“Dad said you’re thinking about starting a pie business.” No greeting, not a question, his announcement brusque.
“Yes, I am.” She’d mentioned the idea to her father a few days ago, and might now regret having done so.
“These days you need about a million in assets to retire comfortably,” Mitch said. “Remember the old lady who used to babysit for you? She smelled like popcorn and always had her hair pinned down with those thingies.”
“Bobby pins,” Bryony said. “She curled her hair with bobby pins.”
“Whatever,” Mitch said. “My point is, she had to work because she was poor. Nobody wants to be poor when they’re old, Bryony. Dad pays over four thousand dollars a month to live at RestHaven. As his needs increase, so will the fees. Think about how much the cost will add up to over time if he lives to be a hundred.”
“Do you want him to die to save money?” Bryony asked.
“You’re not listening.” The volume of his voice rose with irritation. “What happens if you lose your shirt starting a business? I’ll have to support you. I don’t want to work for the rest of my life, Bry. Do us both a favor and take an accounting job for another sixteen years. You’ll have maxed out on social security, and if you invest up to the limit on IRAs every year, you’ll be swimming in dough.”
“Not the kind of dough I want to make, Mitch.” She probably knew more about personal financial management than her brother. “I don’t expect you to support me when I’m older, okay?”
Bailey looked up at her and wagged his tail. “Thank you,” she mouthed to him.
“That’s not the point,” Mitch said.
“What is the point, Mitch?”
Bailey put his head between his paws and continued to make eye contact.
“What if I want to stop working and do something different? I don’t have that freedom, and it irks me to hear you think you do.”
How dare he try to manipulate her. “I don’t think I have that freedom, Mitch. I know I have it. I won’t starve. I want to be happy. Can you understand that?”
Bailey stood up and barked.
“Nothing you say makes sense to me. Where are you?” Mitch asked. “Did you get a dog?”
She wasn’t going to tell him she was at Cal’s house. “Can we agree to disagree?” she asked.
“Not an option,” Mitch said. “Worrying about you keeps me awake at night.”
He would say or do anything to control her, and his final attempt unleashed her anger. “Think of me as one of your students,” she said. “You’re good at compartmentalizing when it comes to them.”
“What does that mean?” Mitch asked.
She had nothing else to say to her brother. “I think we’re at an impasse. Let’s not make it worse. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
“Don’t forget the pies,” Mitch said.
She couldn’t think of a snappy comeback, so she said, “I won’t. Goodbye,” and hung up the phone.
Bailey barked again.
“Do you need to go out?” Bryony asked
Cal’s dog lay down and put his head between his paws, watching her.
“Bark if you want to go for another walk.”
He rolled to his side and closed his eyes.
Buggy started to purr.
Sandwiched between the dog and the cat, Bryony opened the book again and noticed how punching back a little invigorated her. Tomorrow night she would make and deliver a bean pie to Mitch because beans, beans were good for the heart, and he was full of hot air.
CAL MAKES A CALL
On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Cal pulled into the driveway of his father’s house.
“The doctor sure was angry with you,” his father said.
“He wasn’t mad at me.” Cal turned off the car. “He was frustrated with you.”
The doctor had tried to educate Cal Sr. with facts and figures about the risk of falls to older adults. His patient replied with taunting suppositions about the doctor’s motive, asking if he owned stock in companies providing care for the aged.
“It’s my choice,” his father said as he unfastened his seatbelt. “I’d rather die miserable at home than live in one of those places they stick you in to suck as much money out of you as they can while you slowly waste away.”
“We’re all trying to keep you as healthy as you can be,” Cal said. “Nobody wants to see you in a situation where you’re miserable, barely clinging to life.”
His father flipped open the handle on the passenger side door. “I’ll never cling to life, Cal. Miserable or not, life clings to me.”
Once inside the house, Cal helped his father to the living room. Earlier in the day, Heidi’s husband and son-in-law had moved in an adjustable twin bed and potty chair, just in case.
