Lamentation by Joe Clifford Page A

me.”
    “There’s nothing to talk about.”
    “You must be worried about your brother.”
    “What do you care? It’s not your problem anymore.”
    “Don’t be stupid. I still care what happens to you.”
    “You do?”
    “Of course I do, Jay.”
    I broke from her grip. “But that’s not stopping you from moving five hours away, is it?”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “Not fair? You mean, like not discussing moving with my son to another state? Like buying a house with some rebound fuck. Like not giving me a chance—”
    “A chance? I’ve given you nothing
but
chances. To spend more time with Aiden. To catch up on payments. To fix us. And what have you done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
    “I just gave you money.”
    “It’s not about money.”
    “What’s it about then?”
    “Your priorities, Jay. How you chose to focus your energy and spend your time. It’s about you not settling for less when you’re worth so much more.”
    “I know you think you’re paying me some twisted compliment when you say stuff like that, like you’re building up my self-worth or something. But you’re not. All I hear is that I’m not good enough.”
    “Then you’re mishearing me—because that is
not
what I am saying.”
    “This is a really rotten time to be laying this on me. I’m in the middle of this shit with my brother.”
    “What do you think I’m talking about?”
    “Here it comes.”
    “Here
what
comes?”
    “You hate my brother. You’ve always hated him.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Jenny stepped back, arms akimbo. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t hate Chris. I actually like your brother. When he’s not all fucked up. I think he’s sick, and I feel sorry for him. I see how hard it is on you. I think he needs help. But you can’t be the one to fix him.”
    “I gave up trying to fix him a long time ago. But I’m not abandoning him, either.”
    “No one is asking you to. You have to find a way to distance yourself, though. You can’t keep making
his
habit
your
problem. Whatever he’s done this time—”
    “He didn’t
do
anything,” I said, “other than be his usual screw-up self. Wrong place. Wrong time.”
    “Then let him answer for himself. You can’t shoulder that stone.”
    “What do you suggest I do?”
    “Let Chris deal with Chris’ mess.”
    “Nice, Jenny. When they fish him out of a dumpster behind the truck stop, I hope you feel good.”
    “No, I won’t feel good,” she said. “But I won’t feel guilty, either.”
    “He’s family.”
    She stared at me, urgently. “You keep saying that. Don’t you see? We’re your family too. And you shut us out.”
    “My family? And what are you doing with
my
family, huh? Packing up and running off with that shitheel to Vermont. You know damn well I’ll never get down there. I have a hard enough time making it five miles down the road as it is.”
    “And whose fault is that?”
    “I work, Jenny. I don’t have some cushy union job with four weeks’ paid vacation. I have to cull a million different projects together, hustle and bust my balls to cobble a halfway decent payday just to keep creditors off my ass. My schedule is irregular; I never know when the workis going to dry up. I need to take advantage of it when I can get it. That means long hours, that means I don’t always get weekends off.”
    “That’s your choice. You could do anything you want. You’re a bright guy—”
    “Gee, thanks.”
    “—who plays dumb. You sell yourself short, hauling junk for Tom Gable.”
    “I don’t haul junk. And Tom’s been good to me.”
    “I’m sure he has. I like Tom. He’s a nice guy. But you could be doing so much more—you still
can
do so much more.”
    “I’m glad you are such an authority on my life. And I do appreciate the unsolicited advice, really.”
    “I think you’re scared.”
    “Scared?” I had to laugh. “And what am I scared of?”
    “Not being as good a father as your dad. You