Chapter 10 - Margaret’s version
Margaret contacted me only through lawyers for a month.
Then she asked for a mediated conversation.
Not legal mediation.
Family therapist.
I almost refused.
Dana said:
“Your criminal diversion has a no-unlawful-contact condition, not total no-contact. Follow counsel’s parameters.”
So I attended.
Margaret sat across from me.
Hair styled again.
Pearls.
Armor restored.
She began:
“I’m sorry Thanksgiving got out of hand.”
“No.”
Her therapist, Dr. Helen Ward, looked at her.
Margaret corrected.
“I’m sorry I put dog food at Evan’s place.”
Better.
“Why?”
“He has been disrespectful about meals.”
“He is nine.”
“He calls food disgusting.”
“Sometimes.”
“He pushes plates away.”
“Sometimes.”
“He refuses what I make.”
“Yes.”
“And you allow it.”
“There.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“The problem is me.”
“You undermine me in my own house.”
“He is my son.”
“And when he is at my table—”
“He remains my son.”
Margaret’s face flushed.
Helen said:
“Margaret, what did you want Evan to learn?”
“That meals are not made around him.”
“How does dog kibble teach that?”
Margaret paused.
“It was symbolic.”
“Symbolic of what?”
“If you behave without manners, you get treated without manners.”
I stared.
“Say it clearly.”
She looked at me.
“I wanted him embarrassed.”
There.
Not physically hurt.
Not starved.
Embarrassed.
Why?
“So he would remember.”
I felt my hands curl.
Then unclenched them.
No hair.
No bowls.
Words.
“What did you think he would remember?”
“That Grandma can humiliate him if he dislikes dinner?”
Margaret looked away.
Helen asked:
“Was the goal obedience?”
“Yes.”
May you like
Simple.
For the first time, we had the real word.
