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.
