Housebreaking Read Free Page B

at family gatherings, listening to their inane opinions about Bill Clinton and George W. Bush, their crass jokes. He shouldn’t have tried so hard. They’d turned against him openly ten years ago, after the blowout with Judy over the Dutch au pair. But they’d never liked him. They were Italians; he was a Jew, and their sister had converted to marry him. Sometimes they’d even called him that to his face as a sort of joke: “the Jew.”
    Anthony was wearing his usual ripped jeans and T-shirt. He had a closely cropped head with a long, thin string of hair growing from the nape of his neck, like a rat’s tail. He was the talker in the family; the other two rarely said a word.
    â€œTwenty years you jerked my sister around,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve never been married,” said Benjamin. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œNo?” He flicked away his cigarette and pulled a pile of clothes onhangers out of the bed of the truck and tossed them onto the driveway. Benjamin noticed his navy blue Brioni on the top of the pile, his best suit. He’d worn it to weddings and parties, never to work. On sale it had cost him eight hundred bucks.
    â€œYou ruined her life,” said Anthony, stepping close to Benjamin. “That’s what she told me this morning. Her exact words.”
    Benjamin held his gaze, feeling vulnerable in his socks. Both brothers were wearing heavy boots flecked with cut grass. “Yeah, well. She had some things to say about you over the years, believe me.”
    â€œFuck you,” said Anthony.
    Lou quickly stepped between them. “Cut the high school stuff.” He shoved his brother back. “Look,” he said to Benjamin. “You got no reason to go back to the house. This is all your junk right here. Judy doesn’t want to see you anymore.”
    â€œThat’s the way it’s going to be,” said Anthony. “Got it?”
    Benjamin didn’t answer.
    The brothers got into the truck and backed out, running over his suit.
    Leonard joined Benjamin in the driveway, squinting into the sun. “A shame, throwing around private belongings like garbagemen. You should tell Judy what they did.”
    Benjamin picked up his suit. There was a tire tread on the front lapel. Maybe the dry cleaner could get it out.
    â€œJudy sent them.”
    â€œNot Judy. She wouldn’t do that.”
    â€œWell, she did.”
    â€œShe’ll cool off. She’s a fine woman. A good mother.”
    Maybe she would cool off, but Benjamin doubted it. Temper, temper , he used to lecture, like a schoolmarm, whenever she lost it and started yelling at some slowpoke driver or snippy salesclerk. Maybe she hadn’t told her brothers to trash his stuff, but she certainly had packed it up and told them to take it away. Take him out of her life.
    Benjamin gathered the rest of his clothes, his hands trembling with adrenaline. He was conscious of Franky DiLorenzo, watching from his front lawn next door, a water hose in his hand. Benjamin rubbed the tears from his eyes. It always happened when he felt angry or threatened, ever since he was a child, this sudden welling. He never cried when he was sad, not even when his mother died—not at her funeral, not eventhe night before her death when she’d told him in a moment of lucidity, You’re my love, Benjamin. You always were.
    A car pulled up on the street. A man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt got out and strolled up the driveway, pursing his lips. “How much for the skis?” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe skis. What are you asking?”
    Leonard and Benjamin stood staring at the man.
    â€œThis a tag sale, isn’t it?” the man asked.
    Benjamin sighed. “Sure.” He hadn’t gone skiing for five or six years, not since the kids rebelled against weekends in the woods near Okemo with nothing to do, so far from their friends.