“What do you mean?”
“Ask her.”
“Does this mean I have the job?”
“You’ll have my answer tonight, Mr. Bass.”
When I arrive home, I tell Portia everything, and she laughs and laughs and explains Mother Catherine’s relationship to Mr. Vernon’s mother, how they both were nuns in the same convent and also best friends, “although they talked badly about each other all the time like an old married couple, which was hilarious. They bickered even when Sister Maeve was on her deathbed! Mr. Vernon’s mom referred to Mother Catherine as the Crab.”
“Wow. Mother Catherine does have these enormous hands,” I say. “And you’re not going to believe this. When she shook my hand—I felt a pinch.”
“Shut up!”
“I swear.”
We both laugh.
Then I add, “But don’t you think it’s a little uncanny that I end up interviewing with a friend of Mr. Vernon’s mom, after all that’s happened?”
Portia touches the crucifix hanging around her neck. “No weirder than my meeting Sister Maeve by accident on a plane and then finding out she’s the mother of my favorite English teacher.”
At eight o’clock Portia and I are staring at my cell phone on the kitchen counter, and when it rings we lock eyes for a second before I pick it up and say, “Hello?”
“Let me talk to Portia,” Mother Catherine says, without even identifying herself.
“She wants to talk to you,” I say to Portia.
Portia’s eyebrows arch as I hand her the cell phone, and then she’s chatting away with Mother Catherine like they’re long-lost friends.
For a half hour I sit there as Portia tells Mother Catherine all about her time with Mr. Vernon in Vermont and New York City, going on and on, when I just want to know whether I got the job or not.
They talk about Mr. Vernon’s deceased mother next, and what a pistol she was. “So feisty,” Portia says more than once. And then Portia is nodding and saying, “Um-hmm,” over and over again, writing things down on the magnetized scratch pad we keep on the refrigerator.
I’m shocked when Portia hangs up without allowing me to speak with Mother Catherine, but then she says, “You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Why didn’t you let me talk to her?”
“She didn’t want to talk to you. I’m sorry. You don’t tell the Crab what to do.”
“Bad news first,” I say, because my heart is pounding.
“The nonnegotiable starting pay is only twenty-five grand a year plus benefits, and those are sort of shitty, from what I gathered.”
“I got the job?”
“That’s the good news. They want you to start tomorrow. Orientation begins at eight thirty sharp, and Mother Catherine recommends you give yourself plenty of time because of Philly commuter traffic. She says she doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”
“How does she know I’ll be taking the job?”
“She said Jesus told her you would accept.”
“What?” I laugh. “Is this weird or what?”
“Your getting hired to do what you’ve always wanted to do?”
“Just the way it happened, right? Bizarro!”
“Let’s celebrate! Congratulations!” Portia says, and then she’s in my arms.
We head over to Danielle’s and Tommy’s. Johnny Rotten’s drinking a beer on the futon, looking very much at home.
I ignore the fact that he’s living in my apartment for free and excitedly tell my sister the good news.
“Nice,” she says, and then carries a bowl of Cinnamon Life and a Budweiser to the futon.
“This is what I’ve worked so hard for,” I say, feeling a little kicked in the balls by Danielle’s nonchalance.
“Congrats,” Johnny Rotten says and lifts his beer in the air.
Danielle halfheartedly lifts her beer too. “Super congrats, bro. Happy for you.”
They aren’t exactly rude, but they clearly aren’t excited for me either.
“Mind if we take Tommy out to celebrate?” Portia says, breaking the awkward tension.
“I bet he’d like that,” Danielle says, and I notice that she’s wearing long sleeves, which makes some part of my brain wonder if she’s hiding track marks. The air conditioning is cranked up, and it’s freezing in here, so I tell myself I’m being paranoid as I make my way to Tommy’s bedroom.
He’s got his headphones on like usual, so I sneak up behind him and tap his shoulder. I move left when he looks over his right shoulder, and when he turns the other way to face me, I remove his headphones. “Guess what? I got a teaching job!”
“Awesome!” he yells, and then he’s in my arms and I’m lifting him up over my head so he can fly Superman style.
We take him to Friendly’s and gorge on celebration sundaes.
When the bill comes, I insist on paying, and then we’re driving home in the old man’s Ford when Tommy says, “Can I stay with you guys tonight?”
“School night for me, buddy. I’m a legit working man now,” I say. “Sorry.”
“I don’t want to live with my mom anymore,” Tommy says.
“Why?” Portia asks.
“I don’t know,” he says.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
“No.”
“You can tell us anything,” Portia says.
“I know.”
“Did Johnny Rotten do something to you?”