Free Mad River Road by Joy Fielding

when she was always looking over her shoulder? No, it was still too early. Maybe one day …“Okay,” Emma said. “Enough of that.” She mounted the steep set of stairs to the second floor, each step a reminder that one day was pretty much the same as the next on Mad River Road.
    Emma entered her bedroom and threw herself across her unmade double bed, wondering why anyone would name a street Mad River Road when the river in question was miles away. Rumor had it there used to be a tributary somewhere nearby, but that it had dried up long ago. Why the name Mad River anyway? What had made the river so
Mad?
Had it seemed angry, wild, uncontrollable? And could the same adjective be used to describe the street’s inhabitants? Another one of life’sunsolved mysteries, Emma decided, closing her eyes. She had more pressing things to worry about.
    Her son, to name one. She had to do something about his nightmares. They were occurring with increasing frequency of late, and it was taking her longer and longer to calm him down. As it was, he insisted on sleeping with the overhead light on and playing his radio all night. Not only that, but a series of nonsensical bedtime rituals was occupying more and more of his time: he brushed his teeth for thirty seconds, using exactly fifteen strokes for the top row, followed by another fifteen for the bottom; he then rinsed out his mouth, starting on the left side and moving to the right, before spitting into the sink three times; he touched the wooden baseboard of his narrow bed twice before he climbed under the covers, then reached behind him to tap the wall above his head. No action could be left out or modified in any way without, he feared, the most dire of consequences. Her son was afraid of everything, Emma realized, groaning out loud and wondering if he’d always been so fearful and just hadn’t shown it.
    True, the last year hadn’t been easy for him. Hell, it hadn’t been easy on either of them. They’d moved three times, and Dylan still didn’t understand why they’d had to leave home in the first place, abandoning everything that was familiar and comfortable: his nana, his room, his friends, his toys. He was always asking where his father was, and if anyone was looking after him. He didn’t like their new names, even after she explained she’d named him after a character from her once-favorite TV show,
Beverly Hills 90210
. And Emma was the name Rachel had given her baby on
Friends
, she’d told him, and didn’t heagree it suited her much better than her old name? He had to be very careful, she reminded him regularly, not to slip up and use his old name around strangers. It was important, she’d cautioned him repeatedly, although she didn’t say why. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth about his father. He was way too young to understand. Maybe if they had to move again, she’d let him choose his own name.
    Emma flipped from her back onto her side and opened her eyes to stare out the front window. Delicate wisps of cloud floated across a blue, untroubled sky. A tree branch, newly furnished with leaves, blew toward the glass. It was cool for May. The outside air smelled damp. It carried the threat of rain, which she hated. Emma took the weather very personally, which she knew was stupid. Still, did it have to be so damn unpleasant so much of the time? She’d grown up in a place of warmth and sunshine. Maybe one day she’d be able to go back.
    In the meantime, she was stuck here on Mad River Road. Another month, and school would be over. What would she do with Dylan then? Even if she had the money to send him to camp, she doubted he’d go. And she couldn’t very well take him with her to work for two months. So how could she even think of getting a job? Maybe she could convince old Mrs. Discala to babysit. Dylan liked her. He said she reminded him of his nana.
    This was all her fault, Emma thought, sleep tugging at her eyes. She was the reason her son was so