Dreadful Sorry (5 page)

"Pull yourself together." Jen touched Molly's hair again. "Everything is all right."

"I drowned—"

"You
nearly
drowned." Her father's voice was tight.

"He threw me in—"

"Kathi told us, Molly. She and her cousin saved your life."

"Mom"—Molly turned her head on the pillow to look at Jen—"the kids wouldn't help! They thought it was funny. They let Jared throw me in. I
said
I couldn't ... I told them
no,
but they—"

"
Shhh,
" said Jen. "I know, I know."

"I hate Jared!"

"I can believe it," her father growled. "What kind of friends are they who would kt some strange guy come to a party and nearly kill a girl?"

"Oh, Bill, no one knew Molly would react so badly. I remember telling Coach Bascombe myself that all Molly needed was to get into the water. I said if she could just get in once, she'd be over her fear. Kathi's cousin is a swim instructor, Bill. No doubt he thought the same thing." Jen faltered under his glare. "Well, it seems
logical,
Bill."

"Well, you were wrong, weren't you?" he snapped. "Both of you."

Molly was lying very still now under the white sheet. Her head ached behind her temples, and her mouth had a horrible, bitter taste, fuzzy at the back of her throat. Her father had said she'd been unconscious, but she knew she had been dreaming about the house. She was wandering through the hallways, opening doors, and someone was humming that hideous Clementine song. Suddenly there was a girl walking along beside her, a girl with hair in two dark braids wound up on top of her head like a coronet. She wore a long gray skirt that swirled just above her ankles as they walked together toward the room at the end of the hall. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes wild. She raised her hands, palms up, as if to show Molly—what? In the dream, Molly shook her head, not understanding.

But then the girl's hands were suddenly stained with blood, and she was crying, crying for someone to help—and Molly broke away and ran back the way she had come, her legs pumping in slow motion, as if trying to tread water.

Now here she was, safe in the hospital. The girl and the house were only part of the nightmare. And she had not drowned, after all.

"I'm so glad you're safe." Jen reached for Molly's hand where it lay limply on the white sheet.

"Yes. Thank God," echoed Bill. It seemed that about this, at least, her parents were in complete agreement.

Then Bill smiled and stroked Molly's cheek. "Well, honey, you'll be happy about one thing, at least. You've got your medical excuse."

Molly's voice came out a whisper. "You mean—no more lessons?"

"Not even one. The doctor said a reaction like yours means you have a real full-fledged phobia. And that's your medical excuse."

"So I'll graduate next year without even passing the swim test?" She began to tremble.

"So long as you're not flunking any of your courses. And, knowing you, that won't be likely."

"Oh, Dad!" The vastness of her relief could fill a whole ocean bed.

Jen cleared her throat. "I'm not too happy about that diagnosis, actually, Molly. About calling it a phobia—officially, I mean. And if you think about it, you'll agree with me. It's no good being labeled a phobic. And it's not safe to be so helpless around water. It's downright dangerous. So I'm definitely going to sign you up at the rec center this summer and—"

"For crying out loud, Jen, give the girl a chance to recover." Bill groaned. "She nearly died, and now you're telling her she's got to take swimming lessons?"

Jen frowned at him. "Of course she'll have a chance to recover, Bill. But you know the old saying about getting right back up on the horse that throws you, don't you? I just want Molly to be strong about this, and Coach Bascombe agrees with me."

He frowned right back at her. "Well, I say hold off on the swimming lessons and get her to a good therapist instead. Her fear
is
dangerous, as you admit. She needs to talk to a professional."

"Oh, Bill, you know what I think about shrinks! They're all lay-your-gut-out-on-the-rug types. Molly doesn't need to
talk
about this thing, for goodness sake. She needs to get in the water and
deal
with it."

"Well," he said, "we've seen how she deals with getting in the water! Look, the doctor recommended a psychologist right here in Battleboro Heights. But I think it would be even better if I took Molly home with me to Maine and found a psychologist for her up there—"

"I want Molly here. She can come up to Maine to visit you later in the summer. But first things first, Bill."

"You mean she has to learn to swim first? It's always duty before pleasure with you, Jen, isn't it?"

Then the doctor strode in. She hovered above Molly, but Molly hardly noticed. She heard the doctor's words and her parents' words floating over her like a cool mist, settling around her like puffs of cloud off a cold, gray sea. What they said didn't register. What they said didn't matter at all. Only two words that had been spoken had any meaning at all, and these she fastened onto, held tightly in her mind as if in a vise: "
medical excuse.
"

They were beautiful, life-giving words. She had a medical excuse! No more blood, no more seaweed, no more boxes floating mysteriously above her. No more pool, no more swimming coaches, no more Jared Bernstein, whose horrible song she could not endure and whose hard, unforgiving arms she could still feel holding her, if she let herself remember. Jared Bernstein, who had tried to kill her. She shook her head on the pillow to banish him, then smiled beatifically up at her quarrelsome parents. She might be an official phobic or a major wimp of the first degree, but she had a medical excuse at last and life was good.

 

The seniors' graduation exercises were held the weekend after Molly's near-drowning. She did not attend the ceremony or go to any of the graduation festivities, though Michael called and begged her to come. Her accident, as people were calling it, provided an excellent excuse for her to stay away from the school crowd. She wasn't feeling very friendly toward the schoolmates who had stood idly by when Jared tossed her into the water, and the last thing she wanted was to be a celebrity to those people who thrived on near-disaster. There had been a short article about her in the
Battleboro Bulletin,
and although Jen refused to let the reporters have a photograph of Molly for the article, someone had taken one from the yearbook. The headline read:

 

N
EAR
-D
ROWNING AT
T
EEN
P
ARTY:
W
EST
R
IVER
A
CADEMY
S
TUDENT
R
EVIVED BY
S
WIM
S
TARS.

 

The stars had been Kathi and Jared, of course—big-deal swimmers on both their school teams. How gallant of Jared to drag her off the bottom of the pool, Molly thought sarcastically when she read the article. Sweet of him. It had been Kathi who rushed over and pumped out her lungs. But it had been Jared who gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Oh, God,
that
didn't bear thinking about.

Jared had tried to see her twice in the hospital, but the first time Molly had been sleeping and the second time she had pretended to be. Then he had called the day she went home from the hospital, but Molly signaled Jen to say she couldn't come to the phone. He kept calling. Bill had spoken to him once or twice and told Molly afterward that the poor boy was very upset and really seemed to need to talk. Jen said Molly was being silly. But Jared was the last person in the world she wanted to hear from.

Bill Teague stayed for two weeks after Molly left the hospital, spending the days with her while Jen was at work, sleeping at night in their little guest bedroom. Jen canceled all her evening dates with her new colleague, Ben, and came home to cook dinner for Bill and Molly. Having her parents in the house together made Molly uncomfortable, though they tried to be on their best behavior and avoid quarreling with each other. During the day, Molly slept a lot on the couch while Bill read books about how to run an inn. He and Paulette, he told her enthusiastically, were planning to turn the big house in Maine into a bed-and-breakfast place. When she came up to Maine, she could help them with renovations. Paulette called every evening to talk to Bill, and always asked to speak to Molly, too. But Molly never had much to say. Paulette sounded so
frisky.
The sound of her voice sapped what little energy Molly had.

Bill rented videos and they watched movies every afternoon, eating popcorn. It was the perfect way to pass the time. Molly felt too tired to talk or do much of anything but sit around. The pool water that had filled her lungs now seemed to flow through her veins, cold and numbing. At the end of the second week, Bill flew back to Maine, urging Molly to come up for her visit soon.

The day after her father left, Molly stayed home alone. She napped, read, watched a soap opera, and napped again. Whenever the phone rang, she let the answering machine take the call. Each time it was Jared: "Please talk to me, Molly. I'm very, very sorry—and I really need to see you. Something very weird is going on."

Tell me about it,
she thought, rewinding the tape. She left the air-conditioned house and braved the heat and humidity to sit out on the back patio, where she couldn't hear the phone. She stayed there drowsing in the sun over the newspaper until Jen's car pulled into the driveway, then helped carry in bags of groceries.

Molly set the bags on the kitchen counter and saw that the answering machine light was flashing again. She was just reaching out to erase the messages, when Jen pushed the play button.

"Let's hear them first," she said and frowned at Molly. "You're not the only one who gets phone calls, you know. I'm expecting a call from Ben."

The first call was from Bill, saying he had arrived home safely and he and Paulette couldn't wait for Molly to come up.

"Call him back tonight," Jen said, unpacking cans of soup. She stowed them in the pantry. "Tell him you'll be there once you've learned to swim and not a moment before."

Molly pressed her lips together. She wasn't especially looking forward to meeting her new stepmother, but Jen was making it awfully difficult to want to stay home.

The second call was from Ben, inviting Jen out for dinner Saturday night.

The third message was from Jared. Molly's heart beat loudly in her ears when she heard his voice. Jen was watching her, the frown still in place.

"You'll have to see him sooner or later," she said. "It's been two weeks. And after all, he's Kathi's cousin."

"I'm finished with Kathi, too," said Molly. "She knew he was going to throw me in. I don't want to see either one of them." Her best friend's betrayal sat like a stone in Molly's heart.

"I don't think you're being fair," Jen said. "Why are you doing this to your dearest friend? Kathi's the one who saved your life, for goodness sake! She and Jared both worked like crazy to get you breathing again."

"You don't understand, Mom!" Molly stamped into the family room.

She had missed the school play during graduation weekend but could still see the musical on video. And maybe Lionel Bart's songs would chase that spine-chilling Clementine tune out of her head for good. She pushed the video cassette into the player and turned the volume up loud to drown out the sounds of Jen in the kitchen making dinner. Soon she was lost in Oliver's story.

The door to the family room opened. "Can we eat in here?" Molly asked Jen, not taking her eyes from the screen. "This is one of the best parts."

But it wasn't Jen. Jared Bernstein stood just inside the door, his big hands clenched at his sides.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded,
jumping up. "Mom! Did you let him in? I told you not to!"

Jared raised his hands. "Please, wait a minute. Molly, I need to talk to you. Your mother said it was okay." He pushed his dark curls off his forehead. "Just give me a few minutes."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then just listen.
Please.
" He shut the door and leaned against it. "I just have to ask you one thing..."

"What?" She crossed her arms.

"About what happened—at Michael's pool. I don't know what happened. I never
meant
to throw you in. I still can't believe I did it. It was just, suddenly, well ... I don't know."

She stared at the television, where Fagin's boys were teaching Oliver how to steal.

Jared touched her arm tentatively with one finger. She flinched as if his finger burned her skin. "Molly, that's not all. I mean, there's something else. It's driving me crazy, and it's got me so scared—I need to know. About the seaweed and—Molly, what was that stuff in the water? Blood?"

There was a roar of wind in her ears. She could not hear the television. She could hear only Jared's insistent voice.

"And what was that box? That round box?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was impossible that he had shared her hallucination. She shoved him aside, wrenched open the door, and careened through the kitchen, past Jen at the stove and up the stairs to her room. She lay on her bed, clutching her pillow, dazed and numb. Through, the pounding in her head she could hear the humming again.

The knocking on the door roused her. "I am not going to talk to you," she yelled. "Get it through your head, asshole!"

"Molly, it's me." Jen's voice was low. "I'm alone. Jared went home."

"I don't believe you, Mom. You tricked me. I told you I didn't want to see him."

"Honey, I thought it was best if you saw him. Now, please come down—"

"No way. Just leave me alone." Molly hugged her pillow.

There was a long silence. When Jen spoke again, there was a tremble in her voice. "Dinner's ready."

"I'm not eating." Molly walked across the room and turned off the air conditioner. She was trembling so hard, she needed a warm blanket. After another long minute, she heard Jen go downstairs. She undressed swiftly, thinking how very fragile her body felt. How very delicate. She burrowed in the back of her closet, then pulled out her winter bathrobe and wrapped herself up in it. She was all at once conscious of being the guardian of her body. It was up to her to make sure her body lasted well into advanced old age. And that meant staying away from Jared Bernstein, whatever it took.