The Good Ones

Chapter 9: Madness

Lucinda was back in her parents' kitchen in Seattle, right before she started her new job with The King of Wildlife. Their miniature castle sat on Lake Washington Boulevard with the rest of the residences of those more fortunate than most others. Dr. Beatrice Barbey-Morales took care not to splash her tailored pant suit as she topped off their coffees with Bailey's liquor. Unlike her husband, who was a tall, dark hispanic man, Beatrice was a short caucasian woman. Lucinda mostly inherited her appearance from her father, with the exception of her skin that was a shade lighter than the rest of his family.

Her attitude, on the other hand, was entirely from her mother.

Beatrice looked down at her daughter through her glasses with the same expression one would give an insect they've tried to kill for hours, but given up on. "If I were to bet, I'd say James finally broke it off with you because of your nasty drug habit. He's got too much going on for you to be dragging him through your problems."

James had been Lucinda's steady boyfriend for four years and fiancee for one year. He was now her ex-fiancee as of five days ago. It was no big loss. He was an arrogant prick, and romance was never on Lucinda's mind these days anyway. The Adderall had that effect.

"If I recall, you're the one who got me started on my drug habit when I was in elementary school," Lucinda reminded her. "All because you wanted my finger paintings to be better than the rest of the children in my class."

"I prescribed you Adderall when you were a child because you insisted that you could talk to animals," said her mother defensively. "It's a classic sign of ADHD. I made a diagnosis and treated you appropriately for it."

Lucinda glanced at Beatrice's black schnauzer, Dexter, who was scratching at the tag on his bedazzled collar that read I'm lost, call my mommy. He carried on and on about the indecencies his mistress subjected him to. "...and during the cold seasons, she forces me to wear those ridiculous sweaters!"

Lucinda turned back to Beatrice and grinned. "Aren't we all glad you solved that problem." She grabbed the Bailey's and topped off the remainder of her coffee cup. "I was lucky to have the nation's leading pediatric psychiatrist for a mother. I wouldn't be the normal, highly functional adult I am today without your expertise."

She raised her cup to Beatrice, then took a large gulp of what was now mostly liquor. Her mother rolled her eyes, then fixed them on Lucinda's arms. It was one of the hottest days on record for the Seattle area, entirely too hot for the long sleeves Lucinda wore. Lucinda held her mother's gaze, silently daring her to ask what those sleeves were covering up. For a moment, she thought Beatrice was going to take the bait. Instead, her mother looked down at her coffee as if it tasted like dirt and said, "The day you turned down your seat at Harvard Medical School, your father and I knew you would never amount to much."

On the outside, Lucinda was calm, cool, and collected. Her breathing was nice and steady. She kept the expression of someone who was having a pleasant chat with a friend over a glass of wine. On the inside, her blood was boiling. Her organs swam with rage. She wanted nothing more than to bang her fists on the counter and throw a long overdue tantrum in her mother's kitchen.

"You know what," said Lucinda. "I've never had the pleasure of reading one of your books. Tell me, mother, do you mention that despite being an expert on child behavior, you have a fucked up daughter that hates you?"
CRACK!!!!!!!

The sound Beatrice's hand made when it slapped Lucinda's face echoed loudly through the large, empty home. She'd known that, sooner or later, her mother was going to snap, so the hit didn't surprise her. She stood still as a statue, never twitching or dropping her smile. Her cheek stung like a bitch, but she resist the urge to reach up and massage it.