It had only come easily with Rick—every conversation like an exhale of a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
From now on, she’d have to keep it in. Or to find another way to let it out.
“Can you think of anyone who’d target you, or Daniel, or your house, for any reason at all?”
“No.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know.” Could she? It had sounded routine when the police asked it. And Daniel had been just as willing to brush the possibility aside. But hearing the words from Rick somehow made it seem real.
He glanced past her, into the building, and she turned to follow his gaze. No one was approaching. “You mentioned some debts, not long ago,” he said more quietly. “How bad are they, Molly? Are they … on the up-and-up?”
“I don’t owe the Mafia, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.
“And Daniel. You’ve been upset about—some boss at his work, wasn’t it? Wasn’t there something you thought he should report?”
She rolled her eyes. “A regular, shirt-and-tie boss, Rick. Again, not a Mob boss. It had to have been random. Right?” She was talking as much to herself as to him. He shrugged, and she did, too. “I guess we’re all lucky my friend scared him off. I know the cop said sometimes burglars will case multiple houses, hit another one if they’re successful on the first. But he wasn’t, so … hopefully there’s no reason to think he’ll be back.”
The worry lines in Rick’s forehead softened, just a little. “I wish we could all thank your friend,” he said. “She must have been so freaked out.”
Molly cringed. She was too ashamed to go there.
He shook his head again. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me. You must have been beside yourself. Even if you’d thought it was me—” That embarrassed flush again. “I still wish you’d called. We could have had this conversation then. I could have helped, somehow. Instead it’s—whatever the hell that visit yesterday morning was.”
Easy. A deep breath. A little steadier. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she said lamely. “I was—tired. And I’m sorry, for thinking you would’ve…” Now it was her turn to feel the blood rush into her cheeks. “But you know, the idea that it seemed possible, maybe we should take that as a sign. Take a little space.” The last thing she’d wanted, up until all of this, was space from Rick. She’d only ever wanted more of him. But the fear that her bluff had been called had changed everything. Just like that.
“Look, it was an odd coincidence,” he said, smiling sadly. “Which was the only reason it seemed possible, right?” He got to his feet. “You know what, let’s not talk about it. Let’s forget it. The important thing is, you’re safe.”
Was she safe? Evidently, there had been an actual intruder in her home, and she’d blown it off, practically shooed the police away. She’d behaved completely inappropriately, missed her chance to pursue this further—though it sounded as if the police were still following up on their own. All she could hope was that her own shaky assurances—and Daniel’s, and Rick’s—were correct. It had been random. Nothing to do with her.
It just didn’t feel like an easy jump, to go from being so sure she knew who it was—and why, thanks to an offhand comment that got out of hand—to accepting that she’d never know, that it probably, with hope, didn’t matter.
Maybe if she had called Rick that night, she could’ve gone along with what he was suggesting. Let’s forget it. But she hadn’t. And Daniel had brought flowers yesterday. He might have brought home demands, fury that she hadn’t told him, slammed doors—it’s how she would have responded, were she the one fielding phone calls during business hours from concerned neighbors catching her mortifyingly unawares. Instead, he’d brought sadness, longing, a mirror of her own feelings—one she hadn’t looked into in a long time. And she owed him something for that. She’d looked at him and seen what it was that she owed herself.
She squared her shoulders and sucked in a brave, steadying breath. “I think we’ve both known that maybe we’ve grown too close, Rick. Neither of us wanted to step back, because of the girls. And I love spending time with you. But I think I might like it too much. I’m going to take this debacle as a sign that we should … take a break.”
He cocked his head at her, the kind of confused-puppy look that was almost cute enough to convince you someone else had chewed the rug. “Are you saying you have feelings for me, Molly?” His measured tone didn’t quite match his expression.
If only there were some way to put more distance between them on this tiny balcony. “Of course not. I just don’t want it to seem—inappropriate. The amount of time we spend together.”
He hiked a thumb toward the building. “No one in there looks at us strangely. Why would you?” He knew why. The instant he realized what Molly had believed he’d done, he should have run in the opposite direction. But he’d come here instead. “I’m pushing back on this people of the opposite sex can’t be friends trope,” he continued. “All my friends are the opposite sex these days. That’s what happens when you end up a single dad, without another one in sight. Whose definition of inappropriate are you afraid of? Is it Daniel? Has he said something?”
She shook her head. Could he not just gracefully back away?
“Look, forget the fact that of everyone I know, I relate to you most—we’ve both been dealt some losing hands, but we’re still at the table. I’m not one to force an issue, even when I should. My wife used to call me passive, and she was right. I’d often regret it later.” He stared straight into her eyes. “But when Rosie is involved, I will force it. Our time with you and Nori is the only thing making a difference for her. I won’t walk away from that without good reason. Which we both know this is not.”
So that was it. Either he had been entertaining it, too—this thing between them that was more of a not-so-harmless-after-all fantasy than a wish for a different reality—but loved his daughter too much to admit it, or she was out here on the limb by herself, exposed and disgraced, but he was willing to pretend he didn’t see her there. Could they—could she—really go on as they had been? Firm up everything that was right between them and leave behind the rest?
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked out. She was. And she wasn’t.
“We’re better than this,” he said firmly. “Tell me what you need from me in order to move beyond this, and I’ll do it. Just don’t tell me you don’t want us in your life anymore. We didn’t do anything to deserve that, Molly. And we never would.”
She closed her eyes. The aura that preceded her migraines was instantly recognizable—a pixelated spectrum of reds and oranges at the far corners of her vision—and one was coming at her now, hot and demanding. If she didn’t take a pill within minutes, she’d be rendered useless for the rest of the day. She held very still, visualizing the little packet in her purse, under the Nature Shop register. Easy, she told herself. Easy.
When she opened them again, Rick was watching her with concern. “An aura?” he asked. She dismissed the unwelcome thought that he was more astute than Daniel at reading the signs.
“It’s been a long couple days,” she whispered. “Just give me a little time, okay?”
He touched her arm lightly. “A little,” he said. And then, at last, he was gone.
11
As was her custom, Liza had brushed off the last thing Max had said to her.
I just worry that maybe you’re not actually okay.
But by the time she was crossing the Ohio border, she was starting to worry the same.
There had been an accident. A safe distance ahead of her—a few miles at least. The police had just arrived on the scene when she came upon the flipped SUV—two officers were crouched down at the shattered windows, while another set out flares. As recently as yesterday, she’d have simply said a silent prayer for the driver and thanked the traffic gods that she’d made it past before the lanes were closed.
But now she couldn’t stop think
ing about it. The tension turned her knuckles white on the wheel. She’d stopped at a rest area only moments before, which was practically a special occasion—usually she was fanatical about making good time on long drives. But she’d caught sight just in time of the retro yellow sign advertising Stuckey’s—a roadside luxury they didn’t have in Ohio—and remembered how much her brother liked their peanut brittle. Arriving gifts in hand didn’t seem a bad idea, considering, and she figured his pregnant wife wouldn’t turn down imported calories. She’d taken a few minutes to browse, picking up a pecan log and pralines, too.
But what if she hadn’t?
What if she hadn’t seen the red-lettered billboard in time, had kept on driving? Or what if she’d bought only the brittle, in her usual rush, without staying to wander the aisles, to let her eyes skim the bins of archaic bargain CDs, to squeeze a few stuffed animals before deciding a gift for her baby niece or nephew might be premature given the complications Luke mentioned? She’d have been miles ahead of where she was now. She might have been out in front of the accident, might not know a thing about it. Or she might have seen it happen. She might—it suddenly seemed more than possible—have been in it. The SUV could have lost control, the driver having a heart attack, perhaps, or a stroke, bouncing off the guardrail and barreling roof-over-wheels toward her, dragging Liza’s little two-door into the crunch of metal.
Was life just one death dodge after another, while people carried on oblivious to the danger until the day it was too in-their-face to ignore, the day their home burned down in the dead of night while they were against all odds away?
The oblivious part seemed essential to not driving oneself crazy. Now that Liza was hyperaware of the frequency and fragility of the near misses that made up any given day, how could she ignore them? Her old habit of not-quite anxiety had been a bother, a running joke even to her, but this new kind of startling, piercing fear was something else.
The “Ohio Welcomes You” sign came into view, and she powered open the windows and let the chilly spring air whip her hair into a frenzy. Her left hand on the wheel, she raised her right through the sunroof, fingers splayed, and visualized the molecules rushing between them. She made a fist and then opened it again, trying to let go of these thoughts she didn’t want to have, to let the wind sweep them away.
Her brother’s house was north of Cincinnati, in the affluent municipality of Blue Ash that boasted its accolades on the welcome signs. Thanks to an excellent school district, the area had its fair share of supersized suburban sprawl, alongside older, smaller homes that drew a hefty price tag for merely existing where they were. Luke and Steph had settled for neither, finding a best-kept-secret sort of anomaly, a historic beauty someone else had gone to the trouble of restoring in a wonderfully walkable part of town near the library, shops, pubs, an outdoor amphitheater, even a park with a picturesque duck pond.
By the time Liza arrived, her two-night sleepless stretch was catching up with her, and she was too tired to feel nervous about intruding. She’d never spent more than a day or two here, but she liked that it was a safe distance from her parents, who’d retired thirty miles north to a more secluded slice of land—conveniently inconvenient, as they accepted Liza’s explanation that she planned to look for jobs in the city right away and didn’t want to hassle with their commute. Much better than telling them she’d feel like a backsliding failure if she moved into their finished-basement guest suite. Blue Ash was closer than she’d like to Molly, but it’d likely be a while before her friend realized she was here. She certainly wasn’t about to tell her.
Liza pulled parallel to the curb in an open spot a half block away and caught sight of Steph sitting alone, earbuds in and eyes closed, on her gently swaying front porch swing in what looked like a page from a Pottery Barn catalog, all throw pillows and hanging lanterns.
Until Luke brought her to Thanksgiving dinner a couple of years ago, Liza had known Steph only as her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, by name and photo alone. The two had never spoken, and Liza harbored no grudges toward that particular ex, nor had she known if Steph realized their second-degree connection. Still, Liz had been weirded out enough to keep a polite distance all the way up to the drunken bachelorette party, when she’d found herself sharing a tiny wine bar bathroom with her future sister-in-law, both of them seeking a momentary escape from the high-pitched shrieks of their increasingly rowdy group outside.
“Don’t let yourself get suckered into this,” Steph had muttered, crumpling the cheap wisp of a veil someone had coerced onto her head and jamming it into her clutch. “I love your brother—and I plan to love him forever—but I fucking hate weddings.”
She’d turned to Liza with a rueful smile. “Are we ever going to talk about that dud we both dated?”
Liza’s eyebrows had lifted. “No?”
“Perfect.”
Steph endeared herself to Liza pretty quickly after that, in spite of the fact that everything about the woman was ridiculously photogenic—she was one of those people who could make even yoga pants and a messy ponytail look enviably stylish and who treated bad days with humor and wine. Liza had yet to see her effortless confidence shaken. It was easy to see why Luke was crazy about her.
Grabbing her purse and duffel from the passenger seat, Liza locked the car and headed out. Steph’s eyes opened at the thud of the car door, and she called into the house through the open window. Luke bounded onto the porch and down the stairs to catch Liza in a bear hug on the sidewalk.
“Damn, it’s good to see you,” he murmured, squeezing her tight, and she knew then, as she steeled herself against a surprise torrent of emotion, that her brother had been just as rattled by her near miss as she was. With Steph, his affection was plain, but when it came to Liza, Luke was too laid-back—too cool, really—for sentiments, though they were implied. He stepped back and held her at arm’s length, taking her in. “Can I help get the rest of your stuff?”
She smiled weakly through her shrug. “This is it,” she said, lifting the sparsely filled bags out to her sides. “All that’s left.”
The realization shuddered across his face, and she burst into tears.
* * *
“Tell me again how you managed to be away in the middle of the night,” Luke said.
The again was a courtesy word. She’d simply told them she’d gotten lucky in being somewhere other than her bed, not how or why. It had seemed too bizarre to explain on the phone and still did here, on the nicer side of ordinary. Luke had led her to the kitchen table, presented her with a glass of pinot grigio and a plate of cheese, and sat down opposite her with a beer. At the counter, Steph was tossing strawberries and walnuts into a bowl of greens. Luke and Liza’s parents were coming for dinner, to see for themselves that she was unsinged by the fire. She didn’t know how she’d keep her eyes open for the duration. The wine would only put her to sleep, but all the coffee she’d downed today was giving her the shakes. She sipped from the glass numbly.
“Remember how I called that night to ask you to check on Molly?”
Steph looked at Luke in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that.”
He glanced nervously at Steph and back to Liza, a silent plea that his sister not mention the pregnancy complication just now.
“I decided to do it myself,” Liza continued.
Two pairs of confused eyes turned on her. “You were in Cincinnati?”
“For all of five minutes.” It was a slight exaggeration, so as not to hurt their feelings that she hadn’t called. She’d treated Max to a stack of cinnamon-sugar-sprinkled goodness at the Original Pancake House, where they’d fueled up on Kona coffee and mutual disbelief before heading home in a well-fed, if otherwise sheepish, silence.
She told them the rest, the strange mess of it. By the time she was done, Steph was seated at the table with them, downing seltzer as if it were something more interesting and looking longingly at the wine.
“What the hell?” Luke said, for about the tenth t
ime. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have said so before, Sis, but something hasn’t been right with your pal Molly these past few years. I thought she’d just succumbed to the evils of suburbia or something, but this…” He shook his head.
It wasn’t a fair assessment, really. Luke had never been much of a Molly fan, something Liza had chalked up to him being annoyed by his kid sister and her ever-present friend until the adult day a few years ago that he’d surprised her by muttering, “I swear, that girl doesn’t know who she is without you around. God help her when you leave.”
Steph shot him a look. “Cool it with ‘the evils of suburbia.’ No worse cliché than a hipster dad-to-be in denial.” He opened his mouth to object, but she pressed on. “And speaking of something not being right, I can’t believe you denied your worried sister a favor on my account. You’re lucky it happened to have saved her life.”
“No, he was right,” Liza said quickly. “I wouldn’t have called if I’d realized what … what you were in the middle of. Besides, it’s pretty clear Molly didn’t want to be checked on.”
She’d always been quick to forgive Molly, maybe even too quick, but Molly had tolerated Liza’s own shortcomings so well in return that it never seemed a concession. Liza knew that she was a walking inconsistency, neurotically anxious by night and thoroughly noncommittal, even nonchalant, by day. It was as if everything that might have caused concern in the moment—a scuff-up at work, an unanswered email, a dirty look—rolled right off and collected at her feet, waiting to climb back up to her brain later, when she was trying to sleep. Molly had always embraced her curiously split persona, making Liza like herself in moments she wouldn’t have otherwise. It was odd to view their friendship from this curious distance, as if it were a thing of the past. Before yesterday, she might have persisted, calling her friend again to at the very least serve up the piece of her mind she’d been too dumbfounded to unleash on Molly’s doorstep.
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