Page 40 of Open Secrets
She does again, slow and wide, the hook tugging at her cheeks. I peer inside, spotting the angry, jagged fracture of enamel. No saving that one.
“You’re right to come in,” I tell her, reaching for the syringe Debra already has ready. “That tooth’s not going to heal on its own. We’ll numb you up, and I’ll take care of it.”
Mrs. Fern makes a garbled noise around the hook. Debra pats her shoulder. “She’s the best, don’t worry.”
I steady the needle in my hand. My own fingers are shaking faintly, not from the task but from the weight of Nina’s voice still echoing in my skull:No human can hold all of that alone.
Focus.
“All done,” I say, dropping the tooth into the tray. “You did great.”
Mrs. Fern sags into the chair with relief, mumbling something grateful around the gauze Debra tucks in.
I strip off the gloves, toss them into the bin, and smile like my heart isn’t pounding with leftover adrenaline that has nothing to do with teeth. “We’ll check on the healing in a week. Rest today. Soft foods, nothing hot. You’ll be fine.”
She nods, cheeks flushed. Debra and I watch as the receptionist wheels her out.
The second the door clicks shut behind her, Debra whirls on me. “Okay. Spill.”
I open my mouth ready to dump everything on her, but I don’t get the chance since the intercom buzzes, sharp and annoying. “Dr. Connelly, your next patient is ready.”
I exhale through my nose, already reaching for fresh gloves.
“Drinks after work?” I ask quickly, my hand already on the door.
Debra narrows her eyes, like she wondering whether or not it can wait. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I mutter, pushing into the hall before she can pin me down again.
I try to throw myself into the afternoon appointments, burying the session under drills, suction tubes, and the steady hum of thechair. Be productive, I tell myself. Be useful. If I keep moving, maybe the words will stop replaying.
But they don’t.
I’m broken. That’s what I heard, no matter how gently Dr. Nina dressed it up.
I know I didn’t handle Rain’s illness well. God, I know. I was juggling too many plates, spinning until I collapsed. Our parents turned their backs, and instead of finding someone else to lean on, I made it my mission to prove I could do it all. Show everyone I was strong enough. Capable enough. Worthy enough.
But who paid for that pride? My kids.
They raised themselves more than I’ll ever admit. Remi cooking boxed mac and cheese while I sat in hospital waiting rooms. Taylor practicing math alone at the table. August being passed from sitter to sitter, learning early how to adapt because I wasn’t there to steady him.
Every cavity I fill, every molar I crown today, feels like a parody. Like I can rebuild other people’s teeth but not the fracture lines running through my own family.
Debra snorts when I finally spit it all out, slamming my glass down harder than I should. She’s halfway through a plate of nachos while I’m nursing whiskey number three.
“You’re an idiot,” she says flatly, licking cheese off her thumb like she didn’t just call her boss stupid.
I blink at her. “Excuse me?”
She leans back in the booth, giving me that look—eyebrows arched, mouth twisted like she’s about to deliver gospel. “Maria, the hand you were dealt? Rain getting sick, your dad’s stroke,Lyle gone half the damn time? I can’t even imagine. I’m barely surviving with one kid. And you had four. Four.”
The number echoes, heavy, damning. My fingers tighten around the glass, and I stare down into the watered-down amber. “So you don’t… think less of me? Because I…”
“God, no.” Debra doesn’t even let me finish. “People talk about abortion like women do it for fun. Like it’s a sport. Like you woke up one morning and thought, you know what would spice up my week? Terminating a pregnancy.” She shakes her head, disgust rolling off her. “You had a choice. And you made the best one you could. Screw everybody else.”
The heat in my chest rises, not from the alcohol this time but from the knot that’s lived there for twenty years. I swallow hard. “I think…” My voice cracks, and I try again. “I think the reason I pushed everyone away when Rain got sick was because I was afraid. Afraid they’d say the same thing. That it was my fault. That my daughter got cancer because of me—because of what I did.”
“Fuck that,” Debra snaps, loud enough that the guy at the next table turns his head. She doesn’t notice, doesn’t care. “The kid you were pregnant with could’ve been sick. Could’ve had a disability. Could’ve had anything. You’ll never know, and neither will anyone else. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure—it wasn’t because of you. Fuck that bitch of a mother-in-law you have.”
