Page 54 of Error Handling
“It takes longer than a couple weeks for accounts to go to collections.”
“Your dad has never been the best at keeping up with the bills. For all I know he has some final notices lying on his desk.”
“Open them and see.”
“This is why I need you here. I need someone young, healthy, and capable to take care of the business. Your father’s memory isn’t what it used to be. But don’t worry about us. It’s only our retirement on the line.”
My jaw clenches. As if it’s my fault that Mom and Dad didn’t properly plan for their retirement.
“It would only take you a couple of years to get an associate degree,” she says. “I don’t know why you’re so against applying yourself.”
The comment lights a flame in my belly. I grit my teeth to keep from lashing out at her.
“Your father built this business so you would have a future. What future is there in fixing toilets and wiring light sockets?”
“I never asked for anything from you or Dad,” I say. Anger spills over into my voice.
“Well, you don’t have to get angry, I’m just stating the obvious. If you knuckled down and got a degree you could be earning twice as much, if not more, from the business.”
“I have other plans.”
“So, all those long hours your father spent going without vacations and weekends were a waste?”
She’s laying it on extra thick today. It’s customary for her to lash out at others instead of self-reflecting, but usually she tries to be more nuanced about it.
“I never said any of that. But I do have a job to get to, and I don’t feel like discussing this now.”
“You don’t have to watch your father deteriorate day after day like I do. You get to paint your houses and mud your drywall and clean out your septic systems while I sit here wondering how I’m going to afford to feed myself when your dad is gone.”
“Did you call me because you’re worried about Dad?”
“I just want one of you kids to honor all the hard work your dad put in.”
“Because neither of you bothered to save for retirement.”
She huffs. “There’s going to come a time when you’re going to have to come back here and take care of things. You can runaround the country all you want, but your life is here, like it or not.”
“Right now, my life is in Charleston. And soon it will be in Puerto Rico.”
Mom gasps. “So, now you’re going to leave the country?”
“Puerto Rico is part of the United States.”
“It’s not a state and it’s surrounded by water!”
“So?”
“Christopher Alan Butcher, you can only keep running for so long.”
“I plan to.”
She huffs again, only this time it’s more guttural. “Goodbye, Chris. Call me back when you get your priorities in order. In the meantime, I’ll be taking care of your disabled father!” Her voice rises to an unnatural pitch at the end.
I disconnect the call and throw my phone against the passenger seat. Anger courses through my arms. All my life I’ve put up with her guilt trips. I’m almost thirty years old. I’m not going to play these games anymore.
I’d call Dad for his side of the story, but my mom always picks up the phone. The next best option is to call my brother, Sam, to find out what’s really going on. Something triggered Mom this morning, possibly something serious, but I’ll never get a clear answer from her.
I grab my phone again and punch in my brother’s number. The phone rings through to voice mail, so I send him a text. He doesn’t immediately reply. I pocket my phone and grab my toolbelt from behind the passenger seat.