All the Way Home (14 page)

“Where did you say you put them?” he calls loudly enough for her to hear.

“The cherry Popsicles?”

“I know where
those
are,” he says sarcastically, loud and clear. “I meant the corn nuts.”

“In the cupboard
.
”

“Which cupboard?”

“The one above the microwave
.
”

“What?”

She sighs and raises her voice. “The one where we keep the snacks.”

“Where the peanuts are?”

“That’s the one.”

“They’re not there.”

“Yes, they are.” Michelle waits, not wanting to get up, listening as he searches the cupboard, rustling cellophane packages and clattering cans against the countertop.

“They’re not here, Michelle,” Lou says again a few minutes later.

“Great,” she mutters, putting her magazine aside without remembering to save her place, and hoisting herself to her feet. “The man can never find anything.”

“I’m coming,” she calls to him, and makes her way to the back of the house.

In the kitchen, she finds him holding her cherry Popsicle in one hand and putting things back into the cupboard above the microwave with the other.

“They were right next to the can of peanuts,” she tells him.

“No, they weren’t. But I found these,” he replies, holding up a package of Fritos. “They’ll do the trick.”

“But I bought corn nuts.”

“You must have put them back.”

“I did not,” she says, irritated.

“You must have. Here, take this, it’s dripping,” and he hands her the cherry Popsicle.

She licks it quickly, then says, “I know I bought the corn nuts. I remember putting them away.”

“Well, they aren’t here. Maybe you ate them.”

“The whole bag?”

“There was only one Popsicle left,” Lou points out with a shrug.

“Are you implying that I do nothing but stuff my face?”

“Of course I’m not implying that. All I said was, maybe you ate the corn nuts.”

“And I said I didn’t. I don’t like corn nuts, and I wouldn’t eat an entire bag of them, let alone not remember doing it.”

“Did you call your cousin about the plans for the family room?” Lou asks, as if poised to point out, once again, that her memory is going.

“Yes, I called him. He says he’ll come over some night next week to go over things with us.”

“Which night?”

“He wasn’t sure. He’ll let us know.”

“I hope he gives us enough advance notice. I’m really tied up at work these days.” Lou shoves a handful of corn chips into his mouth and says, crunching, “In fact, I’m going to have to go in to the office over the weekend.”

“Not Sunday.”

“Why not Sunday?”

“Because we’re taking that childbirth refresher course Sunday night at the hospital
.
Remember?”

“No
.
”

“And you think
I’m
forgetful?” Michelle shakes her head.

“I thought we agreed that those breathing exercises were useless the first time around,” Lou said. “Remember? You told me they were bullshit.”

“That was when I was in the middle of hard labor. We have to go to this class, Lou. I signed us up, and I’ve got Molly lined up to baby-sit.”

He sighs and reaches into the bag of Fritos again. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll work tomorrow.”

“Not all day?” Is it her imagination, or is he suddenly spending nearly every waking hour at work?

“I hope not all day. Look, I don’t want to put in all these hours, Michelle, but I just got promoted. It goes with the territory.”

“I know.” She sighs. “I just feel like we hardly see each other these days. And things are going to get so crazy once the baby is here . . .”

“It’ll be okay. At least then you’ll be back to normal.”

She bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that you’re kind of nutty when you’re pregnant,” he says, apparently oblivious to the warning tone in her voice. “You know, you’re so moody, going around complaining all the time, forgetting things—”

“I
didn’t
eat those corn nuts!”

“Okay, I believe you. Calm down, Michelle.”

“You think I’m nutty? Like Mrs. Connolly next door?”

“Of course I don’t think that. It’s just your hormones. After you have the baby, you’ll be back to normal.”

She glares at him, then tosses her half-eaten Popsicle into the sink and stomps out of the room, muttering, “I don’t care what you think . . . I didn’t eat the corn nuts. I bought them, and I put them away next to the peanuts.”

And then what?

And then they vanished into thin air
,
just like the crackers did the other day,
Michelle thinks uneasily as she picks up her magazine again and stares blankly at the page.

I
t’s almost midnight.

Rory paces to the window of her room and looks down at the silent, empty street below, as if expecting to see Molly coming in the gate.

Where
is
she?

She left hours ago, saying over her shoulder, when Rory asked, that she was going down the street to Rebecca’s. But Rory just called over there to check on her, and a sleepy-sounding Mr. Wasner had said Rebecca was in bed and, as far as he knew, Molly hadn’t been there.

Rory shakes her head grimly as she stares out into the darkness, telling herself that Molly’s just testing her authority
.
She thinks she can do whatever she wants now that Kevin’s gone
.

Well, she’s wrong
.

Rory is in charge here, and she’s not about to let her sister run around at all hours of the night, the way Carleen had.

Her jaw tightens as she thinks that she’s not about to let anything happen to Molly. No way.

A sudden footstep in the hallway sends her flying to the door. She jerks it open, expecting to see Molly sneaking in.

Instead, there, at the foot of the stairs leading down from the third floor, is her mother
.

“Mom! My God, what are you doing?”

Maura Connolly, caught in the light spilling out of Rory’s room, blinks and says, “I’ve got to get to the church
.
I’m late. Patrick is waiting.”

“Mom . . . no.”

Rory can only stare at the grotesque sight before her.

Her mother is wearing her wedding gown. Rory recognizes it from the old black-and-white framed photo on the mantel in the living room. There are streaks of dirt, probably from the attic floor, on the skirt, and the bodice is torn where Maura apparently tried to wedge her size twelve self into the size eight dress
.
A pillbox hat sits askew on top of her mother’s gray hair, with a pouffy veil spilling past her shoulders.

“I’m late,” Maura says again. “Patrick is waiting.”

“Mom, where did you find that dress? In the attic?”

Maura’s voice is reasonable, but her eyes are vacant. “This is my wedding dress.”

“I know, but . . . why are you wearing it?”

A tinkle of laughter spills from her mother’s lips. “Oh, Rory, did you forget? This is my wedding day!”

“Mom . . .” Rory doesn’t know what to say. Gently, she puts a hand on her mother’s white-glove-covered wrist. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“Bed? But it isn’t time for bed.”

“Yes, it is. Look—” Rory gestures at the small round window at the far end of the hall. “It’s dark outside. See?”

“It’s night?” Maura frowns, confused. “But it can’t be. It’s my wedding day.”

“No, Mom, your wedding day was long ago.”

“I missed it? But where’s Patrick? Is he still at the church? He must be so angry.”

“He’s not angry, Mom.”

“How do you know? Where is he?”

He’s dead.

And you’re crazy.

And I’ve got my hands full.

Why did I ever come home?
Rory finds herself wondering.

And then,
Why did I wait so long?

Everything is falling apart. She’s got to make things right again, somehow. She’s got to save Mom from completely losing touch with reality, and she’s got to get Molly under control.

Wearily, Rory guides her mother into the master bedroom and begins unfastening the row of tiny pearl buttons up the back of the dress.

“H
ey, Molly, you want a beer or something?” Ryan Baker asks.

“Sure,” she says happily, though she’s never had a beer in her life. “I’d love one.”

“Hey, you’re not cold, are you?”

“Cold?” How can she tell him she wasn’t shivering; she was quivering from pure joy. She doesn’t dare. It didn’t take long to figure out that the way to fit in at this party is to act unfazed by everything.

No, she can’t admit she’s so excited to be here—surrounded by the coolest kids in Lake Charlotte, in the midst of their beer drinking and their hip music—that she’s actually quivering with joy.

Then again, she can’t very well claim to be cold on a night like this, either. It’s warm and humid and still, with no breeze to stir the water gently lapping at the sandy shore. She can hardly believe that if she hadn’t taken a chance and hiked down here alone through the woods behind the Randalls’ house—which she had to admit
was
pretty scary—she would be lying in her bed at home, staring at the ceiling, letting such a glorious summer night go to waste.

She’s saved from replying to Ryan’s question by Amanda Falk, who pops up and says, “Hey, Ryan, have you seen Jessica?”

“Nah,” he says vaguely, to Molly’s delight.

“Didn’t she come here with you?”

“Nope. I came with Andy.”

“Oh.” Amanda’s ice-blue eyes flick over Molly. “So Jessica isn’t here?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” Amanda breaks into a smile. “She’s really getting on my nerves lately. All she talks about is herself.”

“Tell me about it,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.

Molly makes a mental note never to talk about herself to Ryan, no matter what.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Molly, and makes his way toward the cooler over by the bonfire someone lit on the beach.

She watches him go, admiring the fit of his Levi’s from behind, and the way they bag around his ankles, above his white sneakers.

“So what’s going on?” Amanda asks, startling her.

“Huh?” Molly turns her attention back to Jessica’s
friend
—
former
friend, from the sound of things.

“I never see you at parties.”

It takes a moment for Molly to realize that Amanda’s just making conversation, not being critical. With her perfect dark pageboy and impeccable wardrobe, Amanda is the kind of girl who intimidates Molly.

“Oh, I go to them sometimes,” Molly says, trying to sound airy and nonchalant.

“Which ones?”

“Usually high school ones,” Molly tells her on a whim. “That’s probably why I never see you.”

“Probably,” Amanda says, looking impressed. “Are you hanging with Ryan tonight?”

Molly hesitates before nodding.

“Are you two going out or something?”

“Oh . . . well, no.”
Not yet,
Molly adds to herself.

“I think he likes you, though.”

Her heart soars. “You do?”

“Yeah. I can tell. He used to look at Jessica that way.”

“What way?”

“You know how he does that thing where he ducks his head and kind of raises his eyes to see you?”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Well, like that. He only does that when he likes someone.”

“Really?”

“Totally.” Amanda grins. “Jessica is going to be so pissed when she finds out Ryan’s going out with someone else.”

“But . . . we’re not going out.”

“You will be.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. I’ll even put in a good word for you. Ryan and I are old friends. He listens to me. Our mothers are in the same garden club.”

Molly smiles, wondering why she never noticed before how nice Amanda is. For some reason, she always assumed she was snotty and stuck-up, like Jessica.