Tangled Up in Daydreams (9 page)

“Mom, I can't move.” Blinking back tears. “I can't.”

“Here we go, lean on me.”

Helen carefully guided her daughter from the living room. With Henry's help, they both walked her upstairs. Along the wall were images of a shinier Molly. Happy-go-lucky in bangs and braces, a red rose corsage tucked on her wrist, a graduation hat shielding a smile from a perfect May day.

Molly's room was still pink. Every one of her rooms wherever they had lived was pink. Even though the family moved to Sun Valley long after Molly played with dolls and pinned up posters of Rob Lowe, Helen could not resist. Molly was twelve, about to begin middle school, and Alex was in high school when Henry decided to move his law practice from Los Angeles to Sun Valley. Henry was trying to pull his family tighter together and a smaller, more easy-going lifestyle was something that he thought would do the trick. Things had been too distracting in LA. Always more work, more business to keep his mind and time occupied. The move was sudden and lots of teenage bellyaching echoed through the house the months before, but once they arrived to blue skies and sports galore, Alex and Helen settled in. Molly, on the other hand, was still drawing navy-and-black tear-stained landscapes of LA.

It wasn't until school began and Molly met Renee that she embraced her new town. Henry remembered coming home that night and seeing Molly with the first real smile on her face since they had moved.

“Hey, kiddo.” Kissing her head. “I've missed that grin.”

“I met the coolest girl today, Dad!” Molly burst. “Her name's Renee and she came and sat with me at lunch, which was really nice because no one ever sits with the new girl on the first day. And we even swapped lunches!”

“What was wrong with yours?” Henry asked, thinking back to his carefully made lamb sandwich and couscous salad.

“Lamb?” Molly plugged her nose. “I didn't eat it last night either.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be, Renee practically drooled over it! Her mom never cooks and always has Renee on some crazy diet. She had yogurt and carrots, which I thought was a perfect lunch, so we both eyed the other's for, like, ever and then we traded!”

“Do you want yogurt tomorrow?”

“Earth to Dad!” Molly laughed. “I have my first new friend. You better keep up those fancy lunches because I promised her I would bring something even better tomorrow.”

Henry laughed and hugged his daughter. “I am at your service.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Running out of the room.

It was at that moment, when all his family felt happy to be in Sun Valley, that he knew the move would help. There was more time for baseball games and weekend hikes, but as time passed and more good memories were made, work was still there, still all-encompassing, and Henry felt like he was the one looking in on the three other Sterns, trying to catch a glimpse of who and what they had become. Molly and Alex would walk on eggshells with him, not bother him with silly childish things like homework help or rides to and from friends' houses. They had put him on a pedestal. He sometimes liked the view, liked that he was only needed to swoop in and save the day, but he was isolated and alone. He missed the day-to-day, the routines, the messy faces. Once the kids left for college, and Helen curled even more into herself, he knew he had to make an even bigger change. With his wife on her own little platform, and him still cemented to his, all they could do was try to reach out but never quite touch. Their arms open, yet frozen. Henry closed his part of the practice, reconnected with his lonely wife, and followed his true childhood passion—cooking. The restaurant he subsequently opened was a perfect blend of Henry's readiness to feed and Helen's uncanny ability to nurture. Helen was thrilled by their new-found love for each other and finally Henry was living in the center of his life and not on the fringe. Their lives kept improving the older they got and they knew they were lucky.

Molly complained to Henry when Helen painted her room pink. Molly had wanted something tougher, but it comforted Helen to have something constant, something remain just as it was when Alex and Molly romped around in onesies with bunny ears and feet. The color of cotton candy and Bonnie Bell lipstick would suffice, and Helen ignored Molly's protestations. Molly would always be her rosy baby despite a big move to Los Angeles and a life whose pulse Helen could not really put her finger on. It wasn't that she couldn't relate to her daughter, it was just that it was so alien, so independent. In their phone calls, which thankfully had remained daily despite the distance, Molly would relate stories of music, bars, and parties decked out with the trappings of young Hollywood. Helen could only imagine how her once awkward, gangly, full of braces daughter managed to squeeze into her fifth pair of leather pants and strut.

Molly's outward confidence was something that Helen had always admired in her daughter. When Molly was born, after one look, Helen was hooked. Her baby's skin was an addiction. It radiated this inherent goodness, and the minute she touched Molly's little hand, she felt a sense of calm. Molly always had this serenity about her, an inner balance. Whenever Helen had a bad day, a smile from Molly would make her feel instantly at ease. Molly's innate sweetness was a comfort. They say that children learn from their parents, but Molly could always teach Helen something: how to be still in a moment, how to be herself more often. Helen tried to incorporate Molly's independence and lust for life into her own. Seeing her literally in a heap, snuggling ferociously into her rose-hued comforter searching for respite, made Helen choke. How did her fearless female get here? How did a girl so set on her path, so sure of herself, devolve so quickly? How could she help?

“Do you want me to rub your back?”

“Yeah.”

Molly rolled over and lifted up her tank top. Her mother's cool fingers on her back tracing tic-tac-toe felt good. It gave Molly something else to concentrate on. After about five minutes, Helen could see her daughter's body beginning to unravel, uncoil itself.

“You know, when you were a little girl, a baby really, you never liked to be touched?”

“Really?” Molly whispered, even though she knew this story well.

“Every night I would sit by your crib and rub your back just like this. Initially you would squirm away, but eventually your breathing would steady and you would fall asleep.”

Helen looked down and saw that Molly was out cold. She pulled down her shirt and tucked in the blanket tightly around her. No matter how old Molly got, in certain moments, she would always be Helen's baby.

Molly was walking on a beach. It was twilight, the magic hour. Everything was frosted, the air alabaster. At first she was alone, casually tracing her name in the sand with a stick. As the water danced alongside, Molly kept rewriting, trying to imprint herself onto the beach. She looked up and saw a pelican dip over the water. The sun was setting. She returned to her canvas, methodically drawing her L's.

“Molly, Molly, Molly.”

“Hi, Liam.”

“Nice name.”

“My favorite name is Charlotte.”

“Like the spider. I remember you told me that night you were sick and I sat with you by the bathtub for hours.”

“She taught Wilbur how to be a proud pig.”

“You taught me how to be a proud man.”

“Why did you leave me?”

“You left.”

“You promised.”

“I tried. I am trying.”

Liam took hold of her stick and quickly fashioned something in the ground beneath her. It was dark. Molly turned and he was gone. She tried to read what he wrote but the tide had already washed it away. She fell to her knees, stabbing at the sand with her glittery nails, trying to decipher the words. She kept grabbing and poking, her fingers becoming numb and raw, scraped clean by nature's pumice. Soon she would hit China.

Molly awoke with her hands balled into fists, clutching the blush blanket swathed around her. Her face was hot. She rolled over. The clock read one-thirty
P.M
. She hadn't slept this late since college, and those early afternoon wake-ups were usually preordained by large amounts of beer, sex, and marijuana. A sliver of light shone around the edge of her patchwork curtains, nudging her left foot with its rooster call. Molly disentangled herself from her covers and sat up. She grabbed a hair elastic from the nightstand and stood. Gingerly, she opened the curtain, slowly letting her eyes adjust to the brightness. Outside, she could see in the corner of the yard a patch of sunflowers. Their yellow smiles hung low and swayed in the light breeze. Molly twisted her hair into a ponytail and made a mental note to pick some later to sketch. Maybe doing some of the little things she always did would help her regain her center. She pulled out her journal, but set it back down on her bed. There was just too much to write and she was just too tired.

When she walked downstairs into the kitchen, smells of garlic, thyme, and apples tickled her nose. That was something she could always count on, the very particular, special aroma of the Stern family kitchen. It was always warm and luscious, damp with the odor of earthy mushrooms or just-picked potatoes. Spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg, crisp with the freshness of sweet peas and honeydew melons. Their safe little cave housed a cornucopia of treats every day of every year. All of the Sterns were fabulous cooks. Henry handed down tradition after tradition, mirroring all the teaching he received from his mother, grandmother, and handful of aunts. While other little boys were out on their bicycles or climbing trees, Henry clambered around his mother's ankles, watching and stirring when told. His mother used to say that when he was a baby, the only place he would quiet down was under the kitchen table. The moment she wrapped him up and placed him in an old vegetable box, this little smile would wash over his tiny face. Somehow his body chemistry boiled at the same time as the chicken soup on the stove.

Molly too loved the kitchen, yet it was something that came to her later in life. When she moved back to LA for college and had her first apartment, she was grateful for her father's skill in the kitchen. She learned to appreciate food on his terms and whenever she screwed up some perfectly simple dish, she called her father for the remedy. Now she loved taking random raw ingredients and dicing, dashing, and dispersing them into something complete, a new entity entirely formed from her imagination. The unprepared food, her tabula rasa. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and went to the fridge for some juice. Pinned in place with a princess teddy bear magnet Molly had fashioned in second grade for a Chanukah present was a note from her mother.

Honey, had to go help Dad at the restaurant. Didn't want to wake you. Wasn't sure what you would want so there is some squash soup on the stove and fruit in the fridge. Come by when you want. I will call later to check in. Mom. Oh, also, Jaycee called to check on you.

Molly took the note down and sky-hooked it Kareem Abdul-Jabbar–style into the trash. She pondered her breakfast/lunch decision. Tossing a glance in either direction, Molly headed for the stove and lifted off the copper lid. The smell of ginger and onions pricked her senses and she ladled herself a big helping. After tearing off a big piece of crusty sourdough, she took her meal to the table. From the window she could still see the patch of flowers. It would be a yellow day. Unlike yesterday in all its unflinching blackness, today she would try to focus on a more cheery shade. Yellow, heat, sunlight, Labrador puppies, yet also the color of jaundice and three-day-old bruises. Molly would try to stay with the puppies.

Molly returned to her soup, but it just didn't taste right to her. She went over to the sink, dumped it down the drain, and watched the golden liquid swirl. Maybe now that grief diet would kick in. She washed out the bowl and left it facedown on the blue-checked towel beside her. Molly went over to the phone and dialed. It wasn't until she heard the message on his cell that she realized she had called Liam. She hung up quickly and took a deep breath. How long would he be instinct and the thing that she thought about when she wasn't trying to think about anything? She needed to train her mind on something or someone else, but who could become breath overnight?

Molly looked back to the phone and this time placed the call she was attempting in the first place. Jaycee picked it up on the third ring.

“Hi. It's me.”

“Molly! How are you? Your mom said you were still sleeping when I called earlier,” Jay answered.

“Okay, I guess.” Halfheartedly. “How's the place?”

“Clean, finally. I think I lit most of your candles trying to get the beer smell out.”

“Thanks. By the way, I forgot to deal with work stuff. Do you think you can go by the studio and send out the order for Barneys? All of the necklaces are laying right in the middle of my desk and the order form is next to it. You would just need to check all the tags and make sure the right ones get in the box. There should be packing stuff, and send it COD insured for the amount of the order. You can use my UPS account, and the number is in the Rolodex.”

“Done. I'll call when I get there to make sure. Will you be around later?”