The School for Good Mothers(89)

Ms. Khoury and Ms. Russo look disappointed to have her back. She’ll need to catch up, do extra training. Meryl’s doll has been frozen for three weeks. When she leaves the equipment room, her legs are wobbly as a foal’s.

The weather begins to cool. The mothers layer sweaters over their uniforms. They add extra blankets to their beds. In another few weeks, the trees will become splendid. Autumn, Frida recalls, is Roxanne’s favorite season.

Frida and Beth stay close to Meryl at meals, trying to protect her from Charisse, who comes over with food and compliments, telling her that she’s courageous.

A few Black mothers refer to Meryl as the girl who sank Colin. He might have gotten his kid back if not for her. Meryl has been tripped in the dining hall. She’s been elbowed in the shower line. But with each day, she grows in confidence. Stories about Colin are replaced by stories about seeing Ocean’s father, how many times she fucked him, how she ate fried chicken and pizza and doughnuts and candy, how good it felt to sleep in a real bed. To choose her own food. To smoke. “I didn’t miss my doll one bit,” she says.



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Eight weeks remain. In October, the fathers return. Some say the school wants to prepare them to reenter the real world. Some say the school wants more fraternizing and expulsions so they can test out the registry. Some say the school wants to keep them distracted so more mothers will fail. Maybe someone is making money off their failures.

The parents file into the gymnasium to watch videos on stranger danger. Frida looks for Tucker. She spots him in the first row of bleachers, wishes he’d turn his head.

Time passes faster now that she might see him. She gets her wish the following Monday, when Tucker and another father join several cohorts of mothers to practice hand-to-hand combat. Mats have been laid out on the floor. A self-defense expert comes to demonstrate basic techniques.

Tucker is the first to play kidnapper. The expert shows Beth how to kick Tucker in the back of the knee. She must then grab her doll, and strike Tucker in the nose with the flat of her palm. A swift upward motion will cause the most pain.

They’re supposed to pantomime their motions, but Beth accidentally kicks Tucker for real. The instructors remind the parents to be safe but otherwise do nothing to discourage actual hitting.

When it’s Frida’s turn, she yells and lunges. She lightly kicks the back of Tucker’s knee. Emmanuelle curls into a ball, pretending she’s a boulder, her preferred method of surviving each round.

Tucker pretends to fall but grabs Frida’s jumpsuit as he does, causing her to tumble. She pulls herself up, but he grabs her ankle and knocks her down again. They may never have more than this. She doesn’t look him in the eye, ignores his hand on her ankle, his caress, the tingling in her stomach, the desire to slide beneath him.



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It’s better that Harriet can’t see her. It’s better that Roxanne isn’t here. In the aftermath of kidnapping-prevention practice, Frida looks, in the words of Emmanuelle, like a “monster.” Each day, they talk about colors, why Mommy’s face is blue and purple, why it’s puffy. They talk about Easter, the day Emmanuelle was hit by that mean little boy.

“It’s Mommy’s turn to fight now,” Frida tells her. “It’s Mommy’s turn to be hit. I’d die for you. Mommies are willing to die for their babies.”

Every night, the mothers line up at the infirmary, asking for aspirin and ice packs and bandages. Their faces resemble rotten fruit. Some have chipped teeth. Some have sprained wrists and ankles. Phone privileges are canceled to allow them time to heal.

Among themselves, they wonder what keeps the staff showing up, how much they’re being paid, why none of the instructors have quit in protest, why no guard has talked, why none of the people here feel as deeply as the dolls.

Someone suggests the instructors are women who’ve had miscarriages. Others think they’re women whose children have died. Beth thinks they’re barren. Linda says all these ideas are coming from people who’ve read too many books, who’ve watched too much TV.

“Lots of people are all cold and heartless,” Linda argues. “Who do you think works in a prison? Who do you think works on death row? It’s a job.”



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Fear, they learn, is an asset that can be channeled into strength and speed. The parents watch videos of strangers leading small children into basements. A door closes, a child emerges with tangled clothes and dead eyes. They hear the statistics. Watch testimonials from survivors. Many blame their parents, their mothers especially. How different their life would have been if they were truly loved, if someone believed them when they spoke up.

Love is the first step, the instructors say. During molestation-prevention training, the parents learn that children who receive ample parental attention will be less susceptible to pedophiles.

Two mothers vomit during the testimonials. Some parents cry. Most are skeptical. Beth says this is never how it happens. What about fathers and stepfathers and uncles? Grandfathers. Family friends. Cousins. Brothers. Why does it have to be the mother’s fault?

When the lights come up, Frida’s neck and armpits are damp. She’s cold all over. Last night, she dreamed that Harriet was hidden at the school, trapped in a dark room, surrounded by limbs. Someone was grabbing her wrist. Someone was ringing a bell. Frida followed the bell until she found the right room, but couldn’t open the door. She stood on the other side screaming.