Nights were the hardest for me. I usually didn't think too much about Katie, or Cliff and Katie, during the day, and even if I did, I was strong enough to handle it. I was weaker at night and sometimes came close to calling her even though I knew I'd regret it.
I had to force myself to think about something else. Sometimes I would deal out bridge hands. I'd play all four hands, pretending I didn't know which cards were in each hand. Leslie would sometimes join me, but on this night, I was alone.
It was Wednesday. Trapp had played with Wallace earlier in the day, and they had won with a 61 percent game. They had argued after every hand, but not as much as they had when they'd had their 72 percent game.
There was a knock on my door. A moment later my parents entered, Leslie in tow. Her eyes were red, and my parents wore very somber expressions.
My first thought was that Uncle Lester had died.
"What's wrong?"
My father got right to the point. "My company is having to cut back," he said. "I was fired."
"You weren't fired," said my mother. "You were laid off."
I'd heard vaguely about something called "the housing crisis," but it didn't mean much to me until that moment.
What happened was this. A lot of banks made bad loans. People couldn't pay them back, and many people lost their homes. The banks lost a lot of money and stopped making new loans, which meant people stopped buying houses, which meant builders stopped building houses, which meant nobody needed insulation material. Which meant my father was out of a job.
"Are we going to have to move?" Leslie asked.
"We'll be fine," my mother assured her, or maybe it was herself she was assuring. Then, turning to my father, she said, "You hated that job anyway, always itching all the time."
"So, how are things going between you and Uncle Lester?" my father asked me. "Are you two bonding?"
"I guess."
"Has he mentioned his will?" asked my mother.
"No."
"Do you know if he even has a will?" asked my father.
"No, Dad, strange as it may seem, Trapp and I haven't talked about his will."
"Well, you need to find out if he has one," said my mother.
"And when it was last updated," said my father.
"A lot of people don't like to think about death," my mother said.
Yes, I was one of them.
"And so they don't make the necessary preparations," she continued. "You may have to remind him to make sure he completes all the paperwork."
"What, if he doesn't fill out all the forms, they won't let him die?" I asked.
They ignored my sarcasm.
"You can be very clever when you're not being stupid," said my mother, her version of a compliment. "I'm sure you can figure out some way to bring the subject up with him. Mrs. Mahoney says he listens to audiobooks. Find out what books he likes. People die in books all the time. Maybe he likes murder mysteries."
"Start with that," said my father, "then guide the conversation around to wills."
I realized my parents were worried because my father had been fired. Hell, I was worried too, but what did they expect me to say to him? "Hey, Trapp, you're going to die soon, which is too bad for you, but my dad lost his job, and we could really use a few bucks, like maybe ten million dollars."
"And quit calling him Trapp," said my mother. "It's disrespectful. He's your uncle Lester . You need to remind him that you're family."
Leslie remained in my room after our parents left. We looked at each other, but didn't know what to say. We were both scared.
Leslie noticed the cards on the floor. "What's trump?" she asked.
"Hearts."
We played out the hand, without either of us mentioning our father or our worries about our future.