All the Difference (15 page)

Molly glanced around until she saw her client standing in the center of the room, talking to the president of the chamber of commerce. When the two men parted ways, she walked over to him, a glass of sparkling water in her left hand and a red leather clutch purse under her arm. Despite her physical discomfort, Molly felt confident. She'd managed every last detail of this event, down to the silverware in the guests' hands, and knew it had all come together to create a positive impact. By now, events like this were cake to Molly. And she definitely liked cake, she thought, eyeing a row of chocolate tarts lined up on a buffet table. It was no wonder she was about to burst out of her dress.

“Hi, Mark,” Molly said now, and shook her client's hand. Mark Stevens, the company's vice president of marketing, smiled at her with his small, beady black eyes and gripped her swollen fingers in
both of his hairy hands. Molly looked down at the brown tassels of Stevens' shining brown loafers and tried to pull in a deep breath of the ship's humid air, concentrating on getting through this evening. She told herself that in just a few hours she'd be alone, in the peace of her own home, in the quiet, dim light of her comfortable living room. There would be no small talk, nor aching feet, nor chattering, loud business owners making too much noise. Little did Molly know that this party would be the highlight of her night.

“So, what do you think of this crowd, Molly, huh?” Stevens gestured to the people filling the narrow space. Molly focused again on her client and looked around. Soft light bounced off the shine of the darkly paneled walls. The room reverberated with the mixture of low murmurs and sudden laughter of their guests' small talk. “Not too bad, right?”

Molly smiled and nodded once at her client. Of course it wasn't too bad, she thought. She'd scripted the entire evening. “No, not too bad at all, Mark. I think the homework we did before sending out the press releases really helped with the turnout.”

“Ah. And that's why I hired you, Molly. Because you know exactly what I want.” He winked at her, and she glanced away from his gaze as a middle-aged woman approached. She took her time walking toward them, swaying on her high heels, and flashed a dazed smile as she took Stevens' free arm. “Molly Sullivan, I'd like you to meet my wife, Susan,” Stevens said. “Susan, meet Molly, the savviest PR specialist in town.”

Susan Stevens looked like she was one gin and tonic away from falling asleep on her feet. Molly had to force herself to lower her gaze so she wouldn't giggle, and she noticed Susan's nylon-covered legs. Molly had been the one who helped Maidenform put stockings back in the dresser drawers of trend-conscious
women with her “Pantyhose, Like a Princess” campaign. It'd been huge. She felt her confidence grow now that she knew Stevens was likely aware of the project.

Susan grinned at Molly now before lurching forward to shake her hand. “It's
so
nice to meet you, Molly.” Molly noticed that Susan's consonants were slurring together. “I've heard
so
much about, uh, you.” Susan swallowed hard as a small burp extended the skin around her closed lips. Molly tried very hard to keep a straight face.

“Well, I'm in the mood to celebrate,” Stevens proclaimed, thumping his hands against his jacket lapels. “Susan, I can see you're in need of another drink. Can I get you a little something stronger than that water, Molly?”

Molly glanced at her glass and shook her head. “Oh, no, thank you. Water's fine for me.”

She saw Susan's eyes catch sight of her waistline and narrow. Molly felt a flash of heat cross her face and stifled the groan itching to climb out of her throat.
Here we go,
she thought.

“Mark, I think
someone
might be expecting!” Susan cried, winking at Molly. Molly could feel a sweat break out around her hairline, the heat now rising up the back of her neck. Stevens was one of her biggest contracts, and she needed to keep this conversation professional. Molly tried to smile, but couldn't help ducking her head under the couple's intense gaze.

Stevens' eyes traveled over Molly's body, taking in her torso under the tied belt of the dress. He clapped his hand on her back.

“Yeah, I thought you were looking a little in the family way, Molly! Not like you to let yourself go.” Stevens chuckled and rubbed his own protruding belly. “You're starting to look like me there, girl! Got a bun in the oven, do ya?”

Molly knew where this was headed, and she was weary of having to tell people that she was alone, that there was no father, that yes, she would be a single mother. It embarrassed her. She didn't want people to make assumptions about her based on her in-utero roommate, and each time Molly felt the weight of their judgment—even if she sometimes wondered if it wasn't just her own staring back at her. She looked at the jolly pair in front of her, their arms looped around each other, and even though she suspected Stevens was just trying to keep his wife upright, Molly felt a pang of jealousy twitch in her chest. Any other time she'd just file the whole experience away as a funny story to tell someone when she got home, but there was no one to tell. She thought of Liam, how he would've been waiting up for her with a glass of wine, how he would've laughed at her impersonation of Susan tipping forward in her heels. Molly stood in place, alone, and waited for the next round of questions.

“Well, that's just great, Molly!” Stevens was saying.

Susan parroted her husband's sentiment, nodding in rapid succession.

“But shouldn't you be sitting down?” Stevens used the ringed fingers of his left hand to smooth the few gray hairs that straggled across the top of his head. “Here, should we move to that table over there? A lady who's expecting should probably be home with her feet up on the sofa, getting waited on by her man, not out here with all these suits.” He laughed, the broad sound rumbling from deep in his diaphragm. “I admire your dedication, though!”

Stevens looked at his wife for approval as Molly demurred. He rubbed his fingers down the corners of his mouth and appraised Molly again. Molly was ready to dive off the ship and just swim to a cab. She wondered what it was about being a pregnant woman that made people think it was okay to look her
over like a show horse at auction. Molly tugged at the top of her dress again as Susan jumped in, her words so slurred it took Molly a moment to understand her.

“Oh, honey, you do look sort of
tired
. You should bow out early, rest a little bit. Doesn't your hubby feel better having you . . . you home?”

Molly felt the air close in around her at Susan's question. The oxygen raced out of her lungs like it was being sucked from a vacuum, and before thinking better of it, she reached out for Stevens' arm to steady herself. Blackness crossed over Molly's line of vision, and the party whirled around her in streaks of light and dark: people's voices calling out, the white shirts of the waiters moving steadily by, the up-and-down motion of the ship that was making her body sway on legs that threatened to buckle underneath her. She was overwhelmed by the odor of the brackish water lapping against the ship, by the exhaust fumes from the adjacent road, by the overpriced cologne of the wealthy men and women in the room. She felt her arms start to shake, sensed the sweat on her neck.

All of the elements of Molly's life—the baby, the house, this job, her parents, her friends—were circling above and around her like her own personal tornado, and she was standing in the vortex, alone, trying to keep the walls of the storm at bay.

She couldn't do this. She didn't want to do this alone.

She shouldn't have said no.

“Molly? Molly, are you okay? Molly, why don't you sit down?”

Molly heard the voices becoming clearer to her, as if she were being shaken awake from a bad dream. Her vision was blurry, obscured by the tears in her eyes. She was still shaking, and the pressure had not yet lifted from her chest. She saw Stevens pick up
her bag from where it had dropped onto the floor, and she accepted it from him without making eye contact. Someone had taken the water glass from her hand. When she did raise her eyes to meet those of the people around her, she saw fear in them, and worry. She also saw pity. These people felt sorry for her. Molly decided then and there that this would be the last time she let herself have a panic attack in the middle of a crowded restaurant-boat.

Knocked back into the present by a cold slap of shame, Molly stood up straight, wiped her eyes with a cocktail napkin she'd crushed into her palm, and smoothed her dress. She took a deep breath to answer her client's wife's question. She had some damage control to do.

“Actually, Susan, there is no husband. I'm not married. The baby's father and I are not together anymore, so no, no one's waiting at home for me.” She managed a laugh. “Just a comfortable couch, and some ice cream and pickles.”

Susan frowned and grew quiet. Stevens glanced at Molly's left ring finger, as if verifying what she'd just said.

“You're not married?” he asked. His face was still jovial, but his voice seemed louder than necessary. “Whaddya mean you're not married? You're having a baby! I didn't think that actually happened to decent women like you.” He stared at her, waiting. Molly felt the sweat cooling on her face and planted her swollen feet on the swaying floor.

“Mark, are you really implying that I'm not decent?” Molly had never anticipated that her professionalism would be called into question, but Stevens' company was a famously traditional one. There was a good chance they could drop her, not wanting an unwed pregnant woman to be at the helm of their public relations. Stevens sputtered, looking from Molly to his somber wife and back again.

Molly spoke again, her voice calmer.

“Look, I can assure you that my personal situation will have absolutely no impact on my professional work. I'm sorry I got dizzy for a moment there, but it
is
rather hot in here,” she continued. Her voice was shaking, and she cleared her throat. Maybe if she could just pretend the last two minutes hadn't happened, no one would remember them by the time they got to their computers tomorrow.

“Anyway, my focus is on introducing you to some of the most powerful people in Philadelphia business development. There's nowhere else I'd rather be tonight than here, celebrating the success we've had.” She turned to Stevens' wife. “Susan, don't you agree that this is wonderful?”

Molly smiled wide until she saw Stevens relax and begin to grin, too. He nodded, as if coming to an agreement with himself, and stuck out his thick hand.

“Well, congratulations, Molly. A new baby is always exciting, even with your, uh, predicament there.” Molly bit the inside of her cheek.

“Hell, the old lady and I made four of them ourselves.” He nudged Susan with his elbow.
Yeah,
Molly thought.
But you didn't have to rely on people like you to make sure you could afford them
.

“Thanks, Mark. I appreciate that.” Tucking her bag under one arm, Molly looked around the room again, surveying the business leaders in attendance. She drew in a breath of air and took Stevens by the elbow.

“Look, I see Mary Keefer, the president of Stolton Materials, over there. I worked with her a while back, and she could probably help you with that grocery chain project. Shall I introduce you?”

She gestured toward the other woman and directed the couple across the room.

Thunder was rumbling across the dark sky when Molly emerged from a taxi much later, even though the spring evening had been mild. The city air felt heavy in its humidity, laden with damp and strangely quiet. The lone sound of the taxi's tires faded away, and Molly stood on the sidewalk with her keys in one hand, listening. She heard no televisions, no car radios. The usual traffic seemed to have disappeared from her street. There was no one else roaming the neighborhood this late at night. A sudden rustling sound from her left made Molly turn and jump just as a rat skittered out from under a car. It brushed the tips of Molly's toes as it ran by. She shuddered in revulsion, smoothing down the hair that now stood on end on her arms.

She walked up the stairs to her house with care. Even though she knew it was because of the coming storm, the absence of bird calls, of pigeons warbling, unsettled her, and she realized her heart was beating more quickly than usual. Molly reached the top of the steps just as a single flash of lightning ripped through the sky. Molly placed her key in the door, pushing the knob as she turned it. The door swung open too easily, and Molly had crossed the threshold before she realized that it hadn't been locked at all. She could sense a presence in the house. A roar of thunder rolled over the city, shaking the air with its threat.

She was not alone.

In the dark of her living room, Molly slowly set her bag down on the floor, freeing her hand, her fingers quivering, to slide a letter opener off of the entranceway table. As her eyes adjusted to the
dark, she discerned the silhouette of a man sitting on her couch. Molly's heart began thumping in her chest. Her knees started shaking, almost giving way beneath her. Her breath was coming fast and hard, and she ran her finger over the point of the opener, testing its sharpness as she reached for the lamp. She thought about her phone, deep in the recesses of her bag, and debated opening the door and running for help. But before she could move, the figure on the couch rose, the form tall and broad, its sheer size looming over the room like the storm now pounding at her windows.