Chapter 26: Did I already say, “Siblings. Jesus.”? Once more. With feeling.
Friday, 2pm CST, Soul Mountain
“Are you guys there?” I say, leaning closer to the laptop screen.
PJ’s video comes online a moment later, blurry and choppy while he adjusts the position of his phone.
“I’m here,” he answers.
“I’m here, too,” Dutch says, and there she is, headphones on, Sherry just visible in the background inside a playpen. “So what’s this all about? The last time we had a sibling meeting, it was about — ”
“I don’t need the reminder,” I say, flashing back to Dutch’s wedding five years earlier. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Mom and Dad.”
Gerry leans closer to me so that he can be seen in the video frame. “And it’s about the restaurant.”
“What about the restaurant?” Dutch asks, frowning.
“Gerry did payroll this week when Dad took a few days off to be with Mom,” I say. “He found something… not good. After he did payroll, there was only, like, twenty bucks left in the checking account.”
“That can’t be right,” Dutch says immediately. “The restaurant’s been really crowded every time I’ve been by recently.”
“It is right,” Gerry says, leaning close again. “I checked it and double-checked it and triple-fucking-checked it. After everyone got their checks, there was twenty-three dollars and fifty-seven cents left in the bank account.”
“And they’ve been charging groceries,” I add. “At least for weeks, maybe for months. Gerry would know better than me.”
“Actually… I have a copy of the credit card statement,” Gerry says.
Which is news to me. I’m just hoping he didn’t break the lock on Dad’s filing cabinet to get to it.
He pulls out a folded-up piece of paper from his back pocket, unfolds it, and holds it in front of the laptop screen. “The card’s almost maxed the fuck out.”
“Gerry, will you stop dropping f-bombs? Sherry’s in the room,” Dutch says irritably.
“You’ve got headphones on, Dutch,” PJ says.
“So? I still don’t think it’s a good habit to — ”
“Can you shut up and listen, Dutch?” I say. “There are more important things right now than Ger’s use of the word ‘fuck.’”
“Anyway,” Gerry continues. “It looks like they’ve only been making the minimum payment on the card for the past six months. And almost every single charge is for groceries. There’s a few other things on here, too — looks like they paid the laundry service from this card a few times recently, and there’s an exterminator charge a few months ago.”
“That’s not like Dad,” PJ says, almost like he’s talking to himself, musing over this new information out-loud. “He almost always pays for everything in cash. He hates credit cards. And he’s never trusted banks.”
“I know,” I say. “Which is why I called this meeting. You guys… I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Soul Mountain’s in trouble. They can’t keep going like this for much longer.”
“What did Mom and Dad say when you asked them about it?” asks Dutch.
“They won’t talk about it,” says Gerry, and from his tone, it’s obvious he’s still raw and irritated from his earlier fight with our parents.
“But we know that at least part of the problem is a huge loan payment they’re making every month,” I say. “It looks like they’re having trouble staying ahead of it, and it’s draining whatever profit they’re bringing in. Do you guys know what the loan could be for?”
PJ and Dutch both shake their heads.
“Dad hates loans about as much as he hates credit cards,” PJ says. “Remember what he used to tell us when we were growing up?”
All of us nod, remembering.
Before he and my mother married and moved to Ohio in search of better work, Dad worked incessantly for his brother-in-law’s restaurant. He bused tables, he waited tables, he went for days practically without sleeping. But lacking citizenship, and, despite his visa, constantly fearing that he would for some reason or another be deported, he never opened a bank account. Instead, living as frugally as possible, he saved almost fifteen grand in cash in a shoebox he hid behind his brother-in-law’s couch. That was the money he used to move to Ohio, to marry my mother, to pay the deposit and a month’s rent on their first apartment in Marcine.
Dad didn’t borrow money. He didn’t spend it, either. He saved it.
After a moment of silence, PJ says, “It doesn’t matter what the loan’s for. What matters is that we pay it off. See if you can find out how much it’s for.”
“I don’t know how open they’re going to be about that, given the reaction Gerry and I got this morning,” I say.
“I’ll handle it. I’m sure I can find out,” Dutch states.
I snort. “And how do you propose to do that? Breaking and entering?”
“No. I’ll just ask them,” she says.
“They’re not going to tell you,” Gerry says.
“I can be very convincing. And they trust me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think this is a matter of them trusting you more than they trust us, Dutch.” She hadn’t said that, not directly, but I know that was what she’d meant. “Gerry’s right. Whatever it is, they’re not going to tell you.”
She quirks an eyebrow, and I realize she’s interpreting my words as a challenge. “We’ll see about that. Is this all you guys wanted? Because I have to go get ready to pick Nathan up from school.”
I glance at the time on the clock and see that it’s not quite two-fifteen. The elementary school doesn’t let out for another hour and a quarter. But of course Dutch would need to primp for something as important as driving through the elementary school carpool line. I suppress an eye roll.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s all we got. Tell Nate I say hi.”
“Tell him yourself. We eat dinner at Soul Mountain every Friday night.”
I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “Uh… I guess I’ll have to see him some other time. I’ve got plans for tonight.”
Dutch cocks her head to the side. “Plans?”
“She’s screwing around with some chick she met on the plane on the way over here,” Gerry supplies helpfully.
I punch him hard in the arm. “I am not ‘screwing around’ with Amy, you asshole.”
Gerry only laughs.
“Guys, I have to go. I’m already late for a meeting,” PJ says. “But I’ll be home by Sunday night. Dutch, text me if you learn anything.”
“Text all of us,” Gerry says.
“I will,” she says lightly, and her screen goes dark. PJ’s screen goes dark a moment later.
Gerry turns to me. “Those pricks. They’re not taking this seriously.”
I shrug. “You expected something different?”
“I guess I thought ‘the restaurant is on the brink of fucking bankruptcy’ would have had more of an effect.”
“Then you have a higher opinion of them than I do. But don’t worry. They’ll get their shit together. And then we’ll figure this out.”