Dreadful Sorry (6 page)

 

"I'm sorry I let him upset you, honey, but I think it's only fair to give him a chance to say what he wants to say to you." Jen faced her daughter over the breakfast table the next morning. Her usually well-groomed hair was lank and her face was without a trace of makeup—unusual even on a Saturday. "I hardly slept a wink all night, worrying about you. I'm starting to think your dad is right. Maybe you do need a psychologist to talk to. You have to admit, the way you were acting last night—the way you've been acting for weeks—well, it just isn't normal." She paused. "It scares me, Molly."

When Molly didn't answer, Jen continued. "Kathi called again and begged you to call back. And Michael called. He wants you to go out for pizza."

Molly reached for the pitcher of orange juice and poured herself a glass without answering. Jen sighed. "Come on, honey," she coaxed. "Don't you want to see your friends before they go off and get summer jobs or go on vacation? All the seniors will be leaving for college in August. You don't want to miss everyone while you're hiding out in your room, do you?"

Molly shrugged. She drained her glass of juice and smacked it down on the tabletop.

Jen sighed. "I want to help you, honey. It's like falling off a horse, you know? You get back on. That's the only sensible thing to do. First we'll get you seeing your friends again. Then we'll tackle the swimming. It'll be easy with me here to help you."

"What do you mean, Mom?" Molly's tone was ominous. She shoved back her chair to leave the room.

"Well..."Jen hesitated. "I've reserved a place for you at the rec center pool. You start lessons on Monday." Jen frowned at Molly's gasp and went on quickly: "Look, I know you're scared, but facing your fear is the only way to get over it. Trust me on this, honey."

 

Molly spent the day up in her room reading old copies of
National Geographic.
In one issue there was an article about wildlife along the Maine coast. She studied the photographs with interest. She didn't wander downstairs until late in the afternoon, when her stomach was growling with hunger. Jen was on the phone in the kitchen. She hung up when Molly came in and smiled uncertainly.

"Ben just called and asked me to go see the Rodin exhibit at the art museum before dinner. He's invited you, too. How about it? I want you to meet him. He can pick us up in about twenty minutes." When Molly didn't answer, she walked over and gave her daughter an awkward hug. "Honey, are you all right?"

"I'm okay," Molly answered faintly.

Jen looked doubtful. "Maybe I'd better stay home. You look funny."

"No, it's fine. Really, Mom. You go right ahead. I'm just so tired, you wouldn't believe. I'm going to eat something and just hang out."

"But wouldn't you like to come with us? You like sculpture."

Molly took a box of crackers from the cupboard and carried it into the family room. She flopped down on the couch. "Some other time, Mom."

Jen followed her. "Do you want a pillow? Should I turn up the air conditioner?"

"No thanks," Molly murmured. She felt she was behind a glass wall. Her mother's voice came to her only faintly. "I'm really fine. You have a good time." She flicked on the TV. Within seconds, it seemed, she was asleep. Or half asleep—for she heard the sound of the doorbell over the laugh track from the sitcom, heard her mother's voice in the kitchen and Ben's deeper rumble. The door to the family room creaked open and she knew Jen was looking in on her just the way she did when Molly was sick.
And maybe I am sick,
she thought.
Maybe that's why everything seems so weird.
She heard them leave the house, heard Ben's car in the driveway. And then nothing more. Eyes closed, she was floating. After a while she fell straight into the dream.

 

This time I can see that the walls of the hallway are paneled and the floor is covered with a thick Oriental carpet—all deep reds and browns. There are doors on both sides of the hallway, dark wood, with gleaming brass handles. I hover at the top of a wide staircase, looking down the hall. This time another girl floats beside me. She is wearing a long dress. Dark braids are wrapped around her head.

There's a man's deep voice rumbling through the thick wooden door at the end of the hall. Then there's a shriek, high and keening, full of pain. Driven by a desperate urgency, I float down the hall and reach out for the doorknob. The girl, right behind me, grabs my arm. "No!" she cries.

But I shake her off as I know I must, and I push the door slowly open. The next cry I hear I recognize as my own.

Oh, there is blood everywhere. On the bed sheets. On the woman who lies so still atop the coverlet. On the man who bends over the bed. He hears my scream and whirls around. His face above his dark beard is white. Teeth bared in a grimace, he spits the words at me: "Now we've lost her. Damn you!
"

Behind me, the girl is crying.

I try to run, but my legs pump air. I must get away, must get away, must get away. And somehow I reach the stairs. At the bottom I catch sight of the ornate wall mirror and stop. The room spins dizzily around me and my stomach lurches with sick dread, for the face in the mirror is not my own but that of the rosy-cheeked girl in the hall.

 

"Molly! Come on, Molly! Let us in!"

She opened her mouth in a cry that wrenched her, finally, fully awake.

"Molly, we just want to talk to you for a few minutes."

She sat up on the couch and saw Kathi and Jared tapping on the glass of the sliding door to the patio. She stared at them, twisting her hands together, trying to separate reality from the dream.

Kathi's wry smile was clear through the glass door. "It isn't every evening I make such an effort to talk to a friend," she called. "But I figure you're worth it."

Dazed, Molly walked slowly over to the door, reached out a hand as if to open it, then instead grabbed the tie that released the blinds. She tugged hard. They clattered down from the ceiling, covering the glass, obscuring the trespassers from view.

"Hey!" cried Kathi.

Molly ran to the kitchen and grabbed her mother's car keys off the counter. Then, heart racing, she slipped out the kitchen door and ran out to Jen's car. Thank God she and Ben had driven off in his. Kathi's blue car was parked behind Jen's in the driveway, but Molly turned the key in the ignition, gunned the engine, and spun the wheel hard enough to make a tight turn onto the grass. In seconds she would be away from them.

Then she saw Jared running toward her across the grass. "Molly! Molly, wait!"

In blind panic, she wrenched the wheel to the right and careened across the lawn, narrowly missing him. She spun down Valley Road toward Route 21. "It's nothing to do with me!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

She slowed to a safer speed as she neared the shopping center.
Calm down, calm down,
she told herself. She would be absolutely fine just as long as Jared stayed away from her. Just as long as no one mentioned water or blood, just as long as she stayed awake and on guard and didn't let herself dream even for a second about old houses and long hallways. Or hatboxes. She was one hundred percent fine as long as she pushed from her mind the memory of the face she saw in the mirror—the face that was not her own.

How much finer could anyone get?

When she was stopped at the traffic light back near the shopping center again, she saw Kathi's blue car turn the corner. Kathi was driving with Jared beside her. At the sight of him, Molly's stomach felt hollow again. But
he
should be the one feeling guilty—after what he'd done to her!

She heard the whisper in her mind:
And after what you did to him!

She accelerated with a lurch and zoomed down Route 21, past antique stores and housing developments, right on into the next town. After twenty more minutes of driving aimlessly through unfamiliar neighborhoods, she felt considerably calmer, and headed home. When she let herself in the kitchen door, the house was quiet. But the flashing red light on the answering machine didn't have to be loud to get her attention. It made no sound, but flashed there, on and off, with the impact of an emergency siren at top volume.

Molly threw the keys onto the counter. She rewound the tape on the answering machine without listening to the message and ran upstairs. She flopped across her bed and stared up at the ceiling, willing the calm of her room to quiet her pounding head. Was she really cracking up? Jen would be so ashamed.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang.

She pulled her pillow over her head and waited until Jared and Kathi went away again.

Finally, all was quiet. She started to cry. She had to get away from here. Dragging herself out of bed, she crossed the room to her desk and picked up her address book. She sat on the edge of her bed and reached for her phone on the bedside table. She dialed numbly, staring out the window. Dusk had fallen.

Bill answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Dad?"

"Molly! What a surprise!"

"Dad—listen, I've changed my mind. I do want to come see you and Paulette. Right away."

"Hey, that's great. Why the sudden change of heart?"

She clutched the receiver tightly, winding the cord around her hand. Her line to safety.

"I just decided I'd rather be with you."

"I'll admit I'm flattered. And relieved. But what does your mom say?"

"Oh, you know Mom." Molly hesitated. Then she tried to make her voice light. "She'd rather I stayed here, actually. She's got me all signed up for swimming lessons at the rec center."

There was a silence. Then Bill cleared his throat. "I see," he said. "Yes, I think I'll make those plane reservations right away. Don't worry, honey. You're on your way to nice, peaceful Hibben, Maine. There's not a rec center for a hundred miles."

They talked another few minutes. In the background Molly could hear Paulette's giggle of excitement. By the time Jen returned from her date, Molly and Bill had settled all the details of their arrangements: Molly would leave on Monday, the day after tomorrow. Her tickets would be waiting at the airport.

That night Molly slept dreamlessly.

Molly pressed her forehead to the window and stared down at the Cleveland area as it disappeared beneath a fluffy layer of clouds. As the plane whisked her to Boston on the first leg of her journey, she closed her eyes, and the muted hubbub from all the other passengers receded. She felt the vibration of the aircraft through her body. Taking a few deep breaths and rubbing the back of her neck, she resolved not to think about anything but the restful vacation that lay ahead. She would forget all about Michael's surprise at her sudden change in plans when she called to tell him her new summer address. She would forget about Jen's annoyance and the fact that she had not called Kathi to say good-bye. She resolved especially not to think about Jared Bernstein.

Her mother had not been pleased when she'd learned of Molly's plan to leave. She seemed angry that Bill had made the flight arrangements, but Molly suspected the anger was really more at her for having arranged her escape.

"You're running scared," Jen told her, shaking her head. "It's weak, Molly." She was sitting on the edge of Molly's bed while Molly threw her clothes into two suitcases, and she reached out a hand and smoothed one of the rumpled T-shirts. "Honey, I'd really rather you stayed here for another month. Take swimming lessons during the day, go out with your friends at night—then fly up to see your dad when you've gotten yourself back together. That's Dr. Jen's prescription for a happy summer. Running away won't help anything."

But her mother didn't understand about Jared Bernstein. She didn't understand about the dreams. Molly wondered whether her mother was afraid of
anything.
Didn't she have even passing knowledge of the sick clutch to the stomach that fear could bring? Evidently not—or she would know that turning tail and running was the most natural response in the world.

Molly had taken a deep breath and replied firmly, "Look, Mom. I miss Dad like anything, and I want to see his new house. I want to meet Paulette—and I'll write , you all the details so you can have a good laugh. Okay?"

Jen shrugged. "What can I say? You don't fool me for a second, and you're taking the coward's way out. I want you to promise me one thing. Promise me you'll learn to swim while you're there."

"I promise." She'd promise anything for the chance to be hundreds of miles away from Jared Bernstein.

 

In Boston she caught her connecting flight to Bangor, Maine. The plane was uncrowded, and this time Molly had two seats to herself. She sat by the window and leafed through the magazines provided by the airline. Shortly after take-off, an elderly man lurched down the aisle toward the toilets in the back of the plane. He was shaking, and the woman directly behind him kept a firm grip on his shoulders. She was wearing a gray skirt and white blouse but had the official air of someone in uniform.
Maybe a daughter,
thought Molly idly.
But probably a nurse. Was the old guy going to be sick?
Molly watched them pass. Ten minutes later they made their slow way up the aisle again and came to a halt next to Molly's seat, their passage blocked by a woman reaching for her sweater in the overhead compartment. The man peered down at Molly and said hello.

"Hello," she responded with a smile.

"A plane's no proper place for man nor beast," he told her. "I prefer to travel by boat myself. Don't you?"

"I like solid ground best of all," she answered with a smile. He reminded her of somebody, somebody she liked, but she couldn't think who. The old man nodded, then hesitated as if he'd like to settle in next to her for a good chat, but as the woman in the aisle put on her sweater and sat down again, his companion directed him to their seats just in front of Molly's. Molly wondered fleetingly whether he lived in Maine or was just going to visit, then dismissed him from her thoughts. She turned back to the window. There wasn't much to see—just a steadily darkening sky.