Chapter Twenty-Three

Mary wanted to calm herself on her drive home. She wanted to just zone out and relax a little bit before she confronted Wade at the house, assuming he was there. But the double assault of Thursday night rush hour traffic in suburban Atlanta and the radio inexplicably blasting “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers within moments of her car starting made her feel like she was in a hostage situation. Mary changed the radio station to NPR, hoping for calm voices, but it was all Trump news and, worse, the fundraising campaign where they asked you to donate your car for some reason.

That fucking dentist molested her goddamn son. Fucking fuck, that piece of shit. And his damn nurse just casually mentioned it to her over waffles, for Christ’s sake. And Wade didn’t even fucking tell her any of this. He just stood there in the hallway of the hospital, staring at the dentist, and he told her nothing.

And since he’s a goddamn teenager, he won’t get why holding back such things is akin to lying to her face. He will act like he was just trying to spare her feelings or whatever, just like he did when he got Jessa pregnant.

Mary found out that her son had gotten a girl pregnant from the girl’s father, for fuck’s sake. That minister emailed Mary, saying that her son had ruined his precious angel or some bullshit. Last summer, Mary opened her Gmail to find some email from Rev. Lancaster she thought was spam, until she saw the subject line was “What Wade did.”

And now Mary found herself wondering, again, what Wade has been doing. School suspension. Sexual confusion. Teen pregnancy. Visiting some comatose child-molesting motherfucker’s hospital room.

What the hell kind of Thursday was this? Like, seriously.

To herself, aloud, Mary asked, “How the hell is this my life?”

The radio just replied with the broken staccato voice of arts journalist Lois Reitzes, describing what was going to happen on the next episode of “City Lights.”

Mary switched off the radio, praying that the silence was more calming.

Instead, she was just trapped in her car, staring at all the idiots on the road, lost in occasional thoughts of some dentist drilling her son’s mouth. It took her 45 minutes to drive eight miles.

When the driveway came into sight, she realized that she was eager to get home and also in no real hurry to have any of her suspicions confirmed. She had all the questions she could consider, yet she dreaded getting any answers.

Wade’s Prius was in the driveway, the back window covered with a cardboard box. Mary almost regretted ever having children at the sight of it.

She stepped out of her Yaris. And, almost immediately, that nosy bitch Mrs. Winston’s front door opened, and the lady was waving her down. Mary ignored her, which just brought her further out of the house.

“Mrs. Harrell, this place has been like Grand Central Station today,” the neighbor said. “And your son was absolutely awful to me.”

Mary glared at Mrs. Winston and muttered, “Get away from me and my driveway, Flo.” Mrs. Winston ignored this and just kept saying how much of a terror Wade was.

“He doesn’t have to be nice to you, lady,” Mary said. “Particularly when you smash the windows out of his car, which, by the way, you’re going to pay for.”

The lady approached further.

“Stay off of my driveway,” Mary said. “You aren’t welcome here ever again.”

“I was trying to save the baby,” Mrs. Winston said calmly.

“Bullshit,” Mary said. “If you were at all interested in the baby, you would’ve gotten my son first. You wouldn’t have scared the baby and shattered broken glass all over her. You would’ve knocked on our door. I know you saw where he went. You’re always watching.”

“But—”

“If you think you’re a help to anyone with all the crap you pull, Flo, then you must be deluded,” Mary said to the woman, who started to retreat back toward her own house. “No wonder your husband left you.”

At that, Mrs. Winston turned tail and ran.

“I know exactly who you are,” Mary spat at the woman. “You’re fooling no one, you miserable bitch.”

Mary inhaled, exhaled and then prepared for her next battle. She walked up on to the porch of her house, walked through the front door and expected to see Wade in her living room. Mary assumed his mess would be dropped at her feet whenever it was too big for him, like a science fair project that he forgot to do. But Wade was not in her living room. So, instead, Mary headed to the kitchen.

She approached the faucet and turned on the tap. The water ran with a whoosh, just loud enough. She foisted herself up on the counter next to it, pulled herself up by the refrigerator and stared at the closed cabinet door. Whatever Wade’s secrets, love notes or whatever, she would find them there. She opened the door, expecting something benign like papers or receipts.

Instead, she saw a gleaming model set of braces, teeth and gums. She reached for it, pulling the model out. It had a weight to it, like a couple stacked coffee cups. Mary looked even closer at the braces, noticing only the slightest hint of blood.

Suddenly, Wade’s voice spoke up, watching her from the basement door. She didn’t know how long he had been standing there.

“Mom—,” he said meekly, looking up at her on the counter. And she saw fear more than confusion in his eyes.