More Than I Can Bear by E.N. Joy Page A

don’t play stupid with me, young man,” his mother replied. “You knew what this would do to me. This is just some kind of payback for all the years we wouldn’t allow you to dance to the beat of your own drum.”
    â€œNonsense, and you should be ashamed to even insinuate that me marrying Paige, a black woman, is a punishment to you and Dad. Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you sound like, Mother?” Mrs. Vanderdale remained silent. “It sounds like something a racist would say.”
    There, the elephant in the room had been addressed.
    â€œWhat? Well I . . .” Mrs. Vanderdale placed her hand on her chest and began taking in heavy, deep breaths.
    â€œDo you think we might need to call a doctor?” Stuart asked once he saw that it seemed as if Mrs. Vanderdale wasn’t doing any better.
    â€œThe only doctor she needs is the one standing right over there,” Norman said sarcastically, pointing to his father, who was a psychiatrist by trade.
    That comment seemed to jar his mother back to her healthy composure. She sat up straight and stiff on the couch, her feet slamming onto the floor and her eyes shooting a look of disbelief at Norman. “Well, I’ve never.”
    â€œAnd I never thought you’d act this way either, otherwise I never would have even introduced you to my wife,” Norman said. “She and I, and our baby, would live happy and in peace without ever stepping foot into this madness. This whole sick act, it’s all in your head. And since you married a head doctor, hopefully we can get you cured quick, fast, and in a hurry.”
    â€œSon, I think you’ve crossed a line,” his father warned.
    â€œNo disrespect, Father, but I think she crossed the line a long time ago.” Norman gave his father an intense, serious look. “We just always excuse her behavior by saying ‘That’s how she is,’ or ‘You know your mother.’ Well how much longer are we going to continue to give her a pass?”
    â€œSon, we’re not giving your mother a pass. You know she doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just . . .” Mr. Vanderdale allowed his words to trail off when he realized his only defense was about to be what it had always been over the years.
    Norman exhaled. “Dad, you would truly be okay with someone who felt this way about another race? Like the family is being contaminated because I brought a black woman into the home?”
    â€œHow many times do I have to say it’s not about a black woman being in the home?” Mrs. Vanderdale said. “Have you noticed that Nettie is a black woman and she’s been in the house for years? And will you two stop speaking about me as if I’m not sitting right here?”
    Norman ignored his mother’s last request and continued talking with his father, who, he hoped, would be the voice of reason. “I can’t imagine that you would be okay with that, Dad, not with where you come from. Not with you being who you are.”
    Prior to joining the family business he had married into, Mr. Vanderdale had been referred to as the underground Dr. Phil of the Midwest. Mr. Vanderdale had been known as Dr. Vanderdale to most. He’d received his doctorate in psychiatry and had practiced mainly in the prison systems. He felt that if an effort was truly put forth, then the inmates could actually receive what they’d been placed in the prisons to receive: rehabilitation.
    Initially Mr. Vanderdale had been a business major, but one evening after leaving a college bar and heading back to his dorm on campus, it had started to rain so he began a light jog back to his dorm. The next thing he knew, a cop car had come out of nowhere and pulled up onto the sidewalk, cutting him off. Within seconds he was face down on the pavement with a gun to his head. He was placed in the back of a police car and waited there for a few minutes in fear, wondering what in