Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Sixty-Two

Cameron Beach was about two miles from where Jesse lived. The two women stayed inside Molly’s car in the small public parking lot instead of walking down near the water. Ainsley was still being vigilant about her pedicure.

So they sat in the front seat of the old Cherokee, windows down, letting in the smell and the sound of the ocean. Molly hadn’t tired of it yet, likely never would.

“Jack and I used to come here and just talk,” Ainsley said. “Jack used to say he did some of his best thinking up here.”

“Even when you weren’t with him?”

“He used to joke that it got better when I wasn’t with him,” she said. “He said that when he was alone he liked to come here and write.”

Molly had decided to go slow, now that she’d gotten Ainsley this far.

“Who really broke it off?” she asked.

“I thought I already told you it was mutual.”

“Ainsley,” Molly said, “even though it might be difficult for you to believe, I was your age once. In addition to that, I have raised four daughters. It’s never mutual, whether you’re about to go off to college or not.”

The girl stared straight ahead, at some distant point on the water. Or even beyond that.

“I loved him,” she said. “I never loved anybody before.”

“Do you love Scott Ford the way you loved Jack?”

“That’s not just mean. It’s one more thing that’s none of your business.”

“Sorry, I was out of line.”

“Okay.”

Molly angled herself enough to see her face a little better.

“I could have had any boy in school,” Ainsley continued. “But I wanted Jack.”

“So he broke it off.”

Ainsley Walsh nodded, her face almost solemn. “It turned out he didn’t love me the way I loved him.”

“That’s a hard thing to accept.”

Now Ainsley turned to face Molly.

“Does it get easier?” she asked.

Molly smiled. “If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to find out again.”

It was high tide by now, the crash of the waves below them getting louder with each break on the beach.

Molly had always loved this time of day on the water.

“Here’s what I’ve learned,” Molly said. “Or at least what I think I’ve learned about Jack. Everybody at school knew him, obviously. But I get the sense that hardly anybody really knew him.”

“Not even me,” Ainsley said.

The girl was different today from the first time they’d talked. Molly knew this age, what it was like, especially for girls, with college staring them in the face. Like they had to become women whether they were ready or not.

“So he let people in,” Molly said, “but only so far?”

“Yes,” Ainsley said. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“Who’s Pepsquad1234?” Molly asked her now.

“You know about that?”

“I’m old,” Molly said, “but I can find my way around social media.”

“I don’t know who it is. None of us do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Swear.”

“So what’s the promise you have to be reminded to keep?” Molly asked.

“To keep being Jack’s friend even though he’s gone.”

“That’s it?”

“And that’s all.”

The water got louder suddenly, a tremendous wave making more of the sand below them disappear.

“Was there another girl?” Molly said.

“No,” Ainsley said.

“Could he possibly have been getting another girl pregnant, even if he really wasn’t with her?”

“No!” the girl said. “For the love of fuck? Is that what you think this is about?”

“I had to ask.”

“Well, asked and answered, okay?”

There was one more thing to ask now, something she or Jesse or Suit or somebody should have asked already. She knew why they hadn’t. At least why Jesse and Suit hadn’t. Jack Carlisle was the golden boy in Paradise. Big man on campus. Star jock. On his way to college on a scholarship. Maybe on his way to the major leagues after that, making it to The Show Jesse had talked about endlessly, for as long as Molly had known him.

Ask her.

“Was Jack gay?” Molly asked Ainsley Walsh.