday. I can’t drop everything and drive to Missouri on the off chance that my mom is telling the truth. I have a job to finish.
“It doesn’t sound like an emergency, Mom,” I say. “Why don’t you give it a few days and call me back if things get any worse?”
“And risk defaulting on our accounts,” she mumbles.