Mary Beth sits back, stunned, wondering if this changes everything or if it even changes anything.
Since the moment she found her daughter covered in Miss Ollie’s blood, she’s been haunted by the idea that Noelle may have made a terrible mistake. Never once did it cross her mind that she may not have made a terrible mistake, but might instead be terrible.
And yet. Here she is, face-to-face with the terrible truth, and what she will do with it next is up to her.
“Nobody’s supposed to be in here outside of school hours.” The voice causes Mary Beth to tense up, but so would the man standing in the doorframe.
Pastor Ben.
Without the lights on, his eyes shine, shadows sharpen the lines of his face, and she can’t quite figure out what she found so handsome about him a few short days before. The scent of his bodywash—clean and decidedly male—reminds her of guys she met in college. Well before Doug.
“Sorry.” She can’t muster a smile for once as she climbs to her feet. “I thought my daughter forgot one of her old lunch boxes in here. I was just going through a few items. For the class. I’m Room Mom,” she reminds him. It sounds rote, like she’s playing a recording of herself.
He’s standing such that there’s no casual way to breeze past him and so she’s stuck in social-nicety land, a place where she would typically consider herself a local, though today it feels as if she’s somehow forgotten the language entirely.
There are only a handful of words that seem capable of pinging in her brain. Noelle. Behavioral disorder. Manipulate. They throb in her head, becoming something palpable. Her daughter’s a bully. Mary Beth Brandt, professional nice person, has raised a sociopath. Isn’t that what Miss Ollie was implying?
“The building’s closed,” Ben repeats.
“Right. Again, sorry about that.” This time, she moves to pass him, assuming this will trigger his own social cues, but he holds up a hand to stop her.
“What did you take?”
“What do you mean?” Her temple pulsates, a warning shot of pain. She tries to take a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her—
“I saw you fold up a sheet of paper and take it. What was it?” The room behind her feels much smaller now. Ben is tall. Ben is in excellent shape.
“Nothing.” She feels hatchet lines fan out around her lips as she purses her mouth tight. She doesn’t know what his problem is, but she sees the tendon that runs from his neck to his shoulder tense.
“It must be something. God honors the truth and those who speak it.” He smiles benevolently.
Her face reddens. “It’s private.” She shifts back a step, eager for some distance. Something to quiet the alarm bells sounding from inside her skull. She’s not sure she’s thinking straight. She’s not sure she’s thinking at all.
“You seemed uncomfortable last time we spoke.” He looks deeply concerned and yet she’s not buying it.
“I wasn’t,” she says. “Just tired. And busy. And married,” she adds without removing the point on it.
“So, it’s not me then?”
“Not you,” she confirms. A swell of nausea pushes the contents of her stomach up, up, up. “I do need to go, though.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” He pushes into the room, forcing her back again.
“There’s a meeting with the other parents I should attend.” This time she can’t steady her voice. She looks around blindly. The crude paintings still pinned to the wall. The tissue-paper caterpillar. An abandoned game of Twister on the floor.
“Why do I get the feeling that this actually has something to do with Erin Ollie?”
“It could be where we’re located.” Mary Beth tries to control her breathing, but it keeps managing to get away from her. She can hear the air rasping through her lungs.
“She was on the youth center committee, too, wasn’t she? With you?” He must know the answer.
She falters, unsure what this has to do with anything. “Yes. She wanted to make sure the school was represented.” She walks with her hands on her hips, trying to pull oxygen. The room has begun to spin. “It made sense.” The familiar pain bulges behind her right eye, as if out of nowhere. It punches her brains in. It blossoms like an atom bomb detonated inside her skull.
“Did she ever mention me?”
“What?” Black spots creep around her vision on one side. “Maybe,” she says. “In passing. I’m sorry. I’m feeling kind of woozy.”
“Let me help you.” Ben’s fingers close around her upper arm.
“Ouch, that hurts.” She tries to shrug off his grip, but finds herself unable to break free.
“I need to ask you to come with me,” he says, like she’s being placed under arrest. “We can’t have people taking things off school grounds without permission. Hand it to me.”
“No.” She shakes her head. Saliva is tacky in her mouth. “It’s got nothing to do with you,” she says. Noelle. Her daughter. Her blood. Hers.
“I think—” He yanks her into his chest. “—that I’ll be the judge of that.”
Her cheek smacks hard against his elbow and she feels herself being flung down. A knee is on her hamstring. Fingers claw at her back pocket. The pressure of his forearm is hard against her throat. She can’t breathe. She feels like someone has clasped a fist around the middle of a balloon, the pressure building, swimming up to her eyes. She gathers her energy, trying to scream, but before she can finish the thought, she has no more thoughts; the life blinks out of her.
FORTY-ONE
“Welcome,” says the bearded man at the front of the room. “Please come in and have a seat.” He beckons Rhea forward. He’s wearing a white coat and she knows who he is instantly. The naturopathic doctor that she recommended—Dr. Fox. She didn’t realize he would be here but, then, she supposes everyone is still looking for answers wherever they can find them. “We were just discussing the seven Bs of parenting—birth bonding, breastfeeding, baby-wearing, bedding close to the baby, belief in the baby’s cry, balance and boundaries, and beware of baby trainers—and together, we’re considering, based on this very group, adding an eighth B: bloodletting. Isn’t that exciting?”
The room is large and open, with a wall of mirrors in front to facilitate the kids’ creative-movement classes. Rows of folding chairs that are normally stowed on pallets in the back have been set up to accommodate the parents. The carpet smells musty. A cardboard cutout of Jesus stands in the corner like he’s in time-out.
“Yeah, thrilling. Look,” she tells him, “I’ll take it from here.” The door sinks shut behind her. She hears the seals suck together, corking her inside with these people.
“Uhhh…” He looks around, confused. Did he miss a memo? “Well, see, I’m providing some encouraging facts about scientific attach—”
“That’s okay, I got it.” She edges right in on his spot and, with no one giving him any indication about what he’s supposed to do, he slinks over to sit in the front row.
At the same time, she’s catching some serious heat from all those eyeballs trained on her, but at least nobody’s throwing tomatoes yet. Marcus figured if they do, they’ll at least be organic. She’s glad someone’s amused.