Nutcase

by Hughes, Charlotte

“Could we please not curse?” Sarah-Margaret said. “We are, after all, in the Lord’s house.”

  Hal looked at her as if she had the word idiot written on her forehead.

  I glanced at the wall clock. Only ten minutes had passed.

  “I punched the guy in the nose,” Hal said. “He pressed charges. My wife told me to do something about my temper or she was going to hit the road.” He paused and stretched. “Anyway, Ruth said we needed to keep a journal and write down what triggers our anger,” he added.

  “Have you found that helpful?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Hal said. “My trigger is bitchy customers.” Several people laughed.

  I wondered if Hal was serious about the class or merely taking it because his wife had threatened to leave.

  After a moment, he shrugged. “I guess I’m most likely to get angry if I’m tired or hungry,” he finally admitted.

  Sarah-Margaret raised her hand. “I suggested to Hal that he keep protein bars in his desk. Also, I’ve started walking an hour every day. It has really helped me with stress and fatigue.”

  Hal gave a grunt. “Sarah-Margaret is our star pupil,” he said, sarcasm ringing loud in his tone. “Which is why I wonder how come she keeps coming,” he added.

  Sarah-Margaret pressed her lips together in irritation. “There’s no need to be rude, Hal.”

  “I think Hal would rather punch people in the nose,” the bearded man said.

  Hal flipped him off.

  “Oh, that’s real mature,” Larry said. I looked his way. “I’m Larry, as you’ve probably guessed. I don’t feel like sharing tonight.”

  “That’s fine.” I chose to ignore Hal’s bad behavior. Some people liked being a bully, and I suspected Hal was one of them. If it were my group, I might have tried to work with him, but I admit I was just trying to get to dinner.

  The older woman with the walker spoke. “My name is Bea. I think it’s real special that you decided to share your personal problems,” she said in a tone that suggested otherwise, “but I paid good money for this class, and I’m not interested in hearing about them.”

  Mona and I exchanged “uh-oh” looks. “And you have every right to feel that way,” I said, thinking it best to validate her feelings and move on. She was rough around the edges. Her face was unmade and dotted with age spots. Her gray hair fell to her shoulders in no particular style. She wore a denim dress and tattered white sneakers.

  “Would you like to share, Bea?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’m here because my daughter-in-law is a bitch.” She indicated the professionally dressed young woman beside her.

  “I resent that remark!” the woman said. “How dare you.”

  Bea shrugged. “You can resent it all you like, Sandra, but you’re still a bitch.”

  Sarah-Margaret raised her hand. “Could we please not use foul language in our Father’s house?”

  “Shut up, you little wimp,” Bea said, and looked my way. “I moved in with Sandra and my son six months ago because I’ve been having trouble getting around. Bad knees,” she added. “My daughter-in-law makes my life miserable.”

  Sandra looked at me. “Trust me; she’s fully capable of being miserable on her own. The only reason my husband and I let her move in is because none of her other children would put up with her.”

  “That’s a damn lie!” Bea said, grabbing her walker and pulling herself to her feet. “My kids love me. The reason I live with you and Brandon is because you have the biggest house and I don’t have to use the stairs.”

  “Brandon is the poor sucker who lives with them,” Larry said, rolling his eyes. “He made them come here because they were driving him up the wall.”

  Bea ignored him. “And my son is working his ass off trying to pay for that house because my daughter-in-law is selfish and materialistic.” She turned to Sandra. “Let me tell you something, young lady. Brandon could have looked under any rock in Atlanta and found somebody better than you.”

  Sandra bolted to her feet as well and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, I—”

  “Hold it!” I said, cutting off Sandra’s response. Things were quickly getting out of hand. The two had anger down to a T. It seemed that it was up to me to manage it. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if both of you calmed down and took a deep breath.”

  “You’re rude and obnoxious,” Sandra said to Bea, ignoring me. “All you do is watch game shows while Brandon and I support you. Your room is a pigsty. Living with you is like living with Satan’s daughter.” Sandra looked at me. “She keeps a gun under her pillow, even though she knows Brandon and I don’t approve.”

  “Deep breath!” I said loudly.

  “Maybe it’s time I let you have a good look at my gun!” Bea said, snatching a pistol from her pocketbook and aiming it at her daughter-in-law.

  Fear hit me like a brick. “No!” I yelled, jumping up as everybody in the group ducked. Sandra screamed; Hal was up and running with lightning speed. Mona and I made a mad dive toward Bea, trying to wrestle the gun from her hand. Hal grasped her from behind, and Mona gave her wrist a karate chop. I pulled the pistol free.

  Somehow, my finger accidentally hit the trigger, and a deafening shot rang out, followed by the sound of splintering glass.

  Sandra ran screaming from the room.

  Bea swung her walker hard and its legs slammed against Hal’s shins. Ben joined him, trying to restrain the woman who was obviously not as frail as she appeared.

  “Oh, my God!” Sarah-Margaret screamed at me. “You shot Jesus!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. The large picture of Jesus holding the lamb lay shattered on the floor.

  Sarah-Margaret crossed herself. “This is bad,” she said. “This is really bad.”

  I didn’t have time to think about it. “Somebody call nine-one-one!” I shouted, and saw several people reaching for their cell phones.

  Sarah-Margaret cradled what was left of the portrait and sobbed hysterically. “Did you see that!” she demanded of the group. “She shot Jesus!”

  The man with the beard fell to his knees and began praying.

  I dropped the gun and sank onto my chair, my own knees no longer able to support me. I suspected I was going to miss dinner.