Cutting Teeth(14)
“Mm, yeah, of course.” Mary Beth feels a sense of maternal protectiveness over Miss Ollie, the way she does for all of Noelle and Angeline’s babysitters. She enjoys hearing their plans, their goals, their relationship drama. “Did you hear Bex bit Lena? George’s mom called me a few minutes ago to tell me.”
She has big girl-next-door eyes. Probably very popular in high school. And college. “Really? That’s number seven.”
“You’re keeping track?”
“I think it’s important to.” Miss Ollie reaches into her canvas tote and pulls out a notebook. She uncaps a pen with her mouth. “I come from a research background. Data points are my love language.” She flashes a grin; her bottom teeth are a little crooked. Mary Beth never noticed. Probably didn’t wear her retainer religiously. Mary Beth will definitely make her girls wear theirs every single night until she’s dead.
Miss Ollie leafs through the pages of her notebook and begins printing Bex Feinstein’s name along with the date on a fresh line. “I’ve been doing my own research.” She talks as she writes. “There’s a syndrome associated with biting. It’s called Renfield’s syndrome. It’s a psychological condition that causes those afflicted to crave blood the way some pregnant women want to eat clay, and there are documented pediatric cases going back at least fifty years. It’s kind of amazing.”
Amazing. The word rolls around in Mary Beth’s head. She blinks. “Um, are we sure we shouldn’t be looking into something a little more, you know, run-of-the-mill first? Like, could it be something the kids are picking up at school?” Seven bites. Seven—eight, actually, because she hasn’t mentioned Noelle’s—and counting. And that actually is a lot, yes, Mary Beth sees that now, and yet it feels like she’s treading water against the current. The children are in the same class, so she starts there. “They’re learning about dinosaurs this week, aren’t they?” she asks. “Maybe if we laid off the dinosaurs, just a thought?”
Miss Ollie looks at her with tremendous gravitas and says, “We’ve been keeping it to non-scary dinosaurs. Herbivores like the stegosaurus and the brontosaurus.”
“Right.” Mary Beth chews the calloused side of her thumb.
“Kids love dinosaurs. Barney is a dinosaur. Barney is a T. rex. I don’t think dinosaurs are the problem.”
Mary Beth presses her lips together. They’re the youngest committee volunteers by a landslide. Across the room sit a couple blue-haired ladies and men with thick-soled orthopedic shoes and brown, pilled socks.
Miss Ollie scribbles a final note and flips the cover shut. “I plan on sending some literature home this weekend. I really do care about this class. They’re some special kids.”
On the worktable in front of them, Miss Ollie’s phone screen illuminates with a text. The background of her lock screen shows a guy in his early twenties—tanned, outdoorsy, kissing a scruffy terrier mix in his arms.
Mary Beth smiles. “Is that your boyfriend?” Changing the subject.
“My brother.”
“That’s sweet. I hope Noelle and Angeline are close like that when they grow up. You know, this might be too personal,” Mary Beth says in her best big-sister tone, which is exactly how she’d like Miss Ollie to see her, like a cool, laid-back, but very nice and popular big sister. “Do you want kids of your own some day?”
Erin brightens. “I can’t wait to be a mother.”
The perfect answer, at least for Mary Beth, who loves baby showers, loves visiting new moms and offering to hold their infants while the new mother sneaks a quick nap. She loves getting soft blankets monogrammed. She loves the way in which every daughter is suddenly open to her mother’s advice.
But right then, Pastor Ben arrives and both of their eyes slide over to him. For a moment, Mary Beth is fully lost in the presence of the man, like a silly middle school student daydreaming about her crush. He’s like a work of art. She keeps noticing something new about him to appreciate. He looks vaguely like someone she knows, an actor maybe, but after a second or two of not being able to place him, she’s forced to give up. She’s never been good at this game.
“I want to start today’s meeting by talking to you about a troubled young kid I knew.” He folds his hands behind his back. “This kid came from a good family. Grew up middle class, mom and dad were kind, committed parents. But this kid had a wandering eye. At fourteen, he started drinking at friends’ houses. Not even beer. He went straight to the hard stuff. At first he got hangovers and then, sure enough, he could hold his liquor. Though that was just the start, as it turned out. He discovered pornography shortly thereafter and pretty soon he was obsessed with it.” A murmur hums through the committee members at the mention of such a naughty word in a church space. “That led to girls, which led to parties, and by sixteen he started taking prescription pain pills. He even sold them when he could. This kid barely graduated from high school, skated through college by the skin of his teeth. He even saw a close friend die in a terrible accident while driving under the influence that he, himself, was lucky enough to survive.” A small sound escapes Miss Ollie beside her. Everyone in the room appears to be deeply moved by the story. “Even still, he didn’t wake up. Not until he was twenty-three years old and he overdosed. He was found, you see, with vomit caked in the corners of his mouth.” He demonstrates. “Barely breathing, by one of his so-called friend’s parents, and he was rushed to the hospital, where he was resuscitated by the grace of God. After that, he found Jesus. Or maybe Jesus found him. He went to seminary. And he became … the church pastor you see standing before you today.”