"The Replacement"

Ten minutes and one new light bulb later and Seth is sipping the orange juice I offered. “Do you want to come in?” He looks at Bea who continues to read her book and I roll my eyes. “It’s fine.”


Seth follows me into the den and Bea grunts and hobbles toward us, a chair in her hand. She places the chair at the entrance to the den, sits down and says “No way are you getting knocked up on my watch,” and leafs through her book with a freshly licked thumb.


Seth sits Indian style on the couch. Bea coughs and stares at Seth with those Beaker eyes until he removes his sneakers. “Sorry about the car. That sucks,” he says.


“What do you mean?”


“You had to pay half, right? That’s a sweet pile of cash.”


“Yeah, but how do you know?”


“My dad told me,” he says matter-of-factly, as if we are talking about the color of the sky.


My blood suddenly feels like it is pounding in my ears. I can’t hear anything above the rush of blood; I can’t see anything but my dad smiling at me on the last day of school, the last time I ever saw him alive.


“How does he know?” I ask, but the answer is already out there, skipping through antique stores as we sit in the woman’s hook-rug haven.


“My dad talks to your mom like every single night. You didn’t know?” He is shocked and this only makes what I’m piecing together more painful: Sam is trying to replace my dad.


It takes all of my effort to shake my head.


“I knew my dad had a thing for your mom, didn’t you?” he says, still sitting on the couch. “I thought it was obvious when he gave her my parking space.”


I want to scream, but when I see the hopeful look in Seth’s eyes I know that this is not an option. Seth informs me that our families are having dinner together to celebrate Sam’s birthday early, and I force myself to smile and nod, ignoring the familiar thickening at the back of my throat. There is no need for Seth to suffer along with me. There is no need to lash out at the messenger.


Still, my anger is like lava that needs to come out soon. So I stand up and let him know about a headache that’s suddenly come on and tell him I’m looking forward to our dinner tonight.


It is not until Seth is out of sight that I allow my hot tears to well.


Bea sighs and trudges her clod feet back to the kitchen, chair in hand. The white roots from her poor dye job stick out like a cheap curly wig. She is a sad creature, all hunched over and sagging everywhere and I am compelled to take the chair from her. But she yanks the chair from my hands and says “Go find another old fart to feel sorry for. This one’s fine.”


“Why do you hate me so much?” A couple of tears run down my cheeks.


“And are you so very fond of me?” I nod my head. “You’re full of it,” she says and removes her reading glasses. “Why are you crying?”


I am not going to splay my heart open to a woman who’s half-blind and deaf.


“I don’t know. I wish-I wish you were nice,” I sniff.


“I don’t do nice.” She gulps down her soda and burps. “Excuse me.”


“Whatever.” I storm to my bedroom.


“You should be happy that a fella like Vinny wants to woo your mother. Sam’s one hot tamale and I can just imagine the lowlifes the poor gal’s attracting.”


“I thought you were deaf?”


She turns her mole-cheek toward me and says, “Only when it suits me.”


I slam the door to my bedroom twice and throw myself down on my bed. I cry, burying my tears in the pillow, stifling them the way my mother stopped my father’s breath.