Page 37 of For Your Own Good
Colleagues and friends,
It is with deep sorrow that I announce the untimely death of Mrs.Ingrid Ross. She passed away at the hospital this afternoon.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to her family.
24
FRANK MAXWELL CAN’Tbelieve what he’s reading. Ingrid Ross is dead.
Dead.
“My God,” Teddy says.
“Unbelievable,” Frank says.
They stand there for a minute, staring at their phones, until Teddy slips his phone back into his pocket. “Well,” he says. “I suddenly feel an urge to go home and see my wife.”
“Me too,” Frank says.
Teddy walks off toward his ridiculous old Saab, and Frank goes to his Jeep. He walks normally, or what he thinks is normally, but he can’t tell, because his adrenaline is surging.
His hand goes to his chest, gripping the cross underneath his shirt.
Home. He should go home. His wife is there, along with his son.
They live in a modest but nice home, with a freshly mowed lawn anda fantastic old oak tree right in front. Frank doesn’t make a lot of money, but his wife was creative with the decorating. To him, it looks like something out of a magazine. But it’s comfortable. Home is a good, safe place to be.
He just doesn’t want to go there.
Instead, he starts driving around. He likes to drive around when he needs to think, a habit that started way back when he got his driver’s license—if eleven years can be considered way back. To him, it is. Feels like a million years ago when he first drove a car by himself. It was a crappy car, too, maybe older than Teddy’s, but that didn’t matter. Between the loud music and the ability to go wherever he wanted, Frank had gotten his first taste of freedom. He loved it.
So he drives. But it doesn’t feel the same now—maybe because he is anything but free. With a wife, a child, a mortgage, and a job, nothing about his current life is free. He doesn’t even buy groceries, because his wife is so particular.
And that’s on a normal day. Today is anything but.
Frank drives away from the school and down the interstate, away from his home, his family, his wife. The music is loud, the windows are down, and the Jeep bounces down the road like he’s got nowhere to be.
None of it helps. He feels worse than ever, trapped in a straitjacket with a chain pulling him back where he should be.
If he could, he’d go to the gym, but he’s still nursing a shoulder injury. He forces himself not to work out and turns back toward home.
Missy’s car is in the driveway, right where it should be. Before going inside, he takes a few deep breaths, says a quick prayer, and checks the mirror to make sure he has a normal expression on his face.
And here comes Missy. He has barely opened the door when she appears.
“I just heard what happened at the school,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“I swear I just picked up the phone to call you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Frank wraps both arms around his wife, willing her to shut up. “I’m fine. I barely saw anything.” He feels her relax against him.
“Good. Oh, that poor woman. Ingrid something? Russ?” She pulls back and walks him toward the kitchen. He can smell chicken cooking. They eat chicken a lot.
“Something like that,” he says, sitting down on a stool. The smell of the food relaxes him. “Where’s Frankie?”
Missy points to the family room. “Watching cartoons.”
