"John LennonJohnny McMullen stared at the piece of paper in his hands, and felt a cold sweat break out all over his body, despite the unseasonably warm late-winter day.It had come out of a sealed envelope with his name on it that had been placed under the windshield wiper of his pickup truck, which had been parked in the lot at the foundry where he worked as a master machinist.As he read it, he could feel his whole world spinning out of control, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to gain some equilibrium.The message had consisted of two sentences, set in fairly large type in some commonly-used font. It read:"Your wife is getting awfully chummy with one of the attorneys at her work. Don't think anything has happened yet, but it's headed that way fast unless you act NOW."That was it. No salutation nor end line, and nothing on the envelope, either, except his name. Just the damning message, toxic as it was.Johnny's first inclination was to wad the message up and forget it.. These were relatively small signs. I was still so far from motherhood it was easy to ignore. Instead I reveled in being the most popular girl at the ball. The thing I was more concerned about than anything was the smoking. I couldn’t quit no matter how hard I tried. In fact, about half the girls were hooked because it turned on their husbands too. The joke was that was the sign you were in Mercy Warren. No one smokes anymore except us. Reality hit when pledging ended and I walked through the door of my house. My mother was there to greet me and ran to get a hug. But she stopped in her tracks when she saw how much my breasts had grown. My belly was even beginning to protrude bit. “You’re the Saint!” she whispered sadly. I hung my head and said, “Yes,” somewhat exasperated. Then it dawned on me. “Wait, how do you know about the Saint?” My mom cooked me dinner and we stayed up talking all night. It all came out. My mom was also a member of Mercy Warren, recruited because her mom had.
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