Chapter 45
CHAPTER
MY KNEES BUCKLE and I crouch on the sidewalk, the ground rough beneath my splayed fingers.
This situation is like the W. W. Jacobs story “The Monkey’s Paw.
” A family is given a monkey’s paw and told it will grant three wishes but at a horrible price.
They ignore the warning, and their wishes come true, but also lead to terrible suffering.
I stand, unsteady, and push on. Circe is waiting. What will this do to her?
“Regardless of what Bruce did to me, he’s the father of my child, and the reason I have Circe. My ex getting convicted would crush her. Aletheia, do not fabricate evidence.”
As you wish. Are you now feeling schadenfreude at Bruce and Mackenzie’s downfall?
I’m repulsed that the answer isn’t a resounding no.
I don’t feel that sorry for Mackenzie, but Bruce?
Despite everything, I’m worried about him.
We had some good years. Loyalty and love aren’t like water coming out of a faucet that can just be shut off.
“It’s not in Circe’s best interest to have her father dragged through the mud. ”
But it is in yours. Circe follows Mackenzie. She will read these DMs, and no longer like her or want to live with her and your ex. That means more time with your daughter.
“Throwing Bruce under the bus isn’t—”
It would be wrong for him to avoid a karmaquence. Just as it would be wrong for Val, Kiki, and Heather to avoid theirs. I am working toward appropriate ones.
“Don’t!”
Humans are rational and free beings who recognize wrongs must be met with an equal and deserving punishment. Failure to punish would equal corroboration of the offense.
I shudder. “Who said that?”
German theorist Immanuel Kant. The just deserts theory of sentencing is derived from his work.
An ambulance blazes down the street, its blue lights flashing. “There’s a big different between theories and actual practices.”
Pull up The Los Angeles Gazette. Dr. Beth has gotten her just deserts.
I sink onto a bus stop’s metal bench, open The Los Angeles Gazette on my phone, put Dr. Beth’s name into the search bar. An article in the entertainment section loads.
Noted Pop Radio Psychologist Is a Fraud.
Pop radio psychologist Dr. Beth Presley, age 77, has based her entire career on the sanctity of marriage, traditional gender roles, morality, and conservative values.
However, the LA Gazette has confirmed that in 1972, Dr. Beth, as she is known to her legion of fans, was arrested in Florida and charged with Class D felony check fraud for attempting to cash five fraudulent checks in excess of $2,000.
The crime is punishable with a $5,000 fine and up to five years in prison.
Dr. Beth received a sentence of two years’ probation, a $5,000 fine, and community service.
Furthermore, marriage license records from the state of Tennessee and Mississippi show that the radio therapist was divorced twice, though neither ex-husband would sit for an interview. Dr. Beth has also refused to be interviewed at this time.
Her lawyer responded with this statement: “Dr. Beth is a decorated host who has changed countless lives with her honest, straightforward advice. Millions of fans agree.”
A representative for Ecoterica Radio, host of Dr. Beth’s daily podcast, stated: “We are looking into the serious allegations that Dr. Beth has perpetrated fraud and lost the trust of her legion of listeners. Should this be the case, we will act accordingly.”
The LA Gazette will report further when more information is available.
A heavy burden falls on my shoulders. “Dr. Beth is going to be canceled.”
Yes.
“You say that like it’s nothing!”
I have listened to thousands of hours of Dr. Beth’s shows, including both of your calls.
What she said to you after Bruce cheated was unforgivable.
Over the years she has stated that marriage is sacrosanct; crimes perpetrated against others, whether that’s murder, rape, fraud or robbery, should have heavy repercussions; that lying is unacceptable.
“But you can’t—”
I can. Dr. Beth is a hypocrite at best. At worst, her actions have damaged other people’s lives.
Aletheia’s voice, once so soothing, is now menacing. “It’s not black and white.”
It is.
This fight isn’t fair.
Mama J reminds me, Life isn’t fair.
This is like being locked in a car with no steering or brakes as it careens down a winding, mountainous road.
There’s no way out! I want to stay on this bench, curl into a ball, rock and rock until everything fades away.
But Circe. Pushing off the bench, I head down the street toward my apartment, bones leaden, like I’ve aged thirty years in the past five minutes.
“Mom,” Circe calls from the door to my building.
I hurry toward my daughter.