Free Fitting Ends by Dan Chaon Page B

glass of beer, and I watched them both take little sips. “She’s on twenty-four-hour watch as it is.”
    â€œI’m sure,” Joan said. She smiled—grotesquely, I thought—enjoying herself. “But don’t you think Rhonda’s going to eventually want to see the baby?”
    â€œNot if Mom can help it.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous,” I said, and they both looked up. Molly had quieted a bit, and maybe they hadn’t noticed me listening. “They can’t keep her from seeing her own child,” I said, and the pulse of annoyance I felt toward them crept into my voice. “I mean, legally, doesn’t she have visitation rights or something?”
    They both eyed me. Susan made a wry face, and the way she tilted her head made me realize she needed a haircut. Her hair constantly looked like it needed to be combed, and the word
unbecoming
came suddenly into my mind. “She’d need a damn good lawyer,” Susan said. “And if you think she’s going to get past Mom without a fight, you don’t know my mother.” She let her gaze linger over me for a moment, and I frowned. “He’s been Rhonda’s biggest fan lately,” she told Joan.
    â€œOh, I know,” Joan said. “You should have seen them making goo-goo eyes at each other at the motel.” It was supposed to be a joke, but I felt my face getting warm. I wasn’t in the mood for Joan’s humor. “Little do we know,” Joan said. “He’s actually Rhonda’s secret sex slave.”
    â€œShut up, Joan,” I said. “That’s all you think about, isn’t it? Why don’t you just sleep with Trencher and get it over with.” I hesitated, a little taken aback by my own meanness, but before Joan could say anything, Molly started to shriek again, and the sound made my shoulders go rigid, made my whole body hum with irritation. “Jesus Christ!” I snapped at Susan. “Can you please take this thing off my hands—it wants to nurse.” I thrust the baby toward her, and the cries stopped abruptly; Molly’s tiny eyes widened in terror or accusation. Then her mouth contorted, and she screamed again.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?” Glaring, she took the baby and cradled her gently, sheltering her from me.
    â€œHow do you expect me to get her to sleep with you two in here harping away like a couple of old biddies?” I said. Susan lifted her blouse roughly, and the baby affixed herself desperately to the breast, as if she’d been held against her will and starved by some torturer. “Oh, it makes me sick,” I said. “My whole life is nothing but work and screaming kids and listening to you two gossip and complain. I’m so bored and tired of this same old thing that I could just jump out a window.”
    â€œWhy don’t you, then?” Susan said. “You’re the one that complains all the time! All you do is sit around like a lump and brood. And now you can’t even stand to take a few minutes to comfort your own sick baby. If you’re so bored, why don’t you leave? Maybe you could hook up with your precious Rhonda. I’m sure she’d show you a great time.”
    â€œMaybe I will,” I said.
    â€œGood,” Susan said. She narrowed her eyes at me, then lifted her glass and drained the beer defiantly. “There’s the door.”
    I hesitated for a moment, opening my mouth with no words—no quick retorts or parting shots. I just stared at them, shaking my head. “I’m leaving,” I said. Then I turned and walked out, slamming the door.
    It was a cool night, full of those heavy, earthy-smelling spring shadows, and by the time I was in the car my heart was shriveling. It wasn’t an anger I’d be able to hang on to for very long, and I knew that in a few hours I’d be turning various apologies over in my mind. At