Nathanial made a sudden U-turn and pointed the Chevy pickup toward his mother’s house. It had been six months since she’d passed away and he still hadn’t finished going through her things. The house had to be empty before it could be put on the market. Marcy, his wife, repeatedly told him how ridiculous it was to pay taxes on an unoccupied property. Last night she threatened to call Got Junk if he didn’t get his tuchus over there and get to work on it.
Nathanial sighed. He’d have to miss his early morning Torah study group, a considerable sacrifice. He loved delving into Biblical law with his buddies early in the morning before the work day started.
The sun was just coming up on the streets of his hometown. Memories tapped for his attention. His mother waiting with him on the front porch for the school bus on winter mornings. The dance their little black dog Skippy did to celebrate his coming home. Nathanial found a nearly clean tissue in the pocket of his jeans and blew his nose. His real estate business was finally taking off and he had a full day ahead of him. He had to stay sharp.
“Emotional nonsense,” he told himself, imagining something Marcy might say.
His mother was a nervous, quiet woman, who’d never worked outside the home. Marcy was nothing like his mother. His wife was a sharp-eyed woman who could add a column of twenty rent checks in her head. When they first met, her...
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