sick?”
“No.”
“Then what’s going on? You never want me to drive.”
“Just tired.”
She went around the other side and climbed in. There was no telling him about Elisabeth now, not with him behaving so oddly. “Okay, Mister. But no snide comments about my driving. Promise?”
He didn’t answer.
“You make me nervous and then I make mistakes.”
“Siniwick fired me this morning.”
“What?”
He nodded.
“From your job?”
“Yes, from my job.”
“Why? You were salesman of the year all those times.”
“Who knows?” His hair had slipped away from his spreading bald spot, over which he carefully gelled it each morning, and fallen over his eyebrows like overgrown bangs. With eyes large, troubled, he gathered thestrands off his face and hunched his shoulders. It killed her when he did this. He looked like a young boy. “The reps they bring in keep getting younger and younger. I don’t suppose they like having an old toad like me around.”
“But that’s ageism. We can sue.”
“No one’s suing anyone. I’ll find another job.”
It wasn’t a good time of life to be unemployed. Victor was far too young to retire and far too old to stand much chance of landing a decent job somewhere else. “Well, they must have given you some kind of severance.”
“Surprisingly decent, since they said they had ‘cause.’”
“What does that mean? You did something to justify it?”
“It’s just some term they use so they don’t have to compensate when they weed out the over-fifties.”
She knew what being fired meant for a man like Victor. Being ousted from his station of provider of authority; donor of electricity, salad dressing, and Q-tips—even if he sent his semi-loyal subject skittering down the street to get them; king of decreeing the lawn to be mown or the trash to be banished. To take away his power was to crush such a monarch. All he had left was his easily distracted shaggy-haired serf and his splintering citadel.
“Age isn’t cause, Dad. Maybe if we call a lawyer…”
His face grew pink as he stared at her. “No lawyers. I don’t need some pompous prick who thinks he’s better than me digging into my affairs.”
“What affairs? You were fired.”
“And you can bet he’ll charge me three hundred fifty dollars an hour to do it!”
“Okay, Dad. Settle down. You’ll get another job. A betterjob. We’ll do up your résumé. We’ll put you through practice interviews. Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
It was barely perceptible. As she shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the road, Victor’s hand, ever so slowly, reached for the door handle and gripped it hard as if bracing for impact. “Dad!”
Eleven
Morning took years to come. Anaïs’s yowling had begun around two A . M ., and a chorus of overexcited and probably unneutered males joined in just before four o’clock. When the commotion didn’t stop, when the dogs didn’t pipe down after Lila’s countless pleas through her bedroom window, when she realized Anaïs was likely not spayed and was in heat, maybe even in danger as she was significantly outnumbered by her frenzied group of suitors, Lila had finally tugged on a pair of rain boots and marched outside in the dark, barreled into the neighbors’ yard to chase the males up and onto the road.
There was no sleep after this, especially with thoughts of Elisabeth swirling around her brain and butting heads with worry about Victor’s state of mind and sudden lack of a job, so Lila had parked herself in the darkened livingroom, wrapped herself in an old afghan, and curled into a ball.
Lila had left Toronto unexpectedly, with plans to stay with Victor for just one night. Eighteen hours, twenty if Victor brought her home late, which was his pattern. As such, she’d brought none of her favorite things: not the unfinished paint-by-number of the smiling dolphin, not the well-laundered teddy bear her grandmother had given her when she graduated
“No.”
“Then what’s going on? You never want me to drive.”
“Just tired.”
She went around the other side and climbed in. There was no telling him about Elisabeth now, not with him behaving so oddly. “Okay, Mister. But no snide comments about my driving. Promise?”
He didn’t answer.
“You make me nervous and then I make mistakes.”
“Siniwick fired me this morning.”
“What?”
He nodded.
“From your job?”
“Yes, from my job.”
“Why? You were salesman of the year all those times.”
“Who knows?” His hair had slipped away from his spreading bald spot, over which he carefully gelled it each morning, and fallen over his eyebrows like overgrown bangs. With eyes large, troubled, he gathered thestrands off his face and hunched his shoulders. It killed her when he did this. He looked like a young boy. “The reps they bring in keep getting younger and younger. I don’t suppose they like having an old toad like me around.”
“But that’s ageism. We can sue.”
“No one’s suing anyone. I’ll find another job.”
It wasn’t a good time of life to be unemployed. Victor was far too young to retire and far too old to stand much chance of landing a decent job somewhere else. “Well, they must have given you some kind of severance.”
“Surprisingly decent, since they said they had ‘cause.’”
“What does that mean? You did something to justify it?”
“It’s just some term they use so they don’t have to compensate when they weed out the over-fifties.”
She knew what being fired meant for a man like Victor. Being ousted from his station of provider of authority; donor of electricity, salad dressing, and Q-tips—even if he sent his semi-loyal subject skittering down the street to get them; king of decreeing the lawn to be mown or the trash to be banished. To take away his power was to crush such a monarch. All he had left was his easily distracted shaggy-haired serf and his splintering citadel.
“Age isn’t cause, Dad. Maybe if we call a lawyer…”
His face grew pink as he stared at her. “No lawyers. I don’t need some pompous prick who thinks he’s better than me digging into my affairs.”
“What affairs? You were fired.”
“And you can bet he’ll charge me three hundred fifty dollars an hour to do it!”
“Okay, Dad. Settle down. You’ll get another job. A betterjob. We’ll do up your résumé. We’ll put you through practice interviews. Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
It was barely perceptible. As she shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the road, Victor’s hand, ever so slowly, reached for the door handle and gripped it hard as if bracing for impact. “Dad!”
Eleven
Morning took years to come. Anaïs’s yowling had begun around two A . M ., and a chorus of overexcited and probably unneutered males joined in just before four o’clock. When the commotion didn’t stop, when the dogs didn’t pipe down after Lila’s countless pleas through her bedroom window, when she realized Anaïs was likely not spayed and was in heat, maybe even in danger as she was significantly outnumbered by her frenzied group of suitors, Lila had finally tugged on a pair of rain boots and marched outside in the dark, barreled into the neighbors’ yard to chase the males up and onto the road.
There was no sleep after this, especially with thoughts of Elisabeth swirling around her brain and butting heads with worry about Victor’s state of mind and sudden lack of a job, so Lila had parked herself in the darkened livingroom, wrapped herself in an old afghan, and curled into a ball.
Lila had left Toronto unexpectedly, with plans to stay with Victor for just one night. Eighteen hours, twenty if Victor brought her home late, which was his pattern. As such, she’d brought none of her favorite things: not the unfinished paint-by-number of the smiling dolphin, not the well-laundered teddy bear her grandmother had given her when she graduated
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