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“Excuse me?” she said.
“I don’t accept what you’re saying right now.”
She made her confused face, the one he hated. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t look at me with that face. It means we’re getting the car. End of discussion.”
“So I have no say in this?”
Marcus snorted, and she realized it wasn’t soda in his glass. “Lady, you had your say a long time ago when you split our accounts. You ain’t paying for it, so why do you care?”
“Because I’m gonna pay for it one way or another whether our accounts are joined or not. It’s still household money, Marcus. It matters.”
One day she was gonna work up the nerve to tell him. Definitely not tonight, and probably not until Bria left for school. But it was gonna get said eventually.
The Lanes were broke.Brokebroke.
It’s funny how you can live a great life while in a constant state of insolvency. All you need is a healthy dose of denial and some foolish company to give you a mortgage and a credit card.
Marcus took a deep breath and stared at his wife, his expression a curious mix of anger and amusement. “Do you remember what I said to you? When you complained about buying this big, pretty house, do you remember? What did I tell you?”
She remembered vividly, but she said nothing. He was going to say it again anyway.
“We were sitting at the kitchen table at the old house, and I told you I don’t give a damn what nobody says. Remember? I said I will file for bankruptcy every seven years until the day I die if it means my family is living good.”
“I remember now,” she said politely.
“Good. Because I ain’t changed my mind since then. Matter of fact, it’s even stronger now. The ex-president of the United States filed for bankruptcy three times, and he seems to be doing okay. Or was it four times? I don’t remember. A lot, though.”
“He’s your standard? You sure that’s what you want?”
“You know what I mean, Lady.” He took a long swig of brown stuff. It was probably bourbon. Then he spoke again, slowly, his words slurred. “The American Dream…is fucking…bullshit. Nobody else plays by the rules. Why should I?”
“Because when we break the rules, we get punished more severely.”
“Well, they ain’t caught me yet. Until they do, we gon’ eat.”
He raised his glass in her direction before draining every drop it contained. It was pointless to try and dissuade him, so instead, Ladonna made plans to call the dealership in the morning, just as she had called the bank to apply for the mortgage, and the travel agent to plan their extravagant vacations to Hawaii, and Mykonos, and South Africa, and as she had called the timeshare people to put in on that beautiful vacation home in Destin that everyone seemed to think they owned.
“And you know what else? Fuck that ‘twice as good’ bullshit. I’m tired of having to think about getting punished more harshly. What does that even mean? It’s stupid.”
He rose from his seat and made his way to his cabinet where he selected a bottle and poured himself another glass. He returned to the table and sat unsteadily in his chair, and Ladonna settled in for what was coming next.
“You know what I was thinking about, Lady? Before you came in here? I was thinking about my granddaddy.”
And just like that, the defiance was gone. It was that defiant Marcus who annoyed her so much, always ready to do battle no matter who got hurt. But this Marcus, this man who was willing to let the cracks show, just a little, was the Marcus who made her fall in love. This was the Marcus she wanted to take care of. He was vulnerable and honest and proud without the arrogance. This washerMarcus.
“My granddaddy fought in World War Two,” he explained like it was brand new information. “Wentallllllllthe way to Germany. That’s a long-ass way to go for a country boy from Mississippi.”
Ladonna chuckled graciously.
“They came up with this…this policy for the veterans. The…the uh…”
“The GI Bill.”
“Thank you, baby. I must have told you this before. My granddaddy had his hopes all up. Him and my grandma and my daddy and my daddy’s four brothers lived in a two-bedroom shack they rented from a white man named Frederick. Anyway, so that GI Bill was supposed to—” Marcus paused to down more of his drink. “Supposed to help them get a mortgage. My grandma had the house all picked out. It was white with navy blue shutters and a bright red front door. My daddy told me that. They drove by it every day for six months.Six months, baby. Every single day. And my grandma saved up her money from washing clothes so she could buy lace curtains and real china. And do you know what happened?”
“The bank wouldn’t give them the loan.”
