I suppose there have been mothers who’ve gone bad. When you think about it. Bad apples. Renegades. Miscreants. Got to be. Devouring their children. Stuffing them in Dumpsters. Drowning them in muddy pools under the full moon. I’d like to think they were in the minority, though. Rarest cases. What do you suppose it could’ve been? Revenge? Infidelity? Betrayal of one kind or another. Maybe just plain old madness. Maybe as simple as that. The call of madness.

(LIZ puts the unwrapped straw in MABLE’s coffee, then guides the other end to MABLE’s lips. MABLE closes her eyes and sips on straw. Suddenly spitting out straw and coffee.)

GODDAMNIT!!!

(ROSCOE stands, LIZ stands, takes napkin, and tries to clean up MABLE, who is spitting and twitching her head from side to side.)

ROSCOE: What is it?

MABLE: Hot!! That’s what it is!

(ROSCOE sticks his fingers in MABLE’s cup to test heat.)

Don’t put your fingers in my coffee! Where were you raised!

ROSCOE: (Pulling back.) I can get some ice.

MABLE: I don’t want any ice. What am I gonna do with ice? Suck on it?

ROSCOE: I’m sorry.

MABLE: Sit back down!

(ROSCOE sits. LIZ keeps cleaning up.)

Didn’t want any coffee either. (To ROSCOE.) How’d I let you talk me into that?

ROSCOE: I just thought—

MABLE: How’d I let him put that in my head, Liz? Coffee! What a dumb idea. I hate coffee. (To LIZ, who sits back down.) You should’ve seen this coming. You could’ve warned me. Given me counsel.

(LIZ, sitting, begins folding and unfolding napkin nervously, in her lap. She keeps her head down and seems ashamed. MABLE continues harangue.)

You’re the one who’s supposed to save me from these predicaments. If I can’t trust you, who else can I trust? Nobody. I’m vulnerable as a naked infant. Look at me!

(LIZ takes a quick peek at MABLE, then drops her head again and continues with napkin.)

ROSCOE: She didn’t—

MABLE: You stay out of this!

ROSCOE: But I don’t think she—

MABLE: You know nothing about us, do you? An utter stranger—waltzing into our lives as though—Who are you, anyway? Some vagabond, homeless wretch! Spawn of the air force!

ROSCOE: I just don’t think you can hold her responsible for—

MABLE: It’s none of your business, is it?

ROSCOE: Well, it just seems unfair to—

MABLE: Unfair! What’s fairness got to do with it? None of us asked for any of this!

ROSCOE: What? No—I didn’t mean—

MABLE: You shut up!

(Silence—pause.) “Fairness.” What are you, the “morality clerk”? (Nodding toward LIZ, who continues, head down, folding napkin.)