We'll Meet Again

83

It seemed to Fran that Molly’s state had worsened overnight. There were dark crescents under her eyes; her pupils were enormous; her lips and skin, ashen. When she spoke, her voice was low and hesitant. Fran almost had to strain to hear her.

They sat in the study, and several times, Fran noticed Molly looking around the room as if she were surprised at what she was seeing.

She seems so damn alone, so forlorn, Fran thought; she seems so worried. If only her mother and father had been able to be with her. “Molly, I know it’s none of my business, but I have to ask you,” she said. “Can’t your mother possibly leave your father and get up here? You need her to be with you.”

Molly shook her head, and for an instant the passivity left her voice. “Absolutely not, Fran. Had my father not had a stroke, both of them would have been here; I know that. I’m afraid that the stroke was a lot more serious than they admit. I’ve spoken to him, and he sounds pretty good, but with all the misery I’ve caused them, if something were to happen to him while she was up here, I would go absolutely mad.”

“How much misery will it cause them if they lose you?” Fran asked bluntly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m worried sick about you, and so is Philip, and so, I’m sure, is Jenna. Let’s say it straight-there’s a damn good chance you’ll be taken into custody again on Monday.”

“Ah, we finally say it straight,” Molly said with a sigh. “Thank you, Fran.”

“Hear me out. I believe there’s a very good chance that even if you do have to go back to Niantic, you’ll be out again very soon-and not on parole, but completely exonerated!”

“Once upon a time,” Molly murmured dreamily. “I didn’t know you believed in fairy tales.”

“Stop it!” Fran begged. “Molly, I hate to leave you here like this, but I can’t stay with you right now. I have an appointment that is desperately important to a lot of people, including you especially. Otherwise I wouldn’t leave your side. You know why? It’s because I think you’ve already given up; I think you’ve decided that you’re not even going to appear before that parole board.”

Molly raised her eyebrows quizzically, but did not contradict her.

“Trust me, Molly, please. We’re getting to the truth. I know we are. Believe in me. Believe in Philip. It may not even be important to you, but that guy loves you, and he won’t rest until he proves you’re the real victim in all this.”

“I loved that line in An American Tragedy,” Molly murmured. “I hope I’m remembering it properly: ‘Love me till I die and then forget me.’ ”

Fran got up. “Molly,” she said quietly, “if you really decide to end your life, you’ll find a way to do it whether you’re alone or with ‘the Pope’s standing army,’ as my grandmother used to say.

“I’m going to tell you something: I am angry at my father for committing suicide. No, I’m more than angry-I’m furious. He stole a lot of money, and he would have gone to prison. But he also would have come out of prison, and I would have been there with bells on to greet him.”

Molly sat silently, staring at her hands now.

Impatiently, Fran brushed tears from her eyes. “Worse comes to worst,” she said, “you serve out your term. I don’t think you will, but I’ll concede the point. You still would be young enough when you got out to enjoy-and I mean really enjoy-another forty years or so. You didn’t kill Annamarie Scalli. We all know that, and Philip will blow the case apart. So for God’s sake, girl, pull yourself together. You blue bloods are supposed to be classy. Prove it!”

Molly stood at the window and watched Fran as she drove away. Thanks for the cheery words, but it’s too late, Fran, she thought. There’s nothing left about me that’s classy.