jewellery?"
"No. Style-wise he's always dressed as if he's about to get into a stolen Cessna on a private tarmac somewhere in central Colombia."
"Who does he look Uke?"
"Generically handsome—game show-y, but definitely of the twenty-first century. He's a bit too tanned. He'd better watch it, or his skin'll look like caramel popcorn when he's sixty."
"So how does this Jeff Probst fellow's personality convert into a skateboard character who's a friendly turtle?"
"He could maybe be wise and all-knowing like Yoda."
"Who?"
I let it drop, since Mom's curiosity was clearly ebbing. We were entering an older area with uninflated property values and roads last resurfaced in the 1960s. Invisible waves of manure entered the station wagon. I asked, "Is it far?"
"Another few minutes."
"I'm hungry."
"If you can't find something lying around the car, then you can't be very hungry."
I looked in the glove compartment. Mom had stashed some gold-foiled chocolate coins, probably from one of the egg hunts we used to have at Greg's ex-wife's place. I tasted one of them and nearly gagged.
"Mom, how long has this chocolate been in there?"
"A few years, maybe."
"A fewyears}"
"Ethan, everybody knows Easter chocolate lasts forever. If they don't sell it one year, they put it in the warehouse and bring it out again the next year, over and over until it finally sells. By that standard, those coins there are practically new."
I got to thinking about the business at hand. "Mom, one more time, why are we out here in this hillbilly's armpit?"
"Tim's buddy, Lyle, owes me fifty thousand dollars, and won't pay up."
"Okay, that's more than I knew a few minutes ago. Does he know about Tim's, um, fate}"
"No. But he found out about Tim and me a few months ago. It caused a rift between them and . . ."
"Wait a second—what do you mean, found out about Tim and me}"
"Remove your mind from the gutter. Tim was nice. I felt a closeness with him."
"Don't tell me any more."
"Why not?"
'You're my mother. You're weirding me out."
"Eat another coin."
"So, then, are these guys bikers, too?"
"Connect the dots, Ethan: we're in the middle of nowhere and drugs are involved. Who else is going to live out here?"
The rain wouldn't let up as we turned onto successively dinkier roads, finally coming to a gravel lane.
"We're here," Mom said.
At the turn of the century this had been a farmhouse. It was remote back then, and continued to be remote now. "Imagine living in Vancouver and managing to miss all the real estate booms," I said.
We knocked at the front door. Inside, a TV was blaring, and a mentally ill dog barked.
"That's Gumdrop," Mom said.
The door opened with a creak.
Mom said, "Hi, Lyle."
"Oh,you."
"Yes, me."
"What do you want, Carol?"
"My money, please."
"Who's the guy with you—cradle-robbing again?"
I said, "I'm Ethan. This is my mom."
Lyle shut the door.
I said, "Rude prick."
"Bikers. What do you expect?"
I knocked this time. Mom said, "Lyle. Please come out. Let's discuss this like sensible adults."
Through the door, Lyle told us to fuck off. I heard another biker laughing above the TV, along with Gumdrop's crazed howling.
Mom knocked. "Lyle, just pay me what's mine, and I'll be out of your hair."
Lyle's friend shouted, "Lyle doesn't have any hair." From behind the door, this witty retort garnered convulsions of laughter.
"They're stoned," I said.
"You know, dear, this reminds me of back when you had your paper route, and on collecting day people would pretend not to be home to avoid you."
"That always drove me nuts. Why didn't people just pay up?"
"I think it's because when you walk up to the door, in the customers' minds, you're like their conscience come to haunt them. Perhaps that's how our biker friends here feel about me."
Just then, a foaming pinkish-white pit bull swooped around a corner of the house and up the front steps and jabbed a justifiably named canine into Mom's shin.
"Mom!"
She pulled a gun from her
"No. Style-wise he's always dressed as if he's about to get into a stolen Cessna on a private tarmac somewhere in central Colombia."
"Who does he look Uke?"
"Generically handsome—game show-y, but definitely of the twenty-first century. He's a bit too tanned. He'd better watch it, or his skin'll look like caramel popcorn when he's sixty."
"So how does this Jeff Probst fellow's personality convert into a skateboard character who's a friendly turtle?"
"He could maybe be wise and all-knowing like Yoda."
"Who?"
I let it drop, since Mom's curiosity was clearly ebbing. We were entering an older area with uninflated property values and roads last resurfaced in the 1960s. Invisible waves of manure entered the station wagon. I asked, "Is it far?"
"Another few minutes."
"I'm hungry."
"If you can't find something lying around the car, then you can't be very hungry."
I looked in the glove compartment. Mom had stashed some gold-foiled chocolate coins, probably from one of the egg hunts we used to have at Greg's ex-wife's place. I tasted one of them and nearly gagged.
"Mom, how long has this chocolate been in there?"
"A few years, maybe."
"A fewyears}"
"Ethan, everybody knows Easter chocolate lasts forever. If they don't sell it one year, they put it in the warehouse and bring it out again the next year, over and over until it finally sells. By that standard, those coins there are practically new."
I got to thinking about the business at hand. "Mom, one more time, why are we out here in this hillbilly's armpit?"
"Tim's buddy, Lyle, owes me fifty thousand dollars, and won't pay up."
"Okay, that's more than I knew a few minutes ago. Does he know about Tim's, um, fate}"
"No. But he found out about Tim and me a few months ago. It caused a rift between them and . . ."
"Wait a second—what do you mean, found out about Tim and me}"
"Remove your mind from the gutter. Tim was nice. I felt a closeness with him."
"Don't tell me any more."
"Why not?"
'You're my mother. You're weirding me out."
"Eat another coin."
"So, then, are these guys bikers, too?"
"Connect the dots, Ethan: we're in the middle of nowhere and drugs are involved. Who else is going to live out here?"
The rain wouldn't let up as we turned onto successively dinkier roads, finally coming to a gravel lane.
"We're here," Mom said.
At the turn of the century this had been a farmhouse. It was remote back then, and continued to be remote now. "Imagine living in Vancouver and managing to miss all the real estate booms," I said.
We knocked at the front door. Inside, a TV was blaring, and a mentally ill dog barked.
"That's Gumdrop," Mom said.
The door opened with a creak.
Mom said, "Hi, Lyle."
"Oh,you."
"Yes, me."
"What do you want, Carol?"
"My money, please."
"Who's the guy with you—cradle-robbing again?"
I said, "I'm Ethan. This is my mom."
Lyle shut the door.
I said, "Rude prick."
"Bikers. What do you expect?"
I knocked this time. Mom said, "Lyle. Please come out. Let's discuss this like sensible adults."
Through the door, Lyle told us to fuck off. I heard another biker laughing above the TV, along with Gumdrop's crazed howling.
Mom knocked. "Lyle, just pay me what's mine, and I'll be out of your hair."
Lyle's friend shouted, "Lyle doesn't have any hair." From behind the door, this witty retort garnered convulsions of laughter.
"They're stoned," I said.
"You know, dear, this reminds me of back when you had your paper route, and on collecting day people would pretend not to be home to avoid you."
"That always drove me nuts. Why didn't people just pay up?"
"I think it's because when you walk up to the door, in the customers' minds, you're like their conscience come to haunt them. Perhaps that's how our biker friends here feel about me."
Just then, a foaming pinkish-white pit bull swooped around a corner of the house and up the front steps and jabbed a justifiably named canine into Mom's shin.
"Mom!"
She pulled a gun from her
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