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Shitload can’t describe fully the trouble I am in.
“The police looked up the records on the building and discovered that it was in my name. I had foolishly cosigned a lease with my gutter-snipe daughter to open an illegal fight club.” Howland laughs as he draws a circle near his head with his finger. He stops at his desk and picks up that piece of paper again. He struts across the room and drops it on my lap. Howland frowns when I don’t pick it up to read.
“Read it to me, Astrid.”
My voice shakes as I hold it up in my trembling hand. “Officer…Clive…Morales.”
“Enough. He’s my contact,” Howland continues, “I wonder if he’ll be my probation officer after they charge me for illegal gambling.”
The heat rises to my face, and I can’t hold my tears from bursting out. I bawl like a stupid baby and curse myself silently while I do it. Howland smiles, satisfied with my reaction. He’s scared me straight, and now maybe I’ll behave like his dream debutante. I scowl at him through the tears that drown my face. I hate him even more and didn’t know I could even achieve a notch that high.
“Yes, I froze your account,” he continues, “I’m sure that’s why you came here. Not to explain why you might be in trouble this time. Or to warn your oblivious father that the cops are in pursuit of him.
“And that insolent expression on your face indicates that you blame me for your misfortune. Well, my offspring, there’s a moment in life when you can’t blame anyone but yourself.”
“You don’t understand anything about my life!” I shout, gripping the armrests, “You never have and never will. What do you think my chances are of earning a paycheck like yours?”
“Exceedingly high since you are my daughter.”
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve as his logical point becomes clear. “I need a lot of money,” I try to explain, “My friends have shit lives, and all of a sudden, I’m rich. I have to help them.”
He frowns with genuine concern. “Astrid, money can’t save humanity. Some people will always struggle, no matter what they have. Thank God it’s not you, and move on.”
“That’s so cold,” I whisper.
“Life is not an even playing field, and one person can’t change the rules.”
He snatches the paper out of my hand and sits back down at his desk. I want to tell him about Nova, but he won’t care. I just need enough money for her bail, but then there’s Mom. He’s already cut her off. My tears are drying as I slowly go numb. I glance over, and he’s staring at me, waiting for my attention.
“You have to behave or else,” he says softly as if his words are sweet to hear.
“What must I do?” I ask.
“Giving you money was my mistake,” he replies, “It led you back to your trashy ways.” He pulls out a pad and starts to scribble. “Until you clean up your act, you won’t get your trust fund until you turn twenty-two.”
I frown because I don’t understand how that’s a punishment. He just said money is the issue, so wouldn’t giving me a trust fund be the problem?
He sighs as if in mental anguish. “A trust fund is…”
I cut him off. “I know what it is, but what’s the big deal when I get it? No disrespect.”
“I was going to give it to you when you turned twenty-one,” he explains, “But each time you misbehave, I’ll add another year. So I’m guessing you’ll get it when you turn forty-five, provided I’m dead.”
There it is. I’m broke until Howland says otherwise, but I’m certain there are strings attached to receiving my trust fund other than good behavior. “What about Mom?”
Howland refuses to look up as he speaks. “If you prove that you can behave, then I’ll resume Evelyn’s treatment.”
I scoff. “You’re asking a lot of me, but you aren’t helping me to get there. Do you really think she has time to wait? When your body is sick, you can’t tell it to hold up until it’s more convenient. I can’t guarantee I’ll behave when my mom needs money now.”
Howland scribbles on his pad as if he’s waiting for me to leave. Does he do this to his patients? Then his bedside manner sucks.
I stand up from my seat. “You know what? Fuck it and fuck you. I’d rather be home with Mom than struggling to prove something to a man that doesn’t give a shit about me. You forgot something about that playing field. When you don’t have money, it’s tough to give a shit.” I walk to the door and spin back around before I open it. “The bar is set pretty high, but you’re only giving me a step stool to reach it.”
With a whoosh, he rips a piece of paper off the pad, walks across the room, and calmly hands it to me. Written on it is the name of a lawyer—Perry Schneider, Esq. “Set up an appointment with him to discuss your misstep. He’ll make it go away. And your mother will remain in treatment. But Astrid?” He pauses until I make eye contact. “You’ve run out of second chances.”
“My bank account?” It hurts to ask, but my pride will suffer for Nova.
“Will be limited to an allowance,” he replies, “All transactions over a thousand dollars will be approved by me.”
