Between The Lines Of Fear And Blame

"I cannot believe I have to have this conversation with you of all people," Katherine accuses me, and crosses her arms beneath her heavy breasts. She and Robbie are built just alike: short and muscular with exaggerated waists and biceps. "He looks up to you. He tells everyone that you've always been more of a father to him than his own dad, always there for him, trying to help when he screws up..." She scowls fiercely through her heavy eyeliner. "That's why I can't believe you're encouraging him this way now."
I grind my teeth together and count grimly backwards from ten. "You really think I like what he's been up to," I admonish her. The kitten skitters around my ankles, hooking my bare insteps with his tiny claws, and I have to reach down and shoo him away. At least our conversation can't be overheard for the hum of the big fans: it's hot in the Big Woods today.
"Then why help him? Why have people back him up? Why let him think he can get away with acting like a thug? You don't act that way, so why let him?" She fans the beads of sweat collected in the wispy little curls at her temples.
"I pretty much feel like I have to." I shrug. "You got a cig?" She passes me a menthol - HB will kill me if he catches me - and I light up. "He really won't listen when I tell him not to do this crazy shit. That crap he pulled on those guys in the city Monday night?" I make a chopping gesture, the cigarette between my fore- and middle fingers sending up rafts of swirling smoke through the lone sunbeam that has forced its way through my heavy curtains. I like to keep the house dark like a cave or the underside of a flat rock. "Totally unacceptable. I still expect that to come back and bite him in the ass when he least expects it." I puff out smoke through my nostrils like a dragon. "That's why I told you not to leave your car here while you're at work. I can fix just about anything he gets up to here in town, but in the city?" She looks at me, and I look at her. We both know just how narrow is my sphere of influence.
"So what about his plans for tonight?" She watches me. She expects to catch me in a lie, she's waiting for me to say that he's just blowing smoke and not to take him seriously.
"Here's my thought there." I exhale some more. Poison just shouldn't taste or feel so good. "Tonight after supper you tell him you're in the mood to party, and one of us slips him something sedating. We'll tell him it's a beaner and he'll probably swallow it so fast he'll take a finger or two right along with it." I expect her to object, to be disgusted or mocking.
Instead she does the Big Woods anti-nod, rocking her head from side to side, with her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed: that might work, her look clearly says to me. "You got something like that?"
I reach in my pocket and pass her a tablet still in the plastic bubble on cardboard: bless drug reps and sample packs. She tucks it in her cleavage and gives me a decisive nod. "So you're not gonna let him keep trying to jack people, am I right? I mean, are we in agreement here?"
I stand up. I'm tired of this little interview. Aaron appears in the doorway, and I shoot him a pouring motion with one hand, pinky raised: please make me some tea. "I want what's best for him, Katherine. As long as we agree on what that means, we're solid."
"And if we don't agree?" She doesn't move, and since she's in my room, I can't really effectively end the discussion without leaving her on my innermost turf. The rules of simian social engagement don't work that way, not if you want to stay on top.
"Then I guess I better hope you're better at listening to reason than he is. Look, I haven't even been downstairs yet today. What say you beat it and let me get a shower in?"
She stands up, but keeps her eyes on mine. Her eyes are clear, pale blue, like J's eyes. She is doing her best to keep her footing with me, just like I'm trying to keep the upper hand.
"Okay," she agrees. "For now. I'm gonna tell him that I want to hang out with just him and you after supper, and you better back me up."
I lift my eyebrows and put my hand to my chest in a gesture of wounded innocence: who, me?
"I'll do my part, toots. You do yours." I gesture to the stairs, and she precedes me down them.
Harmony restored... barely, but there. For now.

Title lyric from "How To Save A Life" by The Fray.