Page 26 of The Reluctant Reaper
“My husband did that, not me. How was I supposed to know Graham was in the basement for two whole nights?”
“Your testimony suggested otherwise. And he was four years old at the time. And the basement wasn’t soundproofed. You knew.”
“How thefuckdid you get my testimony?”
“I worked for the Ramsey County courthouse for nine days. And Itasca. And Dakota. And those are just the ones in Minnesota. Three counts of felony child abuse. That was back in 2010. You gave him a concussion and broke two of his teeth.”
“Oh, for—they were baby teeth! Fuck’s sake!”
“Shut your mouth, Gloria. Or I’ll help myself to some ofyourteeth.”
Gloria shut her mouth. The last bag of groceries had gotten heavier than the world, somehow, so she shuffled into the kitchen to put it on the counter. Took her time, too, put everything away nice and neat, even the booze, and emptied the dishwasher to boot, but the stranger was still sitting there when she returned to the living room.
“I don’t understand it,” the stranger said, like the conversation hadn’t stopped for ten minutes. “I’ve been over it and over it. He’s wonderful in every way a human being can be wonderful. He’s thoughtful and clever and fun and hygienic and a good cook and not exactly hard on the eyes and beautiful. He is, somehow, the best. While you...”
“I don’t?—”
“What is wrong with you?”
What to say?Welp, got knocked up with Ginni in high school, married the twenty-five-year-old fuck-o who did it, tho’ I had to show him the DNA test first, got pregnant with Graham three months after Ginni was born, and she was dead before he started walking.
Found out I was in an “open marriage,” which meant my ex could cheat but not me. Found out you don’t get alimony when you’re still married. Found out he had no intention of helping. Ever. With anything. Found out my family didn’t want to hear about any of it. Found out the social services people did want to hear, but cared more about filling out forms than me or my kids. Kid, now.
My future was set a year before I could vote and it’s such a fucking cliché I can’t stand it. And I took it all out on my boy. And now I don’t see him or talk to him and that’s prob’ly for the best and I shouldn’t care but I do, a little.
“It just... all... got away from me.”
“A pity he could never get away from you. Whenever Child Protective Services got too snoopy, you bailed. You’d uproot him and lug him around like a plant you don’t like but feel compelled to keep because it was a gift. Even so, I think your deeds would have caught up with you. You are not a subtle woman. But your son wouldn’t cooperate with any of the investigations.”
She’d been scared of the stranger, this judgy bitch lurking in her apartment for fuck knew how long. Some of the fear had gone away when she realized the woman was young, maybe her son’s age? But then her anxiety came roaring back, and Gloria couldn’t figure out why. What, exactly, was there to be scared of? If the stranger wanted cops, they’d be there. If she wanted to pull a knife or a gun, she could have. If she wanted to beat her up, she would’ve started already, not talked for-fucking-ever.
But she wasn’t doing any of that. She wasn’t making moves of any kind, much less grabbing for a weapon. Her voice just got colder and colder, and the tone, the temperature, itspread, somehow. How could she make Gloria cold from seven feet away?
“The worst, most dreadful part? Not the bruises or the concussion or the broken bones. Not the terror of being locked outside while two inches of snow fell and the wind chill dropped. None of that.”
“I don’t?—”
“Your son didn’t lie to CPS because you threatened him. That’s the worst. He didn’t throw sand in the gears of every social worker forfearof you. Quite the opposite. He loved you. He didn’t want you to go to prison.”
“I know,” she said dully.
“And so here you are.”
“Yeah.”
“But I won’t have it, Gloria. I refuse.” The stranger clasped her hands together and hunched forward, like Mr. Burns with tits and hair. “You’re too close, for one thing; you only live an hour away. And he’s kind. Which is wonderful, when you think about it... he’skind, Gloria, because you and the abusive shit you married couldn’t brutalize his essential goodness away. So if you were to call him for help—the only circumstance you would ever reach out, I imagine—he might feel compelled to act.”
“I wouldn’t—I—I?—”
“Which is entirely unacceptable.”
“No, you’ve got it all?—”
“And so you’re leaving.”
“I can’t just—where would I even go?”
The stranger pulled a fat, legal-sized envelope out of her tote and threw it at Gloria. When she didn’t move to catch it, the envelope hit her chest and thumped to the carpet.
