Read Online Other Plans by Constance C. Greene - Free Book Online Page B

me in on something, Ma? How come he gets away with leaving the table before we’re all finished? If I tried that, he’d shoot out both of my knees. What is this, a double-standard-type operation? And what makes him think I want to be president? The guy’s cracking up.”
    His mother rested her head in one hand. “You know something, John? I’m sick of acting as go-between. It’s exhausting. I’m running out of steam. Why do you have to fight all the time?”
    â€œAsk him. What’s bugging him. He’s always on my back. Tell him to lay off. What does he want? I’m not on drugs, I stay out of jail. What does he want? If I knew, maybe I could deliver.” His throat felt scratchy, pressure built up behind his nose, a sign of imminent emotion that he knew neither he nor his mother could handle right now. Hastily, he got up and took the plates out to the kitchen.
    â€œDarling,” his mother said. He knew she felt bad about the fact that he and his father were always at each other’s throats. Give praise where praise is due, he’d heard her say once, but even with his ear laid against the door’s crack, that’s all he’d been able to hear. They had been talking about him, that much he knew. There was a special tone in both their voices when they talked about him. Then, voice raised, his father had said, “If there’s a reason to praise him, I will. I’ve had no reason.”
    Bullshit, he muttered. Double bullshit.
    â€œHe’s young, Henry,” his mother had said. “Lay off for a while. Can’t you remember what it was to be young, Henry?” His father hadn’t answered that one. That had been the end of it.…
    â€œHe’s an ace at handing out flak, Ma, and you know it.” He rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “He doesn’t give Les flak, but he sure shovels plenty my way.”
    â€œIt’s because you’re his son,” she said. “He expects a lot from you, John. He expects the best.”
    â€œHey,” he said, “he might not know it, but that’s what he’s getting. Every day in every way I’m dishing out my best.”
    â€œNo, John. That’s not so. You just coast. He wants you to buckle down. You’re a coaster. That’s what bugs your father.”
    He contemplated his sneakers and didn’t answer. Twenty-six dollars those mothers had cost six months ago, and already they looked as if they’d been soaked in acid. He could hear his father keening when he announced he needed a new pair. “Twenty-six dollars for sneakers!” he’d wail, clutching his heart. The old man suffered from a serious time warp. Rip Van Winkle in a three-piece suit.
    â€œGrace Lerner’s niece is visiting her from Seattle,” his mother said casually, changing the subject with a quiet clashing of gears. A warning gong sounded. Industriously, he scraped a bit of butter left on his plate onto the butter dish. Waste not, want not was the family motto.
    â€œAny dessert?” He decided to ignore his mother’s ploy.
    â€œThere’s half a grapefruit,” she said vaguely.
    â€œGrapefruit’s for breakfast, I thought.”
    â€œShe’s a lovely girl. Very bright. Captain of her lacrosse team, and Grace says she has a stunning figure.”
    â€œWho?” he asked, wide-eyed.
    â€œGrace Lerner’s niece,” she continued inexorably. When his mother waxed inexorable, stand back.
    â€œMa, buzz off. Last time somebody’s niece was in town, I got royally shafted. That girl was the biggest turkey in this neck of the woods since the Pilgrims landed. Hey,” his face lit up, “I might be able to use that one,” and he scribbled furiously on the back of a used envelope.
    â€œThat wasn’t a niece,” his mother said, full of reason. “That was Ann Arnold’s goddaughter. And I understand