“I’m saying, if that’s so important to you, why not volunteer? Or do you just passively do whatever the draft board tells you?”
“I took an action, Becky.”
“Yeah, you scored your point. Too bad it didn’t count.”
Stretching the phone cord, she filled a glass with water at the sink.
“I made a mistake,” Clem said. “I should have quit school a year ago. Do you think I’m happy about it?”
The water was deliciously cold, February cold.
“No,” she said, “I’m sure it’s very frustrating. When do you ever make a mistake?”
“I called you because I was thinking of coming home for a while. You’re not exactly making me want to.”
“What did you expect at seven in the morning?”
“How else was I supposed to reach you?”
“I’m really busy. Okay? I don’t care if you come home, but don’t do it for my sake.”
“Becky.”
“What.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m really happy. At least I was until you woke me up.”
“I turn my back for one minute, and it’s like you’re a different person. I mean—the Baptist church? Seriously? You’re going to the Baptist church? You’re giving away your inheritance?”
Now she saw why he’d been trying to reach her: he had no other way to control her from a different city. She additionally resented her mother, for telling tales to him.
“I’m not your baby sister anymore,” she said. “I can do my own thinking.”
“You don’t remember talking about this? You don’t remember me fighting with Dad about it? You said you were keeping the money. You said you wanted to go to a great school.”
“That’s what you wanted for me.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I still have enough money for two years at Lawrence or Beloit. I can do the rest with financial aid.”
“But I don’t want your money.”
“If you don’t understand Christian charity, there’s no explaining it.”
“Oh, there we go. Is this something Tanner talked you into?”
“You mean, because I’m too stupid to think for myself?”
“I mean the Holy Roller thing. He was always kind of a Jesus freak.”
She was flooded with pure hatred. Clem had managed, in a single breath, to insult her intelligence, her boyfriend, and her faith.
“For your information,” she said coldly, “Tanner loves First Reformed. I’m the one who doesn’t.”
“And he goes along with it? ‘That’s cool, babe, whatever you say’？”
So much for his being sorry he’d called Tanner passive.
“Tanner accepts who I am,” she said. “That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Accept what? That you believe in angels and devils and Holy Spirits? That I’m bound for hell because I don’t believe in fairy tales? Forgive me for thinking you were smarter than that.”
“Do you have any idea how sick I am of hearing that?”
“Hearing what?”
“‘You’re too smart for this, you’re too smart for that.’ You’ve been saying it all my life, and you know what? Maybe I’m sick of being made to feel stupid.”
“Yeah, well. I guess you don’t have to worry about that with Tanner.”
She was too offended to speak.
“Maybe you should go ahead and marry him. Pop out a kid, forget about college, join the Baptist church. Nobody will expect you to be smart there. I’ll be roasting in hell, so you won’t have to worry about me.”
“This is why you woke me up? You needed to insult me?”
Something rustled at Clem’s end of the line. “I was pissed off,” he said, “that you never call me back. But you’re right—I get it. If I were you, I’d rather be out boning a rock star myself. He has such a cool van.”
“Jesus. Are you drunk?”
“You think I give a shit who’s boning who? You’ve got your rock star, Dad’s got his little parishioner—”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about penis and vagina. Do I really have to explain it to you?”
She was appalled that she’d ever confided in him, appalled that she’d admired him.