Breaking Point

and lay back on the bed.
    The digital clock read 10:28 p.m.
    —
    A MINUTE LATER, she heard the sound of gravel popping on Bighorn Road and saw the sweep of headlights light up the curtains. The vehicle outside slowed, which piqued her interest, and she heard it pull off the road in front of their house. The engine revved for a few seconds and died as it was turned off.
    Marybeth stood and approached the window. She hoped it wasn’t a stray hunter or fisherman stopping at the house to talk to Joe about something. She could never get used to these men, often smelling of cigarette smoke and beer, thinking it was okay to simply drop by any hour of the night. Joe was usually patient with them, which was part of his job, but she wasn’t as patient.
    She parted the curtain to see the lights from Pam Roberson’s Ford Explorer go out. She was parked next to Hannah’s car. Marybeth waited for a few moments, expecting Pam to open her door and get out. But for whatever reason, she was just sitting there.
    Marybeth clicked on the lights and looked at herself in the mirror over the dresser. Her eyes were dark and gaunt, and she smiled, trying to make herself look and feel happy. She hoped it worked.
    —
    L UCY AND H ANNAH were huddled together under a light blanket on the couch, watching some kind of awful teen reality show featuring tattooed boys and pregnant sixteen-year-old girls. When Marybeth came down the stairs, Lucy expertly changed the channel to a nature show.
    Marybeth said sternly, “You two ought to get to bed,” as she passed them, her way of telling them she didn’t approve of what they’d been watching and hadn’t been fooled by the maneuver.
    Pam Roberson sat in the Ford, her hands on her lap, staring straight ahead. When Marybeth went out the gate in front of her, Pam seemed to snap to attention and quickly got out.
    “I’m sorry,” Pam said. “I know it’s late, but I didn’t know where to go. There are television trucks in front of my house and these people keep knocking on my door. Butch’s driver’s license picture—which is a really bad one—is all over the news. I just couldn’t stay there, so I snuck out the back and drove over here.”
    Marybeth took Pam by the arm and ushered her toward their house.
    “You can stay as long as you like,” she said.
    “I guess I wanted to see Hannah,” Pam said. “I wanted to be near her.”
    “I understand.”
    Pam paused before they went in. “Marybeth, did you hear about the hostages?”
    “Yes.”
    “I just can’t believe it. It’s so awful. It’s like I just don’t know Butch anymore. It’s like there’s some dangerous
criminal
up there in the mountains who has my husband’s name.”
    Marybeth nodded and led the way inside.
    —
    L UCY AND H ANNAH glanced up to see who was behind Marybeth, and Hannah looked stricken. The color had drained out of her face, and her eyes were huge. Marybeth was taken aback at first, and hoped one of her daughters never acted that way when
she
entered a room. Then she thought Hannah was likely anticipating bad news and assumed Pam was there to deliver it.
    “Hey, girls,” Pam said wearily.
    “Mom . . .” Hannah said.
    “I haven’t heard anything about your dad,” Pam said, trying to put up a strong front—like Marybeth.
    “So he’s okay?” Hannah asked.
    “I just don’t know. But you know your dad.
He’s tougher than the rest.
”
    Marybeth recognized the phrase as one from a Chris LeDoux song, and it broke her heart.
    “Let’s have a glass of wine,” Marybeth said, leading Pam through the living room into the kitchen.
    —
    A FTER TWO GLASSES OF WINE, Marybeth sent Lucy and Hannah to bed and made up a spare bed on the couch in the living room for Pam. The wine seemed to have gone straight to her head, probably from being overtired and stressed, and Pam slurred her words while Marybeth showed her where the towels were.
    Pam went immediately to sleep and was snoring by the time Marybeth finished closing the house up for the night. While Marybeth tiptoed through the living room toward the stairs, the front door opened and Sheridan burst in.
    Sheridan instinctively began to toss her backpack on the couch when she realized someone was sleeping on it, and jerked it back before it hit Pam Roberson in the face.
    “Yikes,” she said.
    Marybeth shushed Sheridan and gestured for her to follow her out into the kitchen.
    Sheridan sat down at the table, obviously puzzled. Marybeth poured a glass