The Perfect Mother(89)

Scarlett’s baby cries louder. She turns to walk down the hall toward the kitchen. “Good idea.”

Colette lets out her breath. “Come on.”

Nell leads Francie toward the door, but Francie wrests her arm from Nell’s grip and walks back toward the desk.

“Francie,” Nell hisses. “This is no longer funny. Come on.”

Francie silently takes a stack of papers from the top drawer of the desk and holds them up.

“Natural Remedies for Clogged Ducts.” “Six Sleep Cues You Can’t Miss.”

“Francie, come on—”

Francie shows them the next pages, printouts of an online article.

Gwendolyn Ross Arrested in the Disappearance of Her Son

Lachlan Raine Admits Affair with State Dept. Intern Ellen Aberdeen



Francie flips again. It’s the e-mail from Nell. The Jolly Llama. 8:00 on July 4. Everyone come, and especially Winnie. We won’t take no for an answer.

Francie’s hands are trembling as she holds open a notebook, and they read the page together.

What if they don’t believe me? I finally spoke that question out loud last night. What if they see through the story we’ve created? What if I go to jail?

But Joshua just turned away from me. I know even the mention of it terrifies him.



Francie flips to the next page, and a handful of folded papers falls onto the floor at their feet. Nell picks them up and unfolds them.

Token’s mug shot. Three copies of it.

Colette closes her eyes, hearing only the sound of the rain pulsing against the skylight above them.

“Oh my god,” Nell says under her breath.

Colette opens her eyes. Go, Francie mouths.



Scarlett is standing by the door. The baby is crying harder.

“He sounds hungry,” Francie says. “Can I do something to help?”

“You can leave,” she says. “My husband is parking the car and will be back any second. Trust me, he’s not going to be so understanding.”

Colette walks toward Scarlett. She pictures herself running down the stairs, out on to the sidewalk, sprinting through the rain, back to Charlie and Poppy, none of this real. But then her gaze meets Nell’s and then Francie’s, and she feels herself taking a few steps toward Scarlett.

“What are you doing?” Scarlett says, her hands at the baby’s head.

Colette reaches for the rain hood. Scarlett pulls away, but Colette catches a glimpse of his hair, and then his face.

“Midas,” Francie says from behind Colette as Scarlett walks brusquely into the kitchen. Colette follows, her legs weak.

His screams grow louder as Colette reaches Scarlett. She forces her hands inside the carrier and hooks them around the baby. She feels Scarlett pitching toward the sink, and sees the knife locked in her fist.

In an instant, she becomes aware of a searing flash of pain in her side. She hears the sound of Nell’s voice. She sees Poppy’s face.

And then it all goes black.



I place the knife on the table.

Francie is standing motionless. Nell is kneeling beside Colette, who has fallen to the floor. The baby is screaming at my chest. “Now look what you’ve done,” I say, gazing down at him. “You’ve upset Joshua.”

“Scarlett, what have you—” Francie is walking closer to me. “Give him to me. Give me Midas.”

“Midas? Midas is dead. This is Joshua.” I see the terrified look in his eyes, and whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re going to be all right.”

The room begins to twist. The air glistens with dust. They’re here to visit.

I’m hosting a May Mothers Meeting.

Nell is crying and holding her phone to her ear. I have to think quickly. I walk over and snatch it from her hand.

“No! Give that to me.” She’s frantic. “We have to get her help.”

I calmly place her phone in the sink, turning on the faucet. “No phone calls during our meetings, ladies. It’s rude.” I turn to Francie. “You too.”

“Me too?”

“Yes.” I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

Francie reaches for the back pocket of her shorts, the same, pea-green, milk-stained, ill-fitting Old Navy shorts she wears to every meeting, the poor girl. “My phone? I didn’t—”

I step over Colette and spin Francie around, my nails digging into her soft bicep, and grab the phone from her pocket. I toss it in the sink next to Nell’s and squeeze a stream of blue gel over the phones, watching them disappear under a cloud of bubbles. I catch my reflection in the cabinet glass, noting the dark bags under my eyes, the state of my hair. I look awful.

I pinch pink into my cheeks and fluff up my hair. I really should have put more effort into looking good for this meeting. I know how much these women care about that.

“I’m sorry,” I say, turning back to Francie. “I don’t mean to be rude. Joshua has been a little moody and it’s starting to get to me. But you guys know how that is, right?”

I walk to the apartment door, twisting the dead bolt into place, stringing the chain lock. Kneeling down, I summon the strength to slide a stack of packing boxes in front of the door. I’m a little dizzy when I stand. “No point in going to the park in this rain,” I say, walking to the refrigerator. “Let’s just meet here. It’s more comfortable. And I have to feed this baby.”