Death Benefits by Sarah N. Harvey

let her in, he bellows, “Send the boy.”
    â€œCan you come over?” she asks.
    â€œJeez, Mom. What for?” I ask. “He’ll just yell at me too. Or throw shit at me. No thanks. He’ll get over it. Anyway, I was just going out.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œCar dealership.”
    â€œOh, Rolly,” she sighs. “Couldn’t it wait?”
    I’m actually not even dressed, and I haven’t done much all day other than sleep and eat and watch tv. I thought about checking my Facebook page, but I’m not sure I want to know what my buddies back home are doing. Probably not hanging out with demented old men, that’s for sure. My friends and I used to joke about getting out of Lunenburg right after high school. Going to the big city—Halifax or Toronto or Vancouver. They probably think I’m lucky—I got out early. I try to imagine what I would say if I wrote to anyone now.
    Hey, I’m babysitting my grandpa for the summer. I had mono so I’m not going to school. I shaved my head. I’m getting a bespoke tux. Your buddy, Royce.
    For all I know, they’ve forgotten my existence. What’s that saying? Out of sight, out of mind. I have no hard evidence that absence makes the heart grow fonder. When I first got to Victoria, I talked to my buds a lot, spent a lot of time on Facebook, but as time went on it sort of withered away—on both sides. I had nothing to say, and I didn’t want to hear about the latest camping trip or how one of them had scored with Peaches.
    I sigh and tell Mom I’ll be over as soon as I can.
    When I get to Arthur’s house, Mom is sitting on the deck staring out to sea. There’s no actual furniture on the deck, so she’s just sitting cross-legged, with her back against the house. I sit down next to her and she says, “This is ridiculous.”
    I nudge her a little bit with my shoulder. “Yup.”
    She nudges me back and says, “What’s wrong with me?”
    â€œUh, Mom? It’s not you. He’s nuts. You’re fine.” She starts to speak, but I cut her off. “Yeah, I know. He’s not, like, certifiable or anything, but for practical purposes— for our purposes—it’s easier to just think of him as nuts. That’s what I do. Keeps the expectations low. In five minutes he’ll probably be telling me to go away and begging you to come back.”
    I get up and pull her to her feet.
    â€œBut why today, Rolly? His big day. All I was doing was trying to help him get dressed.”
    I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe he’s scared.”
    â€œScared? Arthur? He loves being the center of attention. He’s made a career out of being the center of attention.”
    â€œYeah, but…”
    â€œBut what? You think you know him better after spending a few weeks with him?” Mom stomps into the kitchen and grabs her purse and keys. “Fill your boots,” she says as she heads for the door. “I’m getting my hair done; then I’m going home for a bubble bath and a glass of wine. See you later.”
    The front door slams and I hear the truck start. It’s not like Mom to freak out, and I wonder what Arthur said to her, what button he pushed. There’s no sound from his room, and I’m tempted to let him stew for a while, but it’s getting late. I need to get him organized so I can go home and get ready myself.
    I bang on his door and yell, “Open up!” The door swings away at my touch and reveals Arthur in his black Jockey shorts, sitting on the edge of his bed.
    â€œIt’s about time,” he says. “Your mother’s useless. Always has been.”
    Suddenly I’m tired of being levelheaded Royce. The good kid. The obedient son. I hate looking after Arthur. Right now, I hate Arthur.
    â€œYou’re an asshole,” I say. “Just so we’re clear. I’m here to help you get ready, but