Page 55 of Margo's Got Money Troubles

This man did not utter a phrase without an exclamation mark. He was less boring than she’d anticipated. It did make Margo wonder, however, how Mary really did get pregnant. She’d never thought about this in her entire life. It couldn’t have been Joseph, or he wouldn’t have thought of divorcing her. Whoever it was, it was clear Mary lied and said it was the Lord’s baby and got away with it. Was there another way of describing what happened? It was, as Jinx would say, an absolutely epic angle. Mary must have had balls of steel during that conversation with Joseph.

“Wasn’t Joseph a great guy? Wasn’t he, though?” the pastor was saying. But Margo couldn’t stop thinking about Mary and what she’d pulled off. The pastor covered how she was visiting her cousin Elizabeth who was also having a miracle baby, John the Baptist, and Mary stayed with her for three months and returned home three months pregnant to have it out with Joseph, so it seemed likely that whatever happened, Mary’s pregnancy was probably the reason she went to visit Elizabeth in the first place, so she could hide out while she figured out what to do. Was it usual for women to travel alone like that? How old was Mary anyway? Margo pulled out her phone and googled: “How old was Mary?” Bodhi was fascinated by her phone and tried to pry it from her grasp. She could barely see but caught the phrase: “At the time of her betrothal to Joseph, Mary was 12–14 years old.” She let Bodhi have it, and he happily stuck the whole top corner in his mouth, sucking on the camera lens.

So, she was definitely raped, Margo thought. What other conclusion could you come to? She could picture a seventeen-year-old Mary falling in love with some shepherd boy and having a dalliance, but a twelve-year-old girl? It had to have been rape, not in the modern statutory sense, but rape-rape. Margo looked around at the congregation. How were none of them realizing this with her?

“I hope you’ve come to love Joseph as much as I do. He was a righteous man. A man not afraid to do the right thing. A man of the law. I like to think that he’s the secret hero of Christmas, even if he’s not the star of the show. Usually we talk about Mary, we talk about the baby Jesus, but I like to think about Joseph. We could all learn a little something about being a man from him.”

There was a murmur of assent from the crowd. Margo tried to catch Shyanne’s eye, but she was too busy wiping her tears with a Kleenex. They all stood to sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and Bodhi was thrilled by all the singing. He kept shoving his whole hand in Margo’s mouth. She wondered, as she bounced him, if any of the men here subscribed to OnlyFans. She pictured her voice, as it rose with the others, glowing subtly black. She didn’t know if she was enjoying imagining herself as slightly evil because she disliked these people or because she was afraid of them. She knew they were likely nice people. She even believed that they were probably better than her. But she knew they would hate her. She knew, if pressed, that they would show her no mercy at all. That the lead singer, so delicate, so tender she quaked with the glory of God’s love, lungs fluttering too fast to find the note, would press her gray New Balance sneaker right on Margo’s throat.

Chapter Fifteen

After the ordeal of the service, the dinner at Kenny’s house was almost a breeze. Kenny’s living room was exactly as Margo had imagined it. There was, of course, a navy corduroy recliner. The walls were painted teal and had the texture of psoriasis. There was a weirdly shiny silver shag rug, a painting of a battleship, and a small wooden sign that said Pray Hardest When It’s Hardest to Pray in white script.

Shyanne had made a tuna casserole with raisins in it, a dish Margo remembered from her childhood whenever Jinx was in town. Kenny was clearly still on a manic high and kept talking about Annie. Annie was the name of the anemic, breathy lead singer. “I’m telling you, the Lord has special plans for that one. She’s also a very talented drawer,” he said.

Bodhi was asleep. When they got home from the service, Kenny and Shyanne had taken Margo down to the rec room and shown her a beautiful white crib they’d bought and set up with blankets and stuffed animals, even a little mobile. They’d bought a video baby monitor and a changing table pad. Margo almost cried; it was so sweet. Kenny grabbed her by both shoulders and said, “We want you and Bodhi to always, always feel welcome in this house.”

She was touched and it made her feel guilty. If they found out how she made a living, she knew it would all be instantly revoked. She’d have felt better about lying to them if they weren’t being quite so nice. Still, Margo had gotten used to having Jinx around, and Shyanne and Kenny, despite their absolute sweetness and generosity, never reached out to help with Bodhi. It simply wasn’t in their nature. They would just watch while Margo struggled, looking slightly frustrated that they were all being interrupted by a baby. Margo had finally gotten him down, and by dinner, he was dozing in his new crib, where she could see him on the video monitor.

“What does Annie draw?” Margo asked, blowing on her bite of tuna casserole.

“Oh, all sorts of things,” Kenny said, “dragons and horses, mostly.”

For whatever reason this made Margo think of Suzie masturbating to SpongeBob. She wondered what Annie masturbated to (she assumed dragons and horses, mostly).

“And Pastor Jim! Was he Holy Ghost filled tonight or what?!”

“He sure was,” Shyanne said. “I loved all that stuff about Joseph.”

Margo tried all night to be nice and complimented Kenny on everything. At one point she even commented on what a clean refrigerator he had.

After dinner, they decided to open one present. Margo panicked, realizing she had not gotten anything for Kenny, only something for her mother. Kenny waved this off. “I am rich in all the things that count,” he said, patting Shyanne’s white-jean-clad thigh.

They had Margo open hers first. It was from both of them: three sets of pajamas for Bodhi. One made his feet into tiny lion heads. “These are great!” Margo cried.

Then Shyanne had Kenny open one from her. It was a set of seven different novelty hot sauces. It turned out Kenny was into spicy stuff, which Margo would never have predicted. Shyanne and Kenny had bonded over their love of the show Hot Ones.

And then Margo had Shyanne open the necklace she’d gotten her, with the tiny ace of spades charm. She’d never bought her mother something so nice. It was solid fourteen karats. She said that.

“It’s solid fourteen karats.”

Kenny said, “Why is there an ace of spades?”

“Because it’s the highest card in the deck,” Margo said.

“I love it,” Shyanne said. “Oh, baby, I love it.”

She tried to have Kenny put it on her, but his fingers were too thick to work the tiny clasp, so Margo did it.

“It’s perfect,” Shyanne kept saying, and Margo could see that Kenny was getting more and more put out. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the association with gambling or anxiety that he hadn’t gotten Shyanne anything that would make her say that. Margo tried to mentally warn Shyanne to stop. Shyanne just kept going. “Where did you even find this?”

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “How did you know your mom would like something like that? Does she, I mean, does she have a love of playing cards?”

“Sure,” Margo said brightly. She had known that Shyanne probably wouldn’t be honest with Kenny about her poker addiction, and she realized she’d not really thought it all the way through when she chose the gift. “I also just think she’s lucky. We would always joke about that, if there was a school raffle or something, Shyanne would always win. She’s Lady Luck herself.”

Margo worried this was too pagan. Kenny only smiled, tousled Shyanne’s hair, and said, “I like that. Lady Luck!”

“Thank you,” Shyanne mouthed to Margo when Kenny went into the kitchen to fix himself another drink. He was drinking Jack and Coke of all things. Margo winked back and smiled, but she was already so sad her blood had turned to black water, and she was counting down the minutes until it would be appropriate to say good night and head downstairs.

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