"Scared that Mom might come over with the Ivory soap once again, eh?" "Maybe." "Please get that smoking turd out of my face." "Gabriele, you are going to stop that crudeness right now! Here, give Betty some Betty cake!" "Que cosas oir! What things to hear." She sat down between Nathaniel and Michael. "And smell." "Betty," said Nathaniel, " Put your snot rags up your holes and you won't need to know we are around." "I taked care of you when tu madre was not here and this--you dices cosas malvados a mi." Betty got up with her Betty cake and moved to a chair near Rick who just ate and withdrew from the world of commotion. Gabriele hit him on the head. "You. Apologize." "Sorry, Hispanic Betty." She hit him harder on the head and the smack made his ear burn. "Sorry, Betty." True repentance, Gabriele assessed, was such a coerced thing. A person naturally saw only his own perspective. To have empathy for others was such a chore and in some cases was only gained with the crack of a whip. Here he was at ten with at least a tenth of his life completed. Once an infant content to have his feet played with, each year he needed more explosive pleasures and a larger array of them and this would continue into insatiable hungers of money, power, property, sex, and love. But she knew discontent was in all things -- When she had picked up Mouse from the inhumanity of the Humane Society it -- She could feel a nascent migraine swelling within her, and like Betty and her allergies, she absconded to the bathroom. A few minutes later Michael knocked on the bathroom door. She wanted him to go away but at the same time she wanted him inside to hold her head and to pin her hair back from the rim of the toilet. She wanted him to understand her pain and console her in empathy. "What's wrong? You alright in there?" "Sure." But he heard her strenuous efforts to vomit like the cries of stretched muscles. They were as empty as yawns. "You're sick. Are you sick? What am I smelling in there" She turned on the fan. "Smelling?" she asked idiotically. "Open up the door." She opened it and smiled painfully. "Don't freak out. It's a joint." "It's illegal." "It's necessary. It's preventive pot—sometimes when used responsibly. See, once in a while, I feel a migraine coming on. Michael, darling, it isn't homeopathy but it relieves symptoms for lots of illnesses and migraines too." "Flush it down the toilet. What if the boys were to see you smoking that?" "What if they did?" "Flush it down the toilet," he commanded. She did as she was told. She watched her tiny higher authority wave goodbye to her sadly as she was sucked into the whirlpool with her ship. Chapter Thirty-One