As much as it killed me to go see my parents, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I would do anything for Rita and that included groveling. I had a trust fund my grandfather had set up for me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get my hands on the money until I turned thirty. I was only twenty-eight, but I knew about a clause that gave my parents the authority to grant me access to the funds earlier with their permission. Or I figured they could just loan me the money and I would pay them back in a couple of years.
I called my parents and asked if I could see them. It felt strange to hear my mother’s voice after all this time. Her tone was formal, but at least she didn’t sound angry. I kept the call brief; I didn’t want to go into any details until I saw them in person. We set up a time to meet at their home and I felt cautiously optimistic. After all, Rita and I were married for more than five years; we had three kids. Clearly, my relationship with her was not just some kind of fling.
When I drove through the gates to my parent’s estate, I felt overwhelmed by a flood of memories. As I looked out over the manicured grounds, I remembered playing touch football with my buddies. Beyond the green grass was the blue gray ocean and I thought of countless evenings spent around a fire toasting marshmallows and sneaking beers. I rounded a bend and the house appeared -- as regal and stately as ever -- a brick monument to unfathomable wealth. For the first time in my life, I realized how important wealth was -- how it could provide the best possible medical care for Rita that money could buy.
I parked my car and approached the front door. When I got there, I hesitated. In the old days, I would have just opened the door and gone in. But that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t my home anymore; I was a visitor and possibly not even a welcome one. I rang the doorbell and George, the houseman, answered. I was glad some things hadn’t changed; George had been with my family my entire life. He gave me a genuine smile and reached out his hand. I clasped it like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver.
“It’s good to see you, sir. Welcome home.”
“Thanks, George. It’s good to be here.” I released his hand and stepped through the doorway.
“Your parents are in the drawing room. May I bring you anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. I’ll see myself in.”
My footsteps echoed on the marble floor, breaking the hushed silence around me. When I entered the drawing room and saw my parents, my heart raced. The years of separation melted away as I gazed at the people who had raised me, who had loved me as a child. I strode across the floor, my arms extended, ready to be engulfed in a hug. But when I reached them, neither stood and my arms dropped awkwardly to my sides. I felt a chill go through my body as though I had taken a plunge into the ocean.
My father gestured to a chair. “Please sit down, Michael. Obviously, you’re here because you want something. What is it?”
I stared at him. I hadn’t expected them to roll out the red carpet, but I hadn’t expected this frosty of a reception either. I turned to my mother, thinking maybe I’d see a glimmer of support from her. But her gaze was as cold as my father’s. For a moment, I thought about turning around and marching out of the room, leaving these two heartless creatures to themselves. But then I thought of Rita. I took a deep breath and sat down. I leaned forward in the chair, my hands gripped the armrests, and I told them about my life with Rita, the home we’d created, our family.
I thought my parents might feel some measure of pride for what I’d accomplished, but they just stared at me blankly. The first spark of emotion came when I told them about losing my job. My father shook his head and snorted. “What did you expect, Michael? You were a teacher-- employed by a state government. My God. What kind of job is that for someone with your pedigree?”
My mother spoke for the first time. “Michael, you realize we know all this. We’ve kept track of you. We know what you’ve done with your life.” She paused. “Or rather, what you haven’t done. Your lack of accomplishment.”
My hands curled into fists and I felt like smacking their smug, self-satisfied faces. But instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a photograph. “You say I haven’t accomplished anything. You’re wrong. These are my children, your grandchildren. And they’re pretty amazing.”
“Oh, Michael, really. That’s hardly an accomplishment. Anyone can reproduce.” My mother raised her eyebrow. “Obviously.” Her snide remark directed at Rita.
I stared at her. “It is an accomplishment to give your children a warm and loving home. And that’s exactly what Rita and I have done.”
“And I suppose we didn’t give you that,” my mother said. “Is that what you’re here to tell us?”
“Yes, Michael,” my father said. “Why don’t you tell us why you’re here? Although I think I can guess. You lost your job and you need money. Is that the gist of it?”
I opened my mouth, but before any words came out, my father raised his hand. “Let me make this easy for you, Michael. We’ll make a deal. Your mother and I would like to get to know our grandchildren. In exchange for visits with them, we’ll pay your monthly expenses until you get back on your feet.”
I shook my head. “That won’t do it. Rita’s sick. She has cancer.” I turned my palms up like a beggar pleading for some spare change. “I need money to pay for her treatment.”
My father exploded. “I am not willing to spend one penny of my money on that tramp you married.”
My mother cut in. “Michael, this could be the best thing to happen. You’re young. You could still marry the right woman.”
I was stunned. I felt as though my mother had tasered me. “Are you saying that you want Rita to die?”
“Yes,” my mother said. “I think that would be the best thing to happen to this family.”