Page 18 of The Session

After college, Mark moved into a small apartment a few blocks away in order to be close to his mother but still have his own space. Holly had an apartment in Chattanooga that her parents paid for, but she had moved in with Mark eleven months prior and used the Chattanooga apartment just when she had to be at the university.

“Did Devon fill you in on the latest about the sale?” Byron asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Mark said. “He just told me things were a little tricky.”

“They asked for an audit, and they’re claiming there are a lot more maintenance issues on the trucks and more depreciation than we thought, plus the value of the property. You know, it’s been a rough spot in this area for a while.” Byron hesitated. “I guess what I’m saying is they kind of hit us with a lowball offer. And I’m not able to do everything I was hoping to be able to do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mark said.

“Yeah, me too. I was hoping to be able to pass more on.” Byron paused. “Listen, you’re like a son to me, Mark. And I wish I could do more. But between that and the rising cost of insurance, I have certain obligations I’m committed to—ones that Kathy made me commit to for the kids when we got the divorce—that put me in an awkward situation.”

Mark had heard the phrase “like a son” so many times that it didn’t bother him anymore. He knew what Byron meant.

“I understand,” Mark said. “If you can put in a good recommendation for me with the company, that would be great.”

“Of course. I couldn’t get them to commit to hiring anybody, which was why I’d asked for them to bump up the payouts. And I’ll be able to get you something. Probably not a lot, but something,” he said.

Mark understood what Byron was trying to tell him. Mark’s cousins and stepsiblings were going to be getting cash payouts from the sale and Mark wasn’t. He had never felt truly part of the family business, so this didn’t come as a surprise. Byron’s ex-wife had been polite to Mark, probably made easier by the fact that he wasn’t her ex-husband’s progeny, but it was always clear who she thought his real children were. And if she ever thought Mark was getting something that should have gone to them, she’d put up a fight.

A key turned in the lock, and they looked toward the front door as Carol Greenley entered.

“Is the pizza here yet?” she asked in a chirpy voice.

Mark knew his mother’s patterns and understood that was the tone she used when she was trying to make light of an unfortunate situation. Byron had obviously told her the circumstances, and Mark suspected she might have been waiting to arrive precisely so Byron could explain himself.

Not wanting either of them to feel bad, Mark replied with a smile, “All gone. Sorry.”

His mother saw the bandage on his finger and hurried over to the table, lifting his wrist.

“Jesus Christ. Skid row?” she asked.

“No, the strip club out by the county line,” Mark replied.

“What’s the matter? You didn’t tip the girl enough?” she joked.

“Is that what you used to do?” Mark shot back.

Byron shook his head. He appreciated the irreverent humor between Mark and his mother, but more as an audience member than a participant.

“I used to take the entire arm—watch, rings, and all.”

“I was opening this OD’d dancer’s jacket, and a needle point was sticking out of the pocket and pricked me. But she tested negative on HIV and hepatitis, and the doctors are pretty sure I’m in the clear,” Mark explained.

Carol grabbed a can of Diet Dr Pepper from the refrigerator and sat down at the table. “I’ll be a lot happier when you move on to some other line of work.”

“Hey,” Byron said. “That line of work served me well for close to fifty years.”

Carol looked him in the eye. “And what do you have to show for it?”

Those were harsh words, but Mark could tell she was still blowing off steam from whatever conversation they’d had earlier.

“Well, thanks to Byron, I have a skill that’s in demand just about anywhere in the world,” Mark said, trying to defuse the tension. “I’ve got friends whose parents taught them jack all, and now they’ve got expensive student loans and are stuck delivering groceries.”

“How did the coaching position interview go?” Carol asked.

Not his favorite topic, but he hadn’t filled Mom in. “It was more of a get-to-know-you meeting. They said they’d keep me in mind if something came up. But on the bright side, I was able to secure a $10,000 donation to the athletic foundation.”

“From the college?” Carol exclaimed. “That’s wonderful.”