“I’m glad the bitch is dead,” Mr. Jenson shouts, spraying spit on Lyle’s face.
“You’re an evil man,” Lyle shouts back, his biceps bulging. “She’s his mother, for god’s sake!”
“I’m his mother!” Mrs. Jenson mewls, tears running down her face. “I’m the one who raised him.”
“That’s right, Catherine,” my mother says soothingly. “You’re his mother.”
“That bitch is nothing more than a baby maker,” Mr. Jenson says nastily. “Put in a penis and out pops a kid. Nothing but a whore.”
“Keep your voice down,” I say, furious at his histrionics. “Do you want Paris to hear you?”
“I don’t give a good hot damn,” Mr. Jenson declares, pushing a finger in Lyle’s chest. “She deserved what she got.”
“Listen, you,” Lyle sputters, making a grab for Mr. Jenson’s finger.
“Oh for god sake’s,” I sigh loudly, fed up with the whole scene. “Mom, can I have the keys to your car? I’m going to the gym to work out.”
“This late?” My mother protests. It’s nine-thirty, and it makes her nervous when I travel alone late at night—especially after the last few months.
“I gotta get out of here. I want to check out the gym one more time, anyway.” I pull my cell phone out of my duffel and wave it at my mother. “Look, I’m armed and dangerous.” I shove it in my jacket pocket so I have easy access.
“All right.” She reluctantly hands me her keys. “Be careful,” she warns. I breeze out of the hospital and drive to the gym. There are only two clients, both of whom are wearing headphones, and Jimmy is at the front desk.