less pay and without his pension.”
This reminded Sam of her friends in the dining hall. She almost said so, but George wasn’t done.
He told her he talked to the Mexican kids who worked at the car wash a lot. One day, one of the regulars wasn’t around, and George asked after him. The others said he’d gotten sick from the fumes. He had no sick leave or workers’ comp. Those kids made half the minimum wage, which was somehow legal, the thinking being that customers would make up for it in tips, which they didn’t.
A few months ago, George said, he started attending a discussion group made up of concerned local citizens.
“It’s helped me,” he said. “These guys get it. After my business went under, I felt like a failure. But then I started to see the patterns. Now I know that the failure is much bigger than me. They want us to think it’s our own problem. To feel like shit about ourselves. Then we won’t fight back.”
Sam felt her face grow hot at a memory from childhood: She, Brendan, and Molly in the back seat of their mother’s station wagon, on the way to pick up their father at the train. From the driver’s seat, their mother said, “You three need to be extra good and quiet on the ride home. Dad got a pink slip today.”
It was one of those moments when the adult was too caught up in her own concerns to translate. They didn’t know what a pink slip was, only, from her manner, that it was bad. When their father got in the car, he wasn’t his usual playful self. He sat, stone still and silent. Sam found it terrifying. They all did. Molly started to cry, and Brendan gave her the meanest look to shut her up.
The next morning, their father didn’t get out of bed. Their mother said they weren’t allowed to tell their cousins what had happened.
“Did Dad do something wrong?” Brendan asked.
“Of course not,” their mother said.
Sam understood why he had asked. There was so much shame in the air.
“I like your theory,” she told George. “So you have a whole discussion group dedicated to talking about this?”
“Technically, discussion group isn’t about the Hollow Tree. These guys have been getting together for years to talk. But it does all seem to come back around to the Hollow Tree sooner or later.”
“It sounds fascinating.”
“You should come next time. Us geezers would get a real kick out of having some young blood in the mix.”
“Sure,” Sam said. “I’d love to.”
“Our next meeting is a week from tomorrow,” George said. “I’ll pick you up.”
* * *
—
In the car on the way home, Elisabeth said the wedding had been a disaster. They didn’t have enough chairs. They didn’t think to buy ice; the drinks were lukewarm. During his toast, the groom’s father forgot the bride’s name.
“And oh my God, Sam, Andrew didn’t think it was worth warning me beforehand that they are goths.”
“They’re not goths,” he said. “They just wear black all the time.”
“To their wedding?” Elisabeth said.
“Okay, the fishnet tights and the bride’s headpiece were a surprise,” he said. “Was that supposed to be—a dead bird?”
Elisabeth and Andrew laughed.
“Was that supposed to be a dead bird?” Elisabeth repeated. “File under: questions no one should have to ask on your wedding day.”
“Fair point,” Andrew said.
“When their marriage ends in two years, do you think we get that serving platter back?” she said.
“That’s kind of a shitty thing to say,” Andrew said, a slight edge in his voice.
“I was kidding.”
Sam exchanged a wide-eyed look with the baby.
“Anyway, at least the cake was good,” Elisabeth said. “I had two pieces. I’ll be going for a run as soon as we get home.”
Sam told them about the conversation she’d had with George, and how he invited her to his discussion group.
“Oh my God, that’s insane,” Elisabeth said. “Obviously, you do not have to go. Andrew, tell her.”
“I’ll tell my dad you’re not going,” he said. “I’m sorry he tried to suck you in.”
“I want to go,” Sam said. “I thought all the Hollow Tree stuff was interesting.”
Elisabeth swiveled her head to look at her. “You did?”
“Yeah. You two don’t agree with him?”
“Of course I agree—the Man is bad, the little guy gets screwed over,” Elisabeth said. She sounded bored. “That’s kind of a tale as old as time.”
That wasn’t what George had said exactly. Sam thought there was more to it than that.
“It’s just