begin to struggle with remembering certain rudimentary domestic skills.
“Now keep in mind, this may happen soon, or it may not. It could be years from now before her symptoms progress to that point. But of course if they begin to develop sooner rather than later—which, as we just discussed, may be likely—it’s nice to have peace of mind to know she’s being looked after.”
“We’re going to look after her,” Arty said.
Arty’s tone made the doctor take a step back. “Great.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “That’s even better. It’s obvious you care very deeply for your mother. Having family look after a loved one is always—”
“We’ll look after her until the day she dies.”
The doctor took another step back, turned and hurried towards a stack of papers on the white counter-top. Without turning back around he said, “How about I write that prescription for you now?”
* * *
Maria Fannelli wanted to know what the doctor had said. The boys lied to her.
“That doctor is full of shit, Ma,” Arty said. “He was going on and on about this and that, and none of it was making much sense. Right, Jim?”
Jim sat in the back seat of the car looking out the window, his mind somewhere else entirely.
“James?” Maria said.
Jim turned away from the window and looked at his mother. She stared at him from the passenger seat.
“Are you alright? Is Arthur telling me the truth?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom.” Jim spoke with no affect.
“There, you see?” Arty said, reaching out and rubbing his mother’s knee. “Now, the doctor gave us a prescription for some medicine he wants you to try.”
“Medicine for what?” Maria asked. “I thought you said he was full of s-h-i-t?”
“It’s no big deal, Ma; it’s just a precautionary thing. Jim and I will drop you at Alberta’s house, and you two can chat for a little bit while we get your prescription filled. Okay? Sound good?”
Maria turned and looked at Jim again, then back towards Arty in the driver’s seat. There was a look of uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you boys promise you’re telling me everything?”
Arty looked in the rear view mirror without moving his head. He caught Jim’s stare and the two shook hands with their eyes.
“Yes, Mom,” Arty said. “We promise.”
* * *
Jim began crying seconds after they’d dropped their mother off at Alberta’s house. Arty reached his right arm over towards the passenger seat and rubbed his brother’s shoulder. Jim punched the dashboard twice.
“Whoa, easy, bro,” Arty said. “We’ll get through this. I meant what I said in that office. We’ll look after her until the day she dies.”
Jim wiped his tears away and fell silent. He stared out the window, his eyes glazed, the passing view the visual equal of white noise.
“Hey,” Arty said. “Hey, you still with me?”
“I’m here,” Jim replied.
“What are you thinking?”
He said nothing.
“Jim?”
Still staring out the window he said, “I’m thinking someone else needs to hurt the way I hurt.”
“Will that make you feel better?”
Jim turned away from the window and looked at his brother. He didn’t have to say anything.
Arty nodded.
“But I want something different,” Jim said. “I don’t want any transients or whores.”
Arty raised a brow. “Careful, Jim,” he said. “Don’t lose me.”
“No one’s losing anybody. Just drive for a bit, okay?”
* * *
Arty had done as his brother had asked and drove for a bit. They headed west on route 30, venturing further away from the city until they began entering the affluent strip of the Philadelphia suburbs.
“Jim, this is the Mainline,” Arty said. “Rich assholes with a neighborhood watch for their neighborhood watch. We should turn around.”
“Get off 30,” Jim said. “Turn down one of these streets or something, I don’t care.”
Arty made a left off 30 at the next stoplight.
“Jim, it’s the middle of the afternoon in fucking suburbia. If someone goes missing around here people will give a shit.” He paused, studying his brother’s profile to see if his words were having an effect. “If you want to do what I think you want to do, then we need to turn around and head back—”
“Stop,” Jim said. He didn’t shout the command, just spoke it aloud as though reading from a book.
Arty thought his brother was trying to shut him up. “Stop?”
“Stop the car.”
Arty silently obeyed and slowed to a stop alongside a long strip of residential curb. Enormous houses with lawns big enough to host professional soccer games stood regally in the distance.
“Jim, what are you thinking?” Arty asked. “Tell me what