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The next week passes without Jimmy seeing much of Kim at all.
She comes into HHM for a few hours each day, working without a break, clearly distracted, and then takes off in the afternoon. The others seem to understand the midterm hell this signifies, as they wish her luck on her way out. Kim barely seems to hear them. Jimmy, too, tries to talk to her, but he feels like a man tapping on the other side of a glass cage, so eventually he stays silent, wishing he could think of a way to help.
Kim doesn’t call him at the hotel again, and Jimmy doesn’t have her number. He wonders whether he would use it if he did. He likes to hope he’d give Kim her space, but he knows that as early as Monday night he definitely would’ve caved, lying on his bed watching Billy Crystal crack jokes and The Silence of the Lambs win every single award, but thinking only of how panicked Kim had sounded the night before.
Jimmy goes out for drinks with the mailroom guys one day, Wednesday or Thursday maybe.
They head to a bar near the office, where Jimmy spots some associates from HHM laughing and letting off steam, venting about their current caseload. And to hear him, Burt, and Henry talk it’s almost as if the three of them are lawyers, too—or maybe it’s just that the only thing they have in common is work. Henry’s been at the company for so long that he’s gleaned enough information about the law to sound like an expert, and he tells them about some big class action suit that George Hamlin helmed many years ago.
Jimmy listens, rolling a half dollar back and forth over his knuckles and grimacing as Henry describes the side effects of the offending cosmetic company’s products.
Across the room, a man in a suit two sizes too big orders scotch after scotch and talks angrily into his chunky cellphone. Jimmy watches him. As Henry starts to get into the nitty-gritty of Hamlin’s class action case, Jimmy focuses instead on the businessman, straining to follow the man’s one-sided conversation and pick up enough personal information to get a read on him. Something to do with property, an investor—no, a realtor.
Jimmy flicks the half dollar off his knuckles and clutches it in his fist. Guys used to selling are sometimes the quickest people to get bought.
He doesn’t actually do anything, of course. He forces himself to tune back in to Henry’s story, and then the three of them chat for a little while longer—still work things, the kind of stuff Jimmy would have laughed about with Marco not so long ago, if he’d overheard it. Like whether it’s better to start on the fourth floor and work down, or begin on level two and go up. If it’s easier to handle Chloe getting annoyed when she hears the cart making the rounds above her, or if it’s better to start with her and in doing so piss off Aaron in the next cubicle, who likes his mail picked up at the last possible moment so there’s a chance he won’t have to deal with a response until tomorrow.
Jimmy thinks back to sitting in the Irish pub with Kim. How they’d barely spoken of work at all, in the end. He had slowly filled in more details about his sunroof story—and he almost laughs out loud now, thinking of Kim’s face when he’d mentioned Chet’s kids in the backseat. Even after that, when they’d backed off from the personal stuff, they’d talked with a kind of easy, effervescent energy. No mailroom tips—just movies and trivia: the new scene in the restoration of Spartacus and the making of The African Queen.
It’s nice being out with Burt and Henry, though. Jimmy appreciates the simple, if slightly boring, comradeship, and he’s grateful to them both for bringing him into the fold so comfortably. He feels like their missing piece in some ways—sitting between the youthful energy of Burt and the middle-aged resignation of Henry.
In other ways he feels worlds apart from them both. His eyes flick again to the scotch-sipping realtor in the ill-fitting suit.
But any night spent with friendly company outside the four walls of his room at the Ramada is a good night—and soon, before Jimmy realizes it, the week is almost over again, Friday afternoon rolling around with a late lunch break and a Kim Wexler who looks so dark-eyed and exhausted Jimmy’s amazed she’s still on her feet at all.
He finds her staring at the coffee machine in the breakroom as if she’s forgotten what it is, arms hanging limply at her sides. Jimmy slides past her and starts to brew a new batch. He thumbs the button then props his hip against the counter and watches her as the machine groans into life.
Kim blinks a few times and looks at him, eyes bleary.
He gives her a little smile, thin-lipped, and motions at the grumbling coffee machine.
Kim traces his gesture with her gaze then nods.
Twisting, he reaches up into the cupboard and pulls out a mug, one he’s seen her use before. He turns on the faucet and holds the mug under the water as it heats, slowly warming the china. He takes a clean dish towel from a drawer and dries the mug. Clasps the empty cup between his palms for a moment to make sure it’s hot, and then he fills it almost to the brim with fresh coffee and holds it out to Kim.
Kim takes the mug from him carefully, her fingers brushing his. She raises the cup to her lips and then sips it, closing her eyes. Jimmy leans back against the counter again, the sharp edge cutting into his hip, and the two of them stand like that in silence for a long time.
He can feel the ghost of her fingers like sunlight on his skin.
Then Kim holds out the mug, now empty, and Jimmy takes it. He turns away. Runs the cup under the faucet again, washing it out in the sink, as behind him he hears Kim move off and open and close her locker. He rinses the mug and props it up in the dish-rack. When he turns back, Kim has left—for her last midterm, he hopes—and he stares at her closed locker for a moment before going back to work.
That evening, halfway out the door, he stops. He returns to the mailroom and heads for the supply cupboard. Finds a new packet of Post-it notes and a black pen, then walks into the breakroom, flicking a switch and illuminating the space with guttering fluorescents.
Jimmy scribbles something on the top Post-it note. He studies it for a moment then smiles. With a little flourish, he peels off the pink square of paper and sticks it to the front of Kim’s locker, and then he walks out the door, flicking the light-switch off and plunging the room back into darkness.
The Post-it note is gone on Monday morning. Its absence is the first thing Jimmy notices when he steps back into the breakroom after another boring weekend wandering the streets of southern Albuquerque, past yellowing parks and strip malls. That Saturday afternoon he had found a small movie theater, and he’d sat in the dark watching Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson shoot basketballs and hustle everyone. On Sunday he had walked south, towards the airport. He’d watched the planes take off and land for hours as the sun set over the mountains. He’d felt peaceful. He’d felt like he was waiting for something.
The second thing he notices that morning is Kim. She’s facing away from the door, head propped on her hand.
Jimmy grins. “No rest for the wicked, eh?”
Kim twists to face him in her chair and smiles. Despite his words, she looks healthier than she has in weeks—well rested and bright eyed. “Morning, Jimmy.”
“Couldn’t you give the law books a break for a day or two?” Jimmy asks. He drops down into the seat beside her and peers over at the dense text she’s reading. “Yikes, is this contract stuff again?”
Kim closes the book and sighs. “I did take a break.”
“The walk from your car to this room doesn’t count as ‘a break’,” he says, doing air quotes.
Kim raises her eyebrows. “I also had the entire drive over.”
“Oh, well, the drive here? That’s just excessive,” Jimmy says. “We’ll have to do something about that. Stay late studying to make up for it.”
Kim chuckles. “Seriously, though. I spent all day yesterday on the couch watching movies.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep,” Kim says. “Wall to wall Kurt Russell action.”
“Right on,” Jimmy say, tapping the palm of his hand on the table like delivering a verdict. He studies Kim for a moment. “Should I ask about the midterms? I don’t wanna set off another ‘I only did way, way better than the rest of my class’ meltdown.”
“No meltdowns today,” Kim says. She stands and moves over to the coffee machine. Starts scooping coffee grounds into the top.
“So you did well?” Jimmy asks.
“Uh—I mean, we don’t actually get our results for a couple of weeks,” Kim replies as she pushes buttons on the machine.
Jimmy glances at the contract law book on the table near him. And there beside the book, stuck to the top of Kim’s notepad, is the pink Post-it. On it is a little drawing of a ponytailed woman in a graduation cap and down, and beneath it the words, The Honorable Kim Wexler.
Kim turns back to face him and notices the direction of his gaze. “Maybe not congratulations-you-graduated-two-years-early well, but I think I did okay, yeah.” She frowns. “What am I holding there, by the way?”
“A gavel,” Jimmy says. No duh.
“Huh,” Kim says. “I thought it was a battleaxe.”
Jimmy glances at the drawing again. Fine, he can see it. “It can be a battleaxe if you want.”
“No, I like the gavel,” Kim says, pouring them each a cup of coffee. She carries them back to the table, setting Jimmy’s down in front of him. “The enormous, axe-sized gavel.”
“Well, you need a real big gavel if you’re gonna be on the Supreme Court,” Jimmy says, nodding his thanks. “It’s in the name, Kim.”
Kim just smiles and rolls her eyes.
“So how long until your next week from hell?” Jimmy asks, picking up his cup and blowing on the coffee to cool it, staring at Kim over the rim.
“Not long enough,” Kim says. “A little over a month.”
Jimmy grimaces. He sips his coffee and hears himself swallow extra loudly, then he sets his mug down on the table. He glances at the half open door to the breakroom—no sign of anyone arriving in the mailroom proper. “I, uh—” he begins, then he switches his gaze back to Kim, who’s watching him curiously. “I got an apartment. Chuck helped me with the deposit on a place a few weeks back, and I’m moving in this weekend.” Another look to the doorway, then back to Kim. “I just mean…well, I won’t be at the Ramada much longer. If you needed to…” He shrugs. “Call me again.”
Understanding dawns on Kim’s face. “Jimmy,” she says softly. “I’m sorry I woke you up at two in the morning.”
Jimmy frowns. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says eventually.
Kim settles back in her chair and studies him, folding her lips inwards. “No, I should. It was invasion.” She worries her lips again. “You didn’t tell me where you were staying so that I could bully the desk clerk and wake you up in the middle of the night.”
“Well, maybe not,” Jimmy says, giving her a small smile. “But I wasn’t looking for an apology.”
“Okay,” Kim says simply.
“What I was going to say is that, once I get set up in the new apartment, maybe I can give you the number,” Jimmy says, glancing down at Kim’s hands on her cup of coffee. “Just in case, right?” He gives a light little laugh.
Kim’s eyes twinkle. “Just in case,” she repeats.
“I mean, yeah,” Jimmy says. He grins. “Hey, unless you think you’re not gonna need some patented soothing Jimmy McGill chit-chat in the middle of finals week, but, no offense, Kim”—he makes a show of studying her up and down—“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Patented, huh?” Kim says, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh yeah,” Jimmy drawls.
“Patents have to be novel, Jimmy,” Kim says lightly. “You stole that whole watch-a-movie-with-me thing from When Harry Met Sally.”
Jimmy shakes his head. “They watched Casablanca. That’s completely different.”
Kim chuckles. She scribbles something on the bottom of her notepad then tears it off and hands it to him. “If my roommate answers, try to head her off quickly or she’ll chew your ear off for hours. Any willing victim. Or unwilling.”
Jimmy tucks the paper into his front shirt pocket and pats it. “Thanks,” he says softly.
“And I wouldn’t say no to Casablanca,” Kim says. She raises her eyebrows again. “You know…just in case.”
The musical tone of the elevator rings out, and with it the sound of somebody arriving in the mailroom. Jimmy leans back in his chair, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The folded paper in his chest pocket sits like a firebrand over his heart.
“Kim!” Burt says, as he walks into the breakroom. “You survived!”
Kim smiles warmly, and her eyes flick to Jimmy’s for a moment.
“I did,” she says.
Jimmy packs up his stuff at the Ramada that Sunday. There’s not much to take, and his clothes still easily fit in the single suitcase he brought from Chicago. He buckles it shut and then walks around the hotel room, checking under the bed and in the nightstand. Nothing left.
The bathroom cabinet, too, is empty. He closes it, and his reflection looks back at him from above the sink. His hair has grown out a little by now, and it hangs over his forehead boyishly. Somewhere in between Chuck’s neat parting and his own old Cicero look. Jimmy runs his fingers through it and studies himself. There’s still something about him that seems more dive-bar and back-alley than office mailroom. Something around the corners of his eyes, maybe.
What does that guy want? he wonders, and he watches the way he frowns as if he’s watching a stranger do it.
Everybody wants something. And once you figure out what it is…
Jimmy throws on a smile and does finger guns. “Stick ‘em,” he says, and then he drops his hands and walks away.
Later that day, Jimmy sits at the end of his new bed as his little TV scans through the channels. It flickers from static to color, bursts of local news stations or commercials. Jimmy shifts, tapping his palms on the edge of the mattress and then turning to stare out his front door. It’s open, and from outside he can hear the sounds of people in the pool and the steady drone of traffic down the nearby road.
The apartment complex is boxy and sterile-looking, like most things in Albuquerque to Jimmy’s eyes, and his rooms feel as half-finished as the architecture. He’s renting the place unfurnished, and even after the few things he ordered arrive, they sit in the square rooms like decorations in a dollhouse—somehow over-simplified, missing the fine, microscopic touches and details that make a place feel like a home.
The TV finishes scanning. Jimmy searches through the stations for a while before settling on an episode of Jeopardy!, where Alex Trebek looks out at him kindly. He spotted a Thai place on the bus ride over, maybe a five minute walk away, and he thinks in a while he could head down and pick up some takeout and a menu.
Jimmy glances at his fridge. Stuck to the door with a novelty hot air balloon magnet is the scrap of paper with Kim’s number on it.
He hasn’t used it yet. He imagines using it now, dialing the number with his new phone and saying, Hey, I missed talking to you today. I missed joking early in the morning, I missed getting a coffee from the cart outside and people-watching, and I missed smoking together in the parking garage. Because where, before her midterms, Jimmy would sometimes exchange only a couple of hellos with Kim, especially on days when she seemed busy studying, over the last week the two of them have filled their days with conversation, approaching each other during breaks or down time like a default state.
Like something you could set your watch by.
And yet the conversations with Kim are the only things that really change for Jimmy each day. The mailroom job, the work itself, is slowly slipping into routine, and the weeks feel like they're sliding past faster and faster. Watching Alex awkwardly interview the three Jeopardy! contestants, Jimmy realizes it’s hard for him to separate the days in his memory—what happened last Thursday, what happened last Wednesday? It’s a symptom of the kind of plodding, auto-pilot office life he had always revolted against, had always raged against the thought of. Same as it ever was, he thinks. Same as it ever was.
He switches off Jeopardy! and leans back, lying flat on his bed with his fingers laced behind his head.
Wednesday…Wednesday, more documents had come in for the Westerbrook divorce case, files and files of depositions conducted over the last couple of weeks. Depositions filled with terrible accusations and vitriol. And Jimmy has seen a picture of the couple’s kid by now, the young girl gripped tightly by her hand as her mother drags her into the passenger seat of a Ferrari.
A child laughs nearby, the sound bubbling up from out by the pool. Jimmy pushes himself upright and slips on his shoes, then wanders over to pick his keys up off the table. His keys. He jangles them in his hand as he steps out his door, pulling it closed and locking it.
Through a gap between the square apartments, the Sandias rise proudly from the yellow New Mexico soil, burnt orange against the soft afternoon sky.
Jimmy’s wheeling his mail cart through the second floor when he hears somebody call his name. He stops. Turns back and sees Howard and Chuck standing together outside Howard’s office. Howard beckons Jimmy over, so Jimmy tucks his mail cart into a corner and approaches them.
“Jimmy!” Howard says, grinning broadly and clapping him on the shoulder. “Speak of the devil!”
Jimmy raises his eyebrows and glances at Chuck, who inclines his head in greeting.
“Listen, Chuck here says you’re the man to ask about this,” Howard says. Another quick look at Chuck’s face confirms that, whatever this means, it’s not what his brother had expected. “All the extra media scrutiny recently has really knocked morale. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Uh…” Jimmy says. It’s true that many of the associates have seemed a little withdrawn whenever he stops by their cubicles or offices recently—bar Carl Vernon, who’s been on cloud nine since getting the case.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy, I’m not explaining myself clearly,” Howard says. “Chuck and I were just discussing ideas. Something fun to get the troops’ spirits up.”
Chuck grimaces and nods his head to Jimmy. “I said that was always more your department.”
Jimmy grins at him. “My department?”
“Well, you were always the entertainer in the household.”
Something warm and electrified uncurls in Jimmy’s stomach. “You mean like the McGill Family Showcase?”
Chuck closes his eyes for a long moment. “I’d forgotten…”
“What’s this?” Howard asks eagerly, eyes darting between them.
“The McGill Family Showcase!” Jimmy says, and he claps his hands before him with a hollow noise then spreads them out wide. “Only the best evening of the year, the step-right-up highlight of your social calendar!”
Howard looks at him, eyebrows climbing into his hairline.
“We needed something to keep Jimmy amused at family gatherings. He was the only child there, usually,” Chuck says. “He’d put on little plays. Try on costumes and different voices. They were…charming.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jimmy says. “Just ‘charming’? I was born to be on stage.”
Chuck looks at him flatly, and Howard chuckles. “Well, not quite what I had in mind,” Howard says. “Though maybe I could share around the company’s box seats at the city theater. Good idea, Jimmy,” he adds, with another pat on Jimmy’s arm as he walks away.
“The McGill Family Showcase…” Chuck mutters, watching Howard go. “Jesus, Jimmy, I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Yeah, well, some of us’ll always remember your turn as the evil groundskeeper taken down by Shaggy and Scooby,” Jimmy says. “Whiskers made a great fake dog. Those white sheets were never the same, though.”
“I believe I was channeling King Hamlet,” Chuck says.
“Sure, if King Hamlet did a lot of screaming.”
Chuck turns to face him and studies him for a moment. “Look, I’ve been meaning to track you down, anyway, Jimmy,” he says, finally. “Rebecca’s mother is coming around for Easter dinner this Sunday. It’s just a little family thing.”
Jimmy makes a little noise of curiosity, and waits.
“You’re invited, too, of course,” Chuck says. “It’ll be quiet. You don’t need to bring anything.”
“Sure, Chuck,” Jimmy says, and he smiles.
“Sunday at six o’clock,” Chuck says.
Jimmy nods. “I’ll be there.”
The dinner ends up getting moved to Saturday because of a change in Rebecca’s schedule, and so, at five minutes to six that Saturday evening, Jimmy stands outside Chuck’s door for the second time. He rings the bell.
Rebecca answers. She looks beautiful, and she smiles widely at Jimmy in welcome.
“Here,” Jimmy says, handing her a bottle of wine. “Chuck said not to bring anything, but I thought…”
“No, this is perfect, Jimmy—ooh, a Syrah!” Rebecca says, peering at the label. “Looks good. Come in, come in, leave your shoes on.”
Jimmy steps inside the house. He can hear quiet conversation from the dining room and classical music is playing from somewhere in the lounge. He follows Rebecca through to the voices—Chuck is seated at the table beside an old woman who has the same smile-lines around her eyes as Rebecca.
“You must be James!” she says, creaking to her feet and holding out her arms.
Jimmy embraces her—she smells like lavender, but not soapy. Floral and fresh.
“I’m Betty,” she says, pulling back but still holding Jimmy by the shoulders, studying him. “If Chuck still won’t call me ‘Mom’ I doubt I can get you to, so Betty will have to do.”
“Betty,” Jimmy repeats. “And it’s Jimmy, please.”
“Oh, but James is so much more distinguished,” Betty says. She releases him and turns to the others. “Don’t you think so?”
Chuck gives an odd little laugh.
“Wine, Jimmy?” Rebecca asks. “Beer? I think we have some…”
“No, wine sounds good,” Jimmy says, and he sits at the table next to Betty. There’s a plate of crudités in the middle of the table. He pops a carrot into his mouth and crunches.
“So Rebecca tells me you work at HHM, too,” Betty says.
Jimmy swallows. “Sort of. I’m in the mailroom.”
“Oh!” Betty says delightedly. “My Arnold started out at the post office. He loved it there.”
Rebecca walks back into the room and hands Jimmy a glass of wine. She nods to Chuck, says, “Chicken’s in the oven,” and sits down opposite Jimmy. “We’re having a roast,” she says. “Nothing so fancy as last time, I’m afraid.”
Jimmy shakes his head. “No, it sounds great,” he says, and he takes a sip of his wine. He’s no expert, but it tastes much more expensive than the bottle he brought.
And, despite Rebecca’s deprecating words, soon incredible smells start to emerge from the kitchen, too, smells that remind Jimmy of Thanksgiving and family holidays. The red wine gives him a pleasant buzz, and he listens to Betty’s stories about her time in England and her chaotic book club at the local library with a genuine smile on his face. She’s a good storyteller, and energetic in a way that reminds him of his own mother, and he’s stupidly thankful for her. When Chuck brings to the table a bowl of roast vegetables and Rebecca carries out a glistening roast chicken, Jimmy feels more content than he has for some time—content in the way he remembers being as a child. Taken care of.
The phone rings as Rebecca’s carving the chicken.
“I’ll get it,” Chuck says, pushing back his chair and wandering into the neighboring lounge. Jimmy hears him answer, and then quietly chatter to whoever is on the other end of the line.
“Wing, Jimmy? Leg?” Rebecca offers.
“Uh, anything’s great,” Jimmy says, and Rebecca heaps shreds of white meat on his plate. “This all looks incredible.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca says. She finishes serving herself and Betty, then glances into the lounge for a moment before piling some chicken on Chuck’s plate, too, and sitting down.
Betty passes around a bowl of green beans and Jimmy takes it, spooning some onto his plate and then handing it along to Rebecca.
“…I will. Yes, he’s here. Okay. You too. Bye,” Chuck says, wandering back into the dining room. He holds the phone out to Jimmy. “It’s Mom.”
Jimmy stands and takes it from him. He steps out of the dining room and into the darkly-lit lounge, pressing the phone close to his ear. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, honey.”
“How are you?” Jimmy asks softly. “You doing anything special?”
“Well, I went to the service this morning,” Ruth says. She doesn’t ask whether he went to church; she never does, anymore. “And I had an early dinner at The Pearl with some people from the bridge club.”
“That sounds nice,” Jimmy says.
“It was,” Ruth says. She gives a little wistful sigh. “And now I’m having a lovely night watching Cary Grant woo uh…oh, what’s her name, Jimmy? With the little dog.”
“…Katharine Hepburn?” Jimmy suggests.
“No, I mean, she has a little dog in those other movies.”
“Uh, I don't know...The Thin Man?”
“Maybe,” his mother says. “Tell me what happens in that.”
Jimmy grins, and he leans against the wall, tipping his head back so his skull hits the wood. He tries to remember as much of the plot as he can and butchers it, his heart swelling as his mother chuckles on the other end of the crackly phone line. She’s always been his favorite audience. When he tells her a story, it feels as if she becomes a part of it, becomes an accomplice in the telling.
“Yes, that’s her,” Ruth says, after he wraps it up a few minutes later. “Yes, Myrna Loy. She’s wonderful.”
Jimmy hums in agreement. “Yeah. So Cary Grant is wooing her in this?”
“Yes,” Ruth says. She sniffs. “Shirley Temple is in it, too.”
Jimmy stares up at Chuck’s ceiling, tracing the cornice with his gaze. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“It’s a good one.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy says. They’re silent for a little while, and Jimmy sinks back against the wall, eyes upwards still.
“So, are you having a nice night at Chuck’s?” Ruth finally asks.
Jimmy nods and then says, “Yeah. It’s really great.”
“Good.”
He hears movement in the other room and shifts back up from the wall. “Mom, I should go, we were just sitting down to dinner.”
“Of course,” Ruth says. She breathes out slowly. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t,” Jimmy says quietly. “Love you.”
“I love you, too, honey,” Ruth says, and she says goodnight, and hangs up.
Jimmy puts the handset down and closes his eyes for a moment, exhales once, and then walks back into the dining room. Chuck, Rebecca and Betty look up at him, their plates loaded with food and cutlery untouched.
“Oh,” Jimmy says. “I’m sorry. You could have started.”
“Nonsense,” Betty says. “Now sit, sit.”
Jimmy plops down beside her, and takes the bowl of roast vegetables Chuck’s holding out to him. He puts some on his plate quickly and then digs in, glancing around apologetically at the others as they finally do, too. He eats a mouthful of chicken and swallows it then says, “Seems like Mom’s doing real well.”
Chuck lifts his eyes up to meet Jimmy’s. “Doing well?” he repeats.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, taking another bite of food and chewing. “Going out with friends, you know?”
“Hmm,” Chuck says. “She should be careful.”
“Chuck,” Rebecca says warily.
But Jimmy frowns. “Careful?”
There's a beat of silence, then Chuck adds, “She’s hard up for money.”
“What?” Jimmy sets down his fork. “Mom needs money?”
Chuck puts his own cutlery down, too. “You know that Dad’s life insurance barely covered the funeral, Jimmy. They had no nest egg.”
Jimmy didn’t know this. He takes a sip of wine.
“It’s hard for her these days,” Chuck says.
“What about Social Security?” Jimmy asks.
Betty makes a little noise in her throat and pours some more gravy on her plate.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Rebecca says. “Chuck, you’ve barely told us about your new case!”
“Yes, of course,” Chuck says, nodding at her. “Howard isn’t optimistic, and I already think we may need to set up a co-defense with—”
“If Mom needs money, can’t you send her some?” Jimmy asks, pressing forward in his chair. “I mean”—he gestures around the house—“look at all this, you’ve got loads, right? If Mom’s struggling, why can’t you—”
“For God’s sake, Jimmy. I do,” Chuck says.
“Oh,” Jimmy says. He shifts back from the table again.
Chuck clears his throat. “She hasn’t been able to get her market stall set up since the operation. She relied a lot on that little income,” he says. “So, yes, I’ve been sending her money.”
Jimmy feels something cold sink in his stomach. “The operation?”
“Yes, Jimmy. The operation. She had knee surgery.”
“What? When?”
“Maybe six months ago,” Chuck says curtly. “She’s healing well.”
Jimmy sinks back in his chair.
“Honestly, Jimmy,” Chuck says. His tone seems to drop deeper, and he stares at Jimmy with dark, intense eyes. “How you expected to stay informed about your family when you’ve been completely out of contact—off living like a—”
“Chuck!” Rebecca says sharply. At Chuck’s resulting silence, she jerks her head to Betty, and Chuck looks mollified.
Jimmy swallows thickly. He pushes a green bean around on his plate. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Rebecca says. “You didn’t know.”
Jimmy nods, a little jerkily. He takes another bite of his food. It tastes dry and cardboardy now, and it’s hard to get down. But he looks at Rebecca and smiles. “The roast is incredible,” he says. “What’s on the chicken?”
“Garlic and thyme,” Rebecca says warmly.
“It’s really good,” Jimmy says, and the others murmur in agreement.
Betty makes the noise at the back of her throat again, and then she says, “Now, you’ll have heard this enough already, Rebecca, dear, but I have to tell these boys about the time your father and I got lost on the way to the Grand Canyon…”
Later that evening, Jimmy lies on the top of his covers, his little TV playing Growing Pains on mute. It’s the only light source in the room, and it casts tinted shadows that shift and fade with the picture. He thinks about his mother, alone in Cicero. He thinks about his mother in a hospital room just six months ago, and something sharp and painful presses at the back of his throat.
He holds his phone in one hand, the cord draped across him and over the bed. He doesn’t need to check the number. He just punches it in and holds the phone to his ear, and the sound of the line connecting is like a life support machine, beeping and whirring.
Then: “…Hello?”
“Hey, Kim,” he says quietly.
Kim gives a light laugh. “Wow, it’s not even ten o’clock, yet. Way too early to call”—and then her voice gets more distant—“No, I got it! Yeah, it’s for me”—then back to normal—“Sorry, my roommate. Hey, Jimmy.”
“Hey,” he says again.
He hears a door shut and the sound of Kim shifting. Sitting down, maybe.
“I can call back later, if you’d rather,” Jimmy says lightly.
“Nah, this’ll do,” Kim says. “So did you finally find a channel showing Casablanca? ”
“Not yet,” he says. “Billy Crystal makes it look so easy.”
“Damn.”
He chuckles softly, and then they’re silent. Jimmy sighs. In the corner of his eye, the family moves about quietly on the TV, sitting down together around a coffee table. “I had dinner at Chuck’s tonight,” he says.
There’s an intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then Kim says, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “Like an Easter thing, I guess. With his wife, and her mother, too.”
There’s another moment of silence before Kim says, “I’ve seen his wife at the holiday parties. She seems nice.”
“She is,” Jimmy says. “Her mother’s even nicer, she’s like…a cartoon. A cartoon grandma.”
Kim chuckles. “Sounds like a good time,” she says. There’s another rustling noise, as if she’s settling deeper into her chair. She inhales. “Did something happen?”
Jimmy closes his eyes. He presses the phone tighter against his ear, close enough he can hear the soft static of the open line. “I dunno,” he whispers. “Chuck told me something about Mom…” He swallows. “I just feel…” His words hang there, unfinished.
“Is your mom still around?” Kim asks eventually.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. The lights of the television dance kaleidoscopically on the stucco. “Yeah, she’s back home in Cicero. She’s been different since Dad died, but this whole time I thought she was happy and doing well.” He sighs. “‘Cause she’s super tough, right? Doesn't let anything show. Not like Dad. Mom was always… she’s, what’s the word? Indomitable. She’s indomitable.” He bites his lip, pinching the skin hard between his teeth. “But she was in the hospital, Kim. Surgery. Just a few months ago, while I was still there.”
A little noise comes down the line from Kim.
“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” Jimmy watches the shapes in the lights on the stucco. “I get that Chuck’s the responsible one, the one who’ll always help, and he’s great at it. And he’s right to get angry, because it must be so tough on him, being the rock.” The TV show cuts to commercial, and, for a split second, the room is dark. Jimmy listens to the soft static of the phone line. Then blue lights rise up again, glimmering above him. “But she could’ve told me,” he whispers.
Kim breathes. It takes her a long time to answer. “I don’t know, Jimmy. Parents—” she begins, and then he hears her swallow. “Parents…they’re not some great thing. They’re not indomitable.” There’s another gap, quiet and static-filled. “Sometimes they make mistakes. And it’s up to you whether—” She doesn’t finish the thought.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, eventually. “Yeah. But…” He lets the word trail off into nothing. He thinks of his mother alone and closes his eyes. “I just miss her, I guess,” he says to the darkness of the back of his eyelids.
“So call her,” Kim says gently in his ear.
Jimmy laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” He smiles and opens his eyes again. “But what about you, how’s the weekend study session going? Full on, I hope.”
“You know it,” Kim says. They’re quiet for a little, and then she says, “Hey, we got our midterm results back.”
Jimmy sits upright. “Kim! What? How did you do?”
There’s another silence, but this time Jimmy can swear he feels the smile coming straight down the wire, because he’s already grinning himself by the time Kim says, “Best in the class! All A’s or A plusses across the board, even the stuff I was a bit worried about, and yeah, it wasn’t perfect, but for next time—”
“Kim!” Jimmy cries, gesturing wildly even though she can’t see him, and then smiling when she falls silent. “Kim. Shut up about next time, seriously. Live in the moment. Bask in it.”
“I’m basking, I’m basking,” Kim says, words light with laughter.
“More Kurt Russell?” Jimmy asks.
“Okay, not quite that much basking.”
Jimmy makes a dismissive noise with his lips. “Not this again. You gotta celebrate.” He stares at the colorful commercials on the television. Wilford Brimley gestures importantly about oats. A car drives smoothly down a country road. “We should do something tomorrow,” he says finally. “We should see a movie.”
There’s a long silence from the other end of the line, but when Kim speaks he can hear the wistful tone in her voice. “I don’t know if I can, Jimmy.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy says placatingly.
“I’m just so busy.”
Jimmy nods. He waits, timing his moment, then says, “So what if we make it a law movie?”
Kim snorts, and the phone line fills with bubbly laughter.
Jimmy joins in, chuckling warmly and pressing a hand down on his chest. “Come on,” he says, after a little while. “Come on, Kim.”
Kim exhales. “All right, then,” she says. “A law movie. What did you have in mind?”
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