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“I have to work, sweetie. For you and your mom.”
“And how long until you save up the three thousand we need? What about mom’s medical bills? Or yours?”
“The insurance will cover all that.”
“You forgetting what they said?”
“They’ll change their minds. I’ll talk to them, man to man.”
“You can’t make an insurer change their mind about missed payments. We’re not covered, Dad. Mom’s fees alone might run into hundreds of thousands. Then there are the funeral bills for Jody. How did you even pay for that if you’re in arrears?”
“We took out a top-up loan with Colombo. The interest wasn’t too bad, all things considered.”
“Shit, dad. You’re an accountant. You must know you can’t borrow your way out of debt.”
“It’ll be all right, sweetie. Something will come up, it always does.”
“What are you, Mr. Micawber?”
His voice crumples like a crushed soda can. “Your sister always loved Dickens.”
The sentence jabs me in the heart. For a few moments, I’d forgotten why I’m even on this train but it comes hurtling back and I feel a wave of grief so overwhelming I can’t breathe.
A memory slaps me across the chops. Me and Jody in bed. She’s about eight. That makes me five. Dad is reading David Copperfield to us, doing all the different voices.
Jody’s grinning and giggling, saying she’s going to be an actor. Ended up an actuary. But then I wanted to be a singer and I work in a dying travel agency so it’s not like I did any better at living the dream.
I can hear my father talking but his voice is faint and distant. I have to force myself to tune back in.
“I’ll talk to Don Colombo,” Dad is saying. “See if he can get his bank to reduce the payments for a while.”
“Don Colombo? The mobster? What’s he got to do with it?”
“It’s his bank, sweetie.”
I groan out loud. That’s why the banker came to the house. I thought it was odd but dad acted like it was perfectly normal. We don’t owe money to a bank. We owe it to a mafia Don. Fantastic. Not just any Don either. “Are you forgetting what Alessandro did?” I ask.
“The Don’s not responsible for his son’s actions. He’ll help us out, I know he will.”
“Please, Dad, don’t do anything stupid. He’s a mobster. You can’t trust mobsters. They’re all criminals. You’ll end up getting shot. Or worse.”
“Look, your mom’s waking up. I better go. You put on a good show for us both, won’t you.” His voice lowers and the real pain and grief shine through for just a moment. “You think she’ll forgive us for not being there when she’s buried?”
“Sure she will,” I reply. “I’m sure she’s looking down on you right now, wondering if you’ll ever get around to repainting the porch.”
“She did have a thing about decorating.” I can hear his voice wavering. “I’ll do it when I get out. That’ll make her happy, won’t it?”
“I think she’d like that. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Sure, sweetie. Remember what I said?”
“Don’t mention Alessandro at the funeral.”
“That’s my good girl. Last thing we need is Don Colombo thinking we blame him for the crash.”
“Alessandro was drunk, dad. He shouldn’t have been driving. It was his fault. Why do we have to sweep it under the rug?”
“Because he might not like it.”
