Page 38 of For Your Own Good

Frank takes a shower before dinner. By the time he gets out, his two-year-old son has moved to the kitchen. Frankie is hungry but doesn’t want to sit still, and Missy explains to him that they all have to sit at the table to eat. This conversation plays out almost every evening, and it always ends with Missy bribing their son to sit still.

Frank welcomes the familiarity. Everything at home feels normal—the dinner, the cleanup, giving Frankie a bath. When Frank goes into his son’s room and reads to him before bed, it feels like today was just a dream. A waking nightmare.

But it all comes back later, after Frankie and Missy are asleep. Frank opens up the Belmont website, and the news is right there, reminding him that it did happen. It wasn’t a nightmare.

The same message the headmaster sent earlier is posted on the home page. Beneath it, scores of parents, teachers, and students have expressed their condolences. Frank adds his own.

My deepest sympathies to the Ross family.

He deletes it. Types it again. Deletes it again. Maybe it’s best not to say anything. Maybe it would be worse not to.

Ingrid.

Goddamn Ingrid.

The guilt for that thought hits quickly.

His hand goes to his chest again, to his cross. He wears it every day, all day. Never takes it off.

For the rest of the night, he keeps his hand on it. And he wonders who is going to show up first: Ingrid’s husband or the police.

TEDDY DOESN’T GOhome. He doesn’t even leave the Belmont parking lot. After watching Frank drive away, he gets out of his car and goes straight back to the Stafford Room. Because he has to be sure.

The trash is gone. Both bins have brand-new liners, not a single coffee pod to be found. Not on the counter or in the cabinets. He can’t tell if the police took the garbage or not. After Ms.Marsha threw him out of the room, he has no idea what happened.

With a sigh, he heads toward the back of the school. To the dumpsters.

25

TODAY WILL BEa good day.

Today will be a good day.

Today will be a good day.

Monday morning, Sonia sits in her car and repeats her mantra, bracing herself for what lies ahead. The weekend was terrible, with a slew of messages passed back and forth about the annual memorial. What should they say about Ingrid? Should the focus change?

And what if it was something Ingrid ate?

Could something have been spoiled?

Where did those pastries come from?

What about the milk in the coffee? Does she use milk, does anyone even know?

Endless, absolutely endless. And not a single word about her ten-year anniversary, not even a congratulations.

Sonia has to remind herself that a woman is dead. That’s what she’scompeting with here: a dead woman. Impossible. It’s not like she can run around sayingWhat about me?and expect to get any sympathy. Or any congratulations, for that matter.

So she puts a concerned-yet-pleasant look on her face and gets out of the car. The kids need her. Someonediedon campus, for God’s sake. They need her now more than ever.

Let the day begin.

FRANK PULLS UPto the school, still on edge. He’s been that way the whole weekend, jumping at every knock at the door, every ring of the phone. Like he’s standing at the top of a building, waiting for the push.

It’s a terrible thing knowing your life is about to implode.

But it hasn’t yet. Maybe it’s all the praying he’s been doing. He hopes it is.