I was dizzy with the power that was in my hands now. One turn of the wheel and I could end all of this confusion and resentment and anger and fear. I imagined the car slamming into the base of a tree, my head cracking the windshield, just lying there letting the blood drain until there was nothing left worth saving. Or maybe we could dive off a bridge, falling until that great impact, then sleep and then nothing. Or I could just go home, say goodbye to the kids, and mean it. So many choices. Drinking, pills, poison, or something more gruesome. Not too gruesome, though. It would have to look at least somewhat like an accident. I wouldn't want the kids to be too traumatized.

There was clearly nothing left for me at all. My relationship with Ned and Irene would be forever changed even if I did allow them to end the thing with Carey; I had already destroyed what we had by letting Irene think she had succeeded in knocking some sense into me. What would he think when she told him how I backed down, how I just ran away at the first sign of defeat? That was over. Jack didn't need me anymore; Fi had a new life that didn't include us, anyway. There was nothing left except this last moment of absolute control over my own life.

I accelerated more, feeling more reckless than I had since my teenage years. I had never been a fresh-faced college girl with sweet ambitions and hopes and dreams and fantasies of meeting a husband, or whatever deranged idea Irene had of what her future daughter-in-law would be. My prime was long gone. My purpose had been served. So I decided to do it myself at home. It would be less "accidental," but more comfortable.

Jack was studying in his room when I arrived, breathless and rosy from the cold. I asked what he was doing, how he was, told him good night, and closed the door behind me. Annie was already asleep. I felt no real obligation to her, not being her mother, so I simply smiled at her sleeping form and closed her door quietly. Then I retreated to my room to consider the potential life-ending methods before me. But before I finished the job, I decided to re-introduce myself to my oldest friend.

The scars tonight would be long and deep, all of the rage and pain that was poisoning my heart focused in that near-orgasmic moment of physical torment during initial penetration and the movement of the blade that followed. I drove it in and withdrew repeatedly, savoring the penetration each time, until I had calmed down a bit. Then I sighed with something approximating content, and cleaned it. As I carefully scrubbed the area, I began to defend myself again silently. Irene didn't know a thing about me, damn it. After all these years, she thinks she knows me. She thinks I'm fucked up, and she has no idea just how bad it is. How bad I am.

I closed my eyes and tried again to calm down. Not a chance. I decided to go downstairs for my last meal, and headed down the hallway quietly. I noticed Jack's door was propped open again. "Goddamn it, Jack," I muttered to myself more than to him. "The only thing I told you and her not to do was..." But as I drew closer to the open door, it became apparent that the person in the room with Jack was not Annie or any other female. Feeling only slightly guilty, I decided to eavesdrop.

"I know it's difficult for you to understand, or to--"

"I'm not having a hard time understanding the concept. I understand it all too well. Jesus Christ, how could you?"

"I know it's not the most obvious thing in the world, but it was just... right. It was an accident, almost, the way it happened, and then it was like I couldn't imagine what my life had been like, what I had been like, before. Because it doesn't matter who we've been. It's about who we are right now, in this moment. You know what I mean?"

"No, I'm sorry, you lost me when you started talking about my mother like she was one of your little groupie friends. I've heard this before. Every time, it's love. Well, this isn't love, this is sick, and as far as I'm concerned, neither of you exist in my life anymore."

(It was at this point I realized that this was his peace-making gesture. He was doing for me what I had done for him.)

"Oh, come on--"

"What do you want me to do? Should I start calling you Dad?"

"It's not like--"

"We can't exactly play video games and talk about girls anymore, can we?"

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry that you can't get your head around the fact that this isn't about your friend and your mother, that it's about two people who connected, it's about the chance to have something that's--"

"What's going to happen when you're 40?"

"What?"

"When you're 40, she'll be 60. When you're 30, she'll be 50."

"It isn't going to matter."

Jack must have been taking scary angry chortle lessons from Irene.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I am, but nobody deserves the right to stand in our way and order us to stop. Not you, not my parents, not even her. And you'll come around. It's terrible and shocking now, but it won't always be. You know what my dad said?"

"Gee, no, I don't know what Grandpa said."

"He just looked at me and asked if I was sure. And I said I was, and he said, 'Well, then, just give your mother some time to work it out, and you'll both be fine.'"

"What a heartwarming story."

"And I thought about it some more, and you know, I really am sure. And I'll be here when you decide to start thinking about the big picture. Because I love you, you know? Like I love my mother, even though right now she thinks I'm some kind of pervert. At least you both know the truth now, so we aren't lying to anyone anymore."

Except maybe ourselves, I pointed out silently, and decided to return to my room as quietly as possible so as to go unnoticed.

So now what? Clearly she hadn't told him what I had said, or maybe she had and he'd realized why I said it. But in a way, she was right. This would never, ever work. We were not just two people with a connection. We were Molly Phillips and her best friend's son. I could just see the headline if this ever got out. (Granted, the story would be on, like, page Z29 of the newspaper, but whatever.) "Your Grandmother's Favorite Pop Singer 'Loves' Child Barely Above Age of Consent." Well, that might be a little long to be a headline, but you get the picture. But strangely, the desire to put a stop to everything had faded. Maybe it was the things he'd said about us. As naive as I had always found his faith in us, and in me, it was oddly endearing and in this case, more than a little comforting. Even though it was obvious that this couldn't continue.

I rode that thought train all night long. Still wide awake at about 3am, I finally succeeded in smothering the voice of reason. I sat down and composed three simple letters, one to Irene and Ned, one to Jack and Annie, and one to Carey himself. I left the letter for Jack outside his bedroom door. Then I got in the car, no longer imagining it to be an instrument of death, and drove to the Bells' house at the prescribed speed. Sliding the note to Irene and Ned under the front door, I wrapped Carey's around a semi-heavy rock. I tied a string I found in the glove box around it and threw it at his window. To my surprise, it actually made it through the window, which turned out to conveniently be open, without making a major commotion.

I closed the car door quietly and roared out of the driveway.