AMANDA WAS AT HOME, thinking about sending Megan an email.
The email would say something like, “I’m sorry we got into a fight, but I don’t take back anything I said, because I really do think you have a huge problem that you need to snap out of or you’re going to find yourself without any friends someday very soon.”
But then she found herself saying things like, “Or has that day already come?” out loud to herself in her bedroom in a gravelly voice, and found herself cocking her head to the side and furrowing her brows while she said more things like, “I mean, who do you think you are?” so she decided maybe she wasn’t ready to write Megan an email, and she didn’t want to do it if her heart wasn’t in it.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Megan. It was becoming kind of an obsession. To be fair, a part-time obsession. She didn’t loose sleep over it or skip work because of it, but still. When her mind had a free moment to wander, and there were a surprising number of those in the day, it went to Megan, and Amanda replayed the fight they’d had, and she replayed her victory over Megan, and that only fueled her thirst for another victory. She wanted to reform Megan, get her to stop whining and get a better job and be more friendly. Maybe get her out of the house? Maybe her relationship was bad? Maybe they could start jogging together?
Probably not.
And why hadn’t Megan written to apologize for being a dick? And blah-de-blah and on and on.
JILLIAN WIPED HER FACE and left the bathroom to make dinner. She made a Healthy Choice microwave dinner for herself—something with chicken—and made a child’s microwave dinner for Adam—something with mac ’n cheese. After dinner, Jillian poured herself two bowls of cereal. She sat in front of the tv and she didn’t have any money, and the dog and Adam had no idea that meant they didn’t have any money, either. It was weird to look around and see nice carpet, a kid and a dog, all in the glow of a tv, and to have a full stomach, but to know she had no money. Maybe she would start smoking again. She got up from the chair and got an oatmeal cream pie from the cupboard and ate it in the kitchen, threw away the wrapper, poured herself a glass of D milk, and went back to her chair.
The next morning, Elena drove to Jillian’s house listening to Christian rock and feeling happily superior. That was the only reason she did this, and she was old enough to be honest with herself about it. She was a hardened older lady, and she knew she helped Jillian because it gave her pleasure to have Jillian on the end of her hook and at her mercy. It gave her pleasure, also, to witness Jillian’s life, which she had heard about in great (if muddled) detail at church healing groups, which she often led. Jillian’s life was shitty, and Jillian didn’t know how to improve it because she was too stupid.
Elena was old enough not to lie to herself about the way she really felt about things.
Jillian was the kind of person who went for the short fix instead of the long fix. She knew nothing about sacrifice and never would, and it was a pleasure for Elena to watch Jillian fail, because Jillian’s way of life stood in opposition to Elena’s. It wasn’t that Elena didn’t want two cookies and a bag of chips with lunch, just to grab an obvious example of something symptomatic, but she knew it would rot her body, so she abstained. Elena delighted to hear Jillian talk about her plans to diet, because she knew that Jillian was too weak and was all talk. That was another thing that Elena wasn’t, and that was all talk. If she wanted to volunteer at a homeless center, she did it. She forewent the “Oh, how nice of you”s she knew she’d get if she told her friends as soon as the idea came into her head, and the reward for this tightlippedness was a solid, sturdy respect that was given to a woman who was so humble and selfless that she didn’t even ask for congratulations, but just went out to the homeless center and volunteered.
Elena noticed that she smelled like Woolite. Jillian will smell like baby burp, even though she doesn’t have a baby, thought Elena.
Elena drove with nice posture. She parked, she got out of the car, she walked up the stairs, and she made no plans. With an upper hand like Elena’s, there was no need to rehearse. Not with someone like Jillian, at least. It was like talking to a filth-covered child.
She had keys, but out of the appearance of politeness, she rapped curtly on the door several times and heard, “Oh, hey, I unlocked it, come on in!” from the other side of the threshold.
“Are you about ready, Jillian?” asked Elena.
“Oh, I’m running a little late, but Adam’s ready. I still have to take the dog out.”
“Hmm, ok. Adam!” Adam walked to her like he was walking to the gallows. If he were her son, she would tell him to stand up and show some respect or some grace or dignity, but he was Jillian’s son, so his behavior was meaningless. He was a way for her to bond with Barb from Sunnyside Up. Their banter had been solidifying into a friendship, and she looked forward to seeing Barb again. So, there you go. That was another reason to like helping Jillian.
“When will your car be out of the impound?” Elena asked.
“Oh, uh, I have a court date next week, so I’ll get it out when I have my court date next week.”
“Ok, good,” said Elena. “What day?”
“My date is on . . . Tuesday.”
“All right,” said Elena. “I’ve been planning on going out of town for a while, but I haven’t been able to since I’ve been helping you out.” Elena was just riffing. “So, I’m going to plan to be out of town on Wednesday, then. That’s great news for me, Jillian.” Elena ushered Adam to the door, but slowly. She was waiting for it.
“Um, ok,” said Jillian. That tension in her voice was so rewarding, that little bit of attitude, that little bit of aggression, but the absolute understanding that there was no way to give it vent and that she, Elena, was essentially impervious.
“I guess if you don’t have your car by then, you’ll have to find someone else to drop him off,” she said. Then she left.
Jillian, for the fourth or fifth time in her life, realized she was capable of murder.
“Can we listen to something else?” asked Adam.
“No,” said Elena. “I’m doing you a favor, and you’ll listen to my radio.”
“I get to listen to tapes, usually,” said Adam.
“Well, I don’t have any of your tapes,” said Elena.
“Can we get some breakfast?” asked Adam.
“Didn’t your mother give you breakfast?”
“No, we didn’t have time,” said Adam.
Elena felt like a kidnapper. She could imagine herself driving Adam out to the woods and drowning him in a creek or knocking him unconscious and burying him alive (even if he did dig himself out, what would he do then?) and then driving home. Who would people believe? She would tell her husband that Jillian wasn’t at home, no one was, so she just came home, wasn’t that weird? Then she would say hateful things about Jillian, just to not seem suspicious. And who would they believe? Why would Elena murder the child? Jillian was like a frightened hamster, with every reason to snuff out her own youth. It would be an easy set-up.
She pulled up to the day care center after that thought and remarked to herself that the drive had seemed faster than usual.
Gosh, was it Friday already?
THREE
Randy got back from Kelly’s late that night and was giddy about the website, which they had just “launched” or whatever. Randy showed it to Megan and it looked like any old shit and, god what was wrong with her, she couldn’t even fake it anymore. She couldn’t even say some stupid shit like, “I’m so proud of you,” or even, “Good work, baby,” with a fucking kiss or something. She gave the webpage a tight-lipped, condescending smile (eyebrows raised) and said, “Wow, you got that finished quickly.”