The Easy Way Out

6

Lying in bed, Blake opened his eyes to find his bedmate missing.

He checked his phone. 3:18.

He turned onto his side, drawn to the smell of Rachel on the pillow beside his. He rolled lazily onto his back and as his half-open eyes swept across the ceiling his mind pitched him a possible explanation. Maybe this wasn't enough for her. Maybe she didn't have the heart to tell him to his face. The thought stuck like peanut butter, wouldn't come loose because it was so plausible. He knew that she was a girl with big ambitions. He jerked into a seated position then felt relief when he noticed her phone charging on the nightstand.

He swung his legs across the mattress, got out of bed, then started down the dark hallway toward the shaft of light cutting across the floor from the bathroom. As he approached, he heard crying. He tapped on the door. "Babe?"

He opened the door and found Rachel sitting on the edge of the tub, a folded form in her hand. She wiped her eyes with a wad of toilet paper.

"You saw this, right?" She sniffled. "We have until next Wednesday to come up with forty-eight hundred dollars or we default on the Beechview mortgage."

He dropped to her eye level and slipped the paper from her grasp. "It's not we," he said. "It's me. Don't worry about it."

Her dark hair fell across her face when she leaned forward. "I applied for like thirty jobs, and never got a single callback. Not one! I worked my ass off in school. For what? To be a skeazy bartender in a hooker costume? Jesus!" She pushed the hair behind her ear. "Now Lou says I can't wear jeans to work anymore. I gotta wear those gross booty shorts like the rest of the girls. What's next?"

"We'll get you out of there. I promise." He took her hand and kissed the tiny heart tattoo. 

Tears streamed down her face. "How are we gonna pay the bills? What're we gonna do about your car?"

"I'll have Damon take a look at it."

"Credit cards are maxed out, car insurance is due, we're behind on school loans. I'm so sick of this."

He folded her into his arms.

########

In the backyard of an expansive home, Blake stood on the manicured lawn encircled by sculpted hedges, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. With every infrequent visit, the luxurious modern French Country manor nestled in the shaded hills of four acres of meticulously maintained property felt less and less like home.

The conversation with his callous father was going exactly as he'd expected. His dad wouldn't even afford him the decency of his full attention, applying stain to an Adirondack chair, his back to his son.

"Invest your money in your career," his dad said. "Not in some broken-down second-hand house." His condescending tone fanned the flames of the building tension. They were headed for some form of the same combative conversation they'd been having for years.

Blake didn't remember his dad's father. Was his grandfather a miserable prick to his son? Is that what his dad inherited, the warped philosophy that you make a man out of your boy by turning every interaction into a confrontation?

Blake drew a deep breath. "I graduate into the worst economy and job market ever--"

"--The nineties were no picnic." He used his prosecutor's tone, as though he were playing to the courtroom, undermining the defendant's case.

"Okay, Dad. You're smarter than me. You make all the right moves, I make all the wrong ones because you're perfect and I'm a goddamn idiot. Is that what you want to hear?"

The heated exchange brought Blake's mother out onto the multi-level deck that wrapped the back of the home. "Blake," she called, descending the stairs.

"I need help." Blake stopped just short of pleading. "I'll pay you back." His voice sounded like someone had him by the throat.

"It's not smart business." His dad dipped his brush in the bucket of stain while making his closing argument. "Use your head. Think things through before you dive headfirst into some half-assed venture. Take your lumps and move on. Grow up."

As far back as Blake could recall, disappointment had been the only emotion his father had ever shown him. With familiar feelings of inadequacy wrenching his gut, Blake bit his tongue and started across the lawn to the driveway, his mom giving chase.

"Stop babying that kid," his dad shouted. "That's the problem, You're—"

She cut him short. "Aw, mind your business and paint your stupid chair." She caught Blake by the arm at his car.

"You hear that?" He fumed. "Kid. To him, I'm still a kid."

She wrapped her arms around her son, giving him a warm mom-hug. "He's a hard-headed son-of-a-bitch. But he loves you. He really does."

"How could he? I committed the unforgivable sin. I embarrassed him. A stupid high school kid who got caught with two freakin' joints in my locker. Jesus! Seven years ago and he's never gonna let me forget it."

"Are Rachel's parents helping you guys out?" she asked.

"She's on her own. Her mom died when she was just a kid."

"I'm sorry." She didn't say it because that's what you were supposed to say. She said it with hurt in her voice. "How about I send you a check? How much do--"

"--If he found out you were giving me money..." He kissed her cheek tenderly, then got into the car.

"Blake, why don't you bring that girlfriend of yours around?"

"And give him something else to criticize?" He started the car and drove away, watching his mom in the rearview mirror, her arm raised, waving goodbye.