Forget You Know Me

by Jessica Strawser

  “Huh,” Max replied, scrunching his face in thought. “I didn’t think burglars entered the homes of people who were clearly awake. With lights on downstairs? I thought for sure it had to be someone who knew Daniel was out of town. Someone with some other purpose.” He gave Molly another apologetic look. “Not that I’m trying to scare you.”

  She swallowed hard. “It’s nothing that hasn’t crossed our minds,” she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “But they haven’t found anything to indicate that.”

  “How hard have they looked?” Why was he not letting this go?

  “I’m not sure they’ve looked all that hard,” Daniel conceded. “Given that no crime was committed, I think they have more pressing cases to investigate.”

  “Forcibly entering someone else’s home isn’t a crime?” Max scoffed.

  “Well, yes, but then he walked right back out,” Daniel said. “And nothing since.”

  Liza remained quiet. Too quiet. Molly could see how deeply her friend had not wanted to come, and understanding her reasons didn’t make it hurt less. Molly wanted, impossibly, to go back, to behave differently that night, and the next day, to fix it all at the source. She could see that there might not be another way.

  Max smiled teasingly at Daniel. “Are you sure the kinky burglar hooker you hired didn’t get her dates mixed up? I hate it when that happens.” Daniel’s smile faltered, and Molly felt the blood drain from her face as he held her eyes in his. Her husband’s expression took on a strange quality: not that he had been caught in something bad, but that she had.

  Max burst out laughing. “The look on Molly’s face!” he hooted. “It’s like I finally said what she’s been thinking all along!” Daniel went on looking right through her, seeing for the first time what she had really believed, at least at first, to have happened that night. That it was her visitor who’d timed his arrival poorly. It wasn’t far from the truth, damn it, and she didn’t know how in this wordless, caught-off-guard moment to pretend it was. His cheeks paled to match her own, and she wanted to lash out at Max and run from the table at the same time. “Fess up, Daniel,” Max went on. “What’s it you’re into exactly?”

  “Ha-ha,” Daniel said dryly, his eyes not leaving Molly’s. He didn’t quite pull off the good-natured tone this time, and she answered the question in his gaze with a silent one of her own. You’re the one who invited them. Happy now?

  She turned to Max. “You’re kind of right that this isn’t my favorite topic,” she said. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to make a joke of it. It’s just that—I feel as if you and Liza have this in common, both having just dodged something. Her apartment burned down, for God’s sake, and no one’s talking about that, either.”

  “I don’t know how much caffeine you drank on the way down here, but I’m hoping it wears off soon,” Liza told him darkly, and there it was, the spark Molly had known was in there somewhere. “Ease up on everyone, will you?” Max looked so chastised that Molly felt sorry for him, though she still wasn’t sure if he’d genuinely been trying to help or merely to push buttons. Maybe the solidarity between him and Liza did not, after all, extend further than a shared distaste for Molly’s recent missteps.

  Molly had planted the kids in front of a movie, promising they could join the adults for dessert. But here was Grant, wielding a stack of crudely safety-scissored construction paper rectangles. “I’ve got your tickets!” he announced. He bounded over to Liza and slid a red one next to her salad plate, which only served to highlight that her food was virtually untouched. She’d been rolling the cherry tomatoes across the bed of lettuce with her fork, but now she dutifully stabbed one and shoveled it into her mouth.

  “Tickets to what?” Max asked, clearly grateful for the interruption. But Molly could barely hear him over Daniel’s, “Not now, kiddo.”

  “To the After-Dinner Ninja Show,” Grant said, handing a green one to Max importantly. “The stealth brother-sister ninja team puts on a performance the likes of which the world has never seen.” A mask had been drawn in thick black marker across the length of the “ticket,” the eyeholes colored in an unsettling bright red.

  “Sounds impressive,” Max said, but Daniel’s “After dinner” was louder.

  “That’s what I said. The After-Dinner Ninja Show.” Still smiling proudly, Grant handed Daniel an orange ticket. “Nori is the purple ninja, and I’m blue. Her favorite color was purple, but now she says it’s pink, but I don’t have a pink ninja mask, so she has to be purple anyway.”

  “You may hand out the tickets after dinner,” Daniel told him sternly.

  Grant presented a final pink rectangle to Molly. “I’ve already handed them out, Dad,” he said, rolling his eyes as if Daniel were the one missing the point, and then ran from the room, calling again over his shoulder, “The likes of which the world has never seen!”

  “I’d say a fire would be enough to make anyone anxious,” Daniel said as if they’d never been interrupted at all.

  Liza looked longingly at the doorway, clearly wishing she could follow Grant. “I’m not used to it,” she said finally, the vulnerability in her tone catching Molly off guard. “Feeling so anxious, I mean. I hope it wears off soon.” Molly’s feelings showed on Max’s face—a fallen smile, a wrinkle of concern. I’m so glad you’re okay, Molly had greeted Liza, naïvely. Molly could see now that she’d chosen the wrong opening, that her friend was not okay. She was not herself.

  “Molly’s tried plenty of ways to help that sort of thing along,” Daniel said. “Maybe she can recommend something.”

  “What does he mean?” Max asked her.

  “Oh, I’ve had a run of bad luck, this past year or two,” she said.

  “Or five,” Daniel said, lifting his wineglass congenially. She shot him a look.

  “What?” he said. “That’s how old Grant is. That’s when the trouble started.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d been keeping track so closely,” she said coolly.

  “It’s been a lot to keep track of,” he shot back.

  Max was studying them both. “Are you—is he saying you’re a hypochondriac, Molly?”

  “Nothing like that,” she said at the same time that Daniel said, “Somewhat.”

  “Who isn’t, these days, with online symptom checkers,” Liza said, and Molly heard the conflict in her words. It was force of habit for Liza to defend her, yet she was—rightly—unsure if Molly deserved defending just now. Molly offered a grateful smile that she hoped conveyed that she understood the sacrifice.

  “Unfortunately, most of what I’ve worried was wrong with me was confirmed to be wrong with me,” she told Max. True, she’d once convinced herself she was going blind in one eye because she’d noticed it was slow to adjust to the dark. And she’d had a suspicious mole or two—fine, three—removed only to find out they were nothing. But it was like that saying: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. The dermatologist agreed that the coloring of those marks was questionable—well, all but one of them. And the optometrist had actually been impressed that she’d noticed the lag in her night vision, though it wasn’t cause for concern. The other symptoms were more undeniable—in-your-face pain that no one other than the most reluctant patient would ignore. Daniel had seen them, too.

  Hadn’t he?

  “What sorts of things?” Max asked, showing far too much interest.

  “That’s where Daniel’s right that it’s too much to keep track of,” she replied.

  “But anxiety? That’s how we got started on this.”

  “I do not need treatment for anxiety,” Liza cut in. “I hardly think being freaked out by a fatal fire counts, in the medical sense.” She sounded too defensive, and Molly had the thought again: She’s not okay. This made it seem suddenly crucial, somehow, that they reconcile. Liza needed her. No matter that this dinner was one disaster after the next.

  “What
was that meditation?” Daniel pressed. “The thing you said you thought could actually help with the worry, if not the pain?” She blinked at him, surprised that he’d not only heard her thoughts on the matter but retained them.

  “Transcendental Meditation,” she said. “It’s not for anxiety, exactly, but it can help with it.”

  “Why did you stop, anyway? I thought you liked it.” He sounded almost suspiciously curious, and Molly bristled. Of the many remedies she’d told him about over the years, trying to ignore his bored expression, he’d picked a fine one to recall. Because I couldn’t afford the session fees anymore. Because even if I could, I was afraid of who I might run into. Because I made a mistake, costing me the one treatment I hadn’t tapped out yet—not to mention every other type of meditation practiced at the center—and I’m still paying for it. But like you say, I’m sure they were all a bunch of quacks anyway.

  “What is it?” Max asked, and she was glad of a question she could actually answer.

  “They describe it with this analogy: All the thoughts that flow through your head on any given day—your to-do list and the notifications on your phone and everything else—they’re like waves on the surface of the ocean, right? Always rolling, and it can be pretty impossible to stop them, though some kinds of meditation try to. The Transcendental method teaches you to simply sink below them to where it’s quiet, to take a little break instead of getting tossed around on the surface.” She turned to Liza. “Some people swear by it. It’s hot among celebrities, actually.”

  “Huh,” Max said. “I guess anything is worth a try.”

  “Molly believes everything is worth a try.” Daniel twitched, as if remembering that he’d decided to be nicer about this stuff, but quickly recovered. “You two could go together.” He seemed to think this was such a brilliant idea that Molly half-expected him to slap himself on the back, as if he’d made up for his misstep and then some.

  “Oh, no,” Molly and Liza said at the same time.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Liza said, while Molly was blurting out, “It’s better that you go alone.”

  “It’s not like it’s any trouble,” Daniel said. “Molly can’t get enough of that kind of stuff.”

  “Yes, I can,” Molly said, narrowing her eyes. “I have had enough, actually.” She turned to Liza. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it. It does help some people.”

  “Step right up, ladies and gentlemans. To the most amazing ninja show in the world!” Grant was gliding back in through the kitchen, clad head to toe in black, and Molly caught Liza’s flinch. It was too close of a trigger to what Liza had seen, what Molly had been trying not to imagine: the taller masked man who’d stood right there not three weeks ago, just long enough to ruin everything.

  “After dinner,” Molly and Daniel chimed in unison.

  “Aren’t you done?” Grant said, pointing at their plates, which by now were mostly clear.

  Nori poked her head around the doorway, her hazel eyes smiling out at them from a slot cut in a purple hood. “It’s purple, but pretend it’s pink, okay?” she hissed.

  “Those were just salads,” Molly told Grant. “We haven’t even started the main course.”

  “Auntie Liza, what color do I look like?” Nori prompted, undeterred, in a stage whisper.

  “Pink?” Liza guessed.

  “That’s right!” Nori said, forgetting the whisper entirely. “Pink ninja hi-ya!”

  Molly pointed a stern finger in the direction of the living room, and Grant grabbed Nori by the arm and dragged her out of the frame.

  “It’s really okay,” Liza said. “They’re cute.”

  “Who was it that told you not to go to a dinner party where children would be present?” Max teased Liza. “You’ve been throwing that quote around for years.”

  Liza hid a smile. “That was Molly.”

  Max laughed as if it were the best thing he’d heard all night, while Daniel looked predictably baffled.

  “I stand by that advice,” Molly said. “Speaking of the main course, I’d better get it before we’re full-out attacked. Be forewarned that Grant just got a whole kit of foam throwing stars.”

  “He won’t be back until dessert,” Daniel said with far too much confidence, and Molly was satisfied that even Liza and Max were looking at him as if he was an amateur.

  “I’ll help,” Liza said, springing to her feet.

  Molly looked, inexplicably, at Daniel, as if he might take Liza’s place or at least come along so they wouldn’t be alone. But Max was on about the Cubs, and no way would Liza stick around for that.

  Molly headed for the oven with Liza on her heels and sneaked a glance into the living room, hoping the kids might come at them with another round of karate kicks or an impromptu song, a litany of questions, anything—but for once they were sitting obediently, albeit too close to the TV, cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in the animation.

  Liza came up close behind her. Too close. “I have no idea why I’m playing along with this, not arguing in front of Daniel,” she hissed into Molly’s ear, lifting whatever sheer curtain of normalcy had remained between them.

  As usual, Liza had called her out on exactly the right thing. Molly could hardly justify why she was doing it, either.

  21

  “Since when do you keep secrets from Daniel anyway?” Liza persisted. She didn’t know what she’d expected tonight—certainly her expectations hadn’t been high—but this energy between Molly and Daniel felt precariously vicious. Her own plus one wasn’t exactly playing nice, but this was something else.

  Molly didn’t answer, and Liza stepped back, shaking her head in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re still going around quoting Eleanor Roosevelt,” she said, hitting where she knew it would hurt, in hopes that Molly might show herself at last. “Quite the feminist life you’ve made for yourself here. I really admire how forthcoming you’ve become about absolutely nothing.”

  “I was quoting Franklin,” she shot back, in lieu of a real defense. She opened her mouth to speak again, but in place of words a pool of tears filled her eyes, about to spill over.

  There. It was just a glimpse, but all the same, at last: There she was.

  “Molly. What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m in trouble,” she said quietly, pulling on a pair of oven mitts with a matter-of-fact precision that matched little else about her. She sounded exhausted. Broken.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Among other things, I need—well, money.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s a long story culminating in a ridiculous amount of debt.”

  Just like that, the glimpse disappeared. And in its place materialized the kind of fast-mounting rage Liza wasn’t in the habit of holding in. She took a deep breath. “It’s been a while since the season finale, so I’ll give you a recap. Where we left off, I was living paycheck-to-paycheck in an overpriced town I could barely afford. Now I need to replace everything I owned, and I have to prove to my insurance company that I owned it all in the first place, and I’m living in my brother’s guest room. And you’re asking to borrow money?”

  “No,” Molly said calmly, as if Liza were one of the children, getting worked up for no reason. She retrieved the dish from the oven, and Liza entertained a brief fantasy of upending the whole thing down the front of her friend’s pastel cashmere sweater—not to burn her, not to ruin the outfit, just to finally do something she couldn’t ignore. “I’m not asking. I’m just answering your question. That’s what’s going on. And I know it’s wrong to keep it from Daniel, but I also know he’d never trust me again if he knew.” Setting the dish on the stovetop, she pulled at the edge of the foil and steam billowed out, traveling in a fog across the glass microwave suspended over the cooktop.

  “So the guy in the mask was here to collect or something?” Liza couldn’t keep the alarm from her voice, though she sounded hysterical by comparison.

&n
bsp; Molly sighed. “I don’t think so? I honestly don’t know.”

  Liza glanced over her shoulder toward the dining room, where a friendly argument over batting order was heating up. “Are you and Daniel having problems? Besides money, I mean?”

  Molly slid a serving spoon between rolls of manicotti and stood watching the sauce bubble up around it. “It’s like you and me,” she said finally. “We’ve grown apart over the years, and I hate that. Can we find our way back to the way things were? I’d like to think so, but who knows.”

  Liza swallowed hard. She decided to ignore the like you and me part—if Molly was looking for a denial, she wasn’t going to get it—and confront the energy that was so off-balance in this house she couldn’t wait to get out of. “You and Daniel have grown apart?”

  That tearful, exhausted look was back. “That’s the wrong analogy. It’s not a distance, like you and I have. And with you and me, some of that wasn’t even our fault, right? Though we could have done better.” Liza bristled at the we, though she knew she wasn’t free of culpability. It was just that she hadn’t slammed a door in Molly’s face recently. “This thing between me and Daniel, it’s a wall. And we built it. At the end of the day, the question is the same, though. If we decide we want to knock it down, can we? Can we climb over? Or were we both so stubborn about piling on the bricks that we made it too strong for our own good?”

  “Are we going to talk in metaphors or real terms? What did you do?”

  “I might have laid the final brick. Or two. I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”

  Liza was growing impatient. “What did you do? Does this relate to the intruder?”

  “I don’t know,” she said again.

  Liza shook her head, confused. “How can you not know?”

  Molly whipped toward her. “What are you even doing here?” she hissed. “If you’re so furious with me, why come?”

  “Max made me.”

  “Why does Max care?”

  She squared her shoulders. She might not have had her usual solid footing lately when it came to standing her ground, but for Max she could rally. “I think he’d like some answers about why you treated me like a door-to-door salesman when I came to check on you. As would I.”