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Molly Harper

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Molly Harper

by Emelle Gamble

Chapter One



        Anne Sullivan looked down at her watch.
        One twenty-one p.m. Norma Wintz was twenty minutes late.
        Anne leaned back against the banquette and avoided making eye contact with the hovering waitress. She folded her hands together and wondered if her face looked tight as cellophane stretched over a bowl of tuna salad. That’s how it felt.
        I shouldn’t have come. She glanced around the unfamiliar restaurant. It was all glass and mirrors; chock full of shockingly glamorous Californians surely leading shockingly exciting lives. People who wouldn’t understand why a widow from Potomac, Maryland was breaking into sobs and intruding on their lunch experience.
        Which is probably what I’m going to do once Norma arrives, she thought. She had tried to prepare herself for meeting the woman, face-to-face, who had adopted her baby thirty-five years, but Anne wasn’t sure she was going to be able to handle it as she hoped.
        Calmly. Dispassionately. In control.
        Anne’s chest suddenly ached, as if all the emotion she’d suppressed for decades gathered into a knot under her ribs.
        I should call the number for Norma Wintz and tell her not to come. Which was a great idea, except she’d left her cell phone in the car. And if she went to her car to get it, she might not have the emotional courage to come back.
        To say nothing of the fact that if she walked the two long blocks to where she was parked, there was a good chance she would miss Norma Wintz altogether, and the woman would probably think she was a crack pot.
        Anne took another peek at her watch.
        One twenty-two.
        That’s impossible. It felt as if an hour had passed since she’d last looked at the time.
        “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Sullivan?” A waiter, his eyes jade green against his tan skin, smiled at Anne. His name tag read ‘Taj’.
        “Yes, I’m Anne Sullivan.”
        “There’s a call for you.” Taj held out a phone.
        Anne pressed it against her head. “This is Anne Sullivan.”
        Taj clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at her as if she was a small child on the first day of school.
        “Hello, this is Norma Wintz calling,” a voice said in Anne’s ear. “I’m on my way but there was an accident and traffic is wretched. I got no answer on the number you gave me, but I wanted to let you know I wasn’t standing you up.”
        “Oh, that’s no problem.” Anne nodded at Taj and repositioned the phone an inch higher on her ear. “I don’t have other plans for this afternoon.”
        “Fine. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” The phone went dead.
        “Okay. Thank you!” Anne met the waiter’s eyes and wondered how Taj had known to bring it to her.
        Norma Wintz must have described me to him. But what could she have said, since we’ve never met? Look for a woman who seems the sort to give up her first-born child for adoption?
        “May I bring you another glass of water? Or would you rather have a soda, or some coffee?” Taj asked.
        “No. Nothing, thank you. By the way, how did you know who to bring the phone to?”
        “This is Mrs. Wintz’s table. I knew you were her guest. And I keep tabs on our important customers.” He winked. “Never know who you’re going to run in to at C’est La Vie. I’m an actor, and I’ve met a lot of people in here this summer who might be good contacts down the road.”
        “You’re an actor and you live in Santa Barbara? Not Hollywood? Or, I mean, Los Angeles. Hollywood isn’t an actual city, is it?”
        “Oh yes, it is. Lots of people live there. Or in North Hollywood, near the valley. But I live in LA. Right now I’m house-sitting for a friend in Montecito until Labor Day and working here part time.”
        “LA is that close?”
        “Yeah, only about eighty miles. It never takes more than two hours if I have to go in for an audition or to meet friends.” He turned to leave, but added, “Enjoy your lunch.”
        “I will. Thank you, Taj. And good luck.”
        “Thanks. You too.”
        Anne watched the gorgeous young man for a moment. She was having trouble getting used to the fact that most of the people she saw on the streets of Santa Barbara were better looking than anyone she’d ever met in Maryland.
        Anne checked her face in her compact and wondered about Taj’s comment that Norma Wintz was ‘an important person’. All Anne knew was that Norma was married to a financial services guy and that they’d lived at the same address in LA for fifty years.
        Which was where Anne had sent the letter that was now culminating in this lunch.
        The urge to flee grew inside her. I should have never tried to meet with her, Anne thought. She should have sent Norma the information about the inherited health problems the child she’d given up for adoption might face, and left it at that.
        But when Norma called she’d pressed for a meeting, and, despite her instincts, Anne had agreed. And now she found herself a wreck who was suddenly quite desperate to hear all about the baby girl Norma had raised as her own.
        Anne’s face warmed. This is stupid. There’s no way I will be able to have any kind of relationship with the child, a woman now. And I don’t need, or want, that kind of drama.
        Or guilt.
        Anne grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet, hoping she had enough cash for a tip. She’d tell Taj to say she’d been taken ill. As she slid across the booth and gripped the edge of the table, a female voice said, “You must be Anne.”
        Anne looked up. Norma Wintz stood two feet away, looking nothing at all as Anne had pictured her.
        She was striking. Her white hair was drawn into a severe bun, and her skin was smooth, if a little sallow, as if she had been ill lately. Her posture was as perfect as the couture silk suit and triple strand of pearls she wore.
        “Please accept my apologies for being late.” Norma took slow steps to the other side of the banquette and sat down. “I hope you ordered yourself a drink. The wines here are excellent. I’d recommend the Malbec, if you like red. It’s from a vineyard in Los Olivas that I love.”
        Anne swallowed. “It’s nice to meet you, Norma.” She leaned across the table and shook the older woman’s hand. “Thank you for coming to Santa Barbara. I could have come to your home in Brentwood. I should have offered to do that when you asked to have lunch.”
        “Nonsense,” Norma replied. “My family has owned a place in Montecito for years, and it’s an easy trip for me since I have a driver. I’m staying a week or so. So all in all it was a relaxing journey, though endless. It left me with quite a lot of time to think.”
        Anne’s face colored as she imagined what Norma had been thinking about, her. “I know what you mean about the traffic. I’ve been on the freeway a couple of times, and I’m getting the hang of it, but it’s busier than I thought it would be. My son and his wife live nearby. In Goleta.”
        “Oh, a son. How many children do you have?” Norma asked.
        Oh, god, Anne thought. This is so weird.
        “I have two sons. My youngest, Eric, and his wife Maria have a baby named Andrew, who recently turned one. Eric is an x-ray technician who is starting medical school in the fall. My older boy, Harry Jr., is in New York now but he and his partner are thinking of relocating to LA. Harry is a makeup artist.”
        Anne’s face hurt. She knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “My husband died three years ago, and after awhile I just needed a change. Since Eric and his family lived here, well, here I am. I fell in love with Santa Barbara when I was here last summer visiting.”
        “I’m sorry to hear about your husband. What, may I ask, did he die from?” Norma stared at her intently.
        “Harry had, ah, prostate cancer.”
        “I’m sorry. He was awfully young wasn’t he?”
        “Yes. Well, Harry was quite a bit older than me. Eighteen years. But he was only 66 when he died.”
        “That is young. What did he do, Anne?”
        “He was a college professor. History. American History. At the University of Maryland. That’s where I met him. In college. When I was twenty-four.”
        “I see.” Norma leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “So you were very young when you married him.”
        “Yes. I was a grad student. He had never married. Kind of a love at first sight thing for both of us.” She pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything more.
        Norma suddenly reached out and touched Anne’s hand. “You were lucky in finding him, and luckier still you had the strength to do the right thing when you were so young. Giving up your baby allowed you to finish your schooling and meet Harry. And have other children. I wish more people had your moral courage.”
        There was no judgment in the woman’s voice, but the words echoed harshly inside Anne’s mind. “I…I do think I did the right thing. For the baby. For her, and for myself. That was what I was trying to do, anyway.”
        “It was very generous of you. My daughter was a joy from the first day she was mine, and still is. You gave me a whole life, a life I never thought I’d have, all without even knowing me. I wanted you to know that before we went any further in this matter.” Norma withdrew her hand.
        I’ve never thought about it like that, Anne realized. That she’d given a gift to a couple she didn’t even know. “I’m glad to know that,” she answered softly.
        “Did you tell Harry and your children about the adoption?”
        “Not my boys. But Harry knew. I told him on our third date. He said I was unselfish, doing the best for the child despite how much it hurt me.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she hurriedly dashed them away. “That’s when I knew he was the man for me.”
        The waitress who’d shown Anne to the table ages ago reappeared. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Wintz.” She handed the women menus. “It’s nice to see you today. How are you feeling?”
        “Good, dear. Thank you.”
        “We’ve missed you the last few weeks. Are you staying in Montecito a while this visit?”
        “Yes. Though even if I didn’t have the house here, I’d rent a hotel room at the Biltmore rather than get back on the freeway.”
        The girl smiled. “LA traffic is the worst. Would you ladies like to hear about the specials today?”
        “My guest would,” Norma replied. “But bring me my usual, please. And tea with lemon as soon as you get a chance.”
        Though she had no appetite, Anne listened to the chirpy rendition of the specials and ordered a chicken Caesar salad with melon and iced tea.
        She wanted bourbon, straight up, but didn’t think it would put her in the best light with Norma Wintz. And she wanted Norma to like her, Anne realized. The chic older woman reminded her of her grandmother Alice. They had the same lovely skin and startling blue eyes.
        Another waiter appeared with water. Anne reached for it, aware Norma was staring at her, moving from feature to feature as if studying a map.
        Though the scrutiny was unnerving, she understood it. If I was in her place, I’d be cataloging Norma’s every freckle to see if my child resembled her birth mother.
        She met Norma’s gaze and was startled to see what looked like fear in her eyes. “What does your husband do, Norma?”
        “Charles owned an investment firm. He sold it to Citibank in 1993, and died the next year. I think the lack of work killed him, although his doctor said it was a heart attack. He was only 65. I’m still not over it. I don’t think I ever will be. He was the dearest man.”
        “I’m sorry.” Anne fanned her face. Menopause had been kicking her fanny for a year now, though today’s hot flashes were worse than usual.
        “We adopted a second child when our daughter was six. From Korea,” Norma said. “Jason. He’s a plastic surgeon. He got married three weeks ago, and I’m hopeful I’ll live long enough to see a grandchild. Though his wife is an attorney who seems more interested in riding show horses than being a mother.”
        “People are waiting later and later to have children.”
        “I was forty-one when I adopted your baby.” Norma pursed her lips, then sighed. “I tried for twelve years to conceive. Every hormone, operation and method, including several post-coitus positions that were rather amusing. Nothing helped. I kept trying until I was forty-eight. When we were bringing Jason home, I remember looking out of the airplane window and thinking with relief that I could finally stop trying.”
        “I can imagine.”
        Norma blinked. “I’ve found older motherhood wonderful. I was much wiser at forty-eight than at twenty-eight. Although neither my husband’s nor my parents lived to see Jason. Or dear Molly.”
        Molly.
        Anne’s hands trembled. My daughter’s name is Molly. Suddenly she wanted to know everything about Molly, but didn’t trust her emotions enough to frame the first question.
        “Are you all right, Anne?”
        “Yes. I was just thinking about what you said. The older you are when you have children, the better. I think I was a better mother in my forties, although, unfortunately for my sons, they were almost grown and didn’t get to benefit much from my maturity.”
        Norma smiled. “You’re an RN, I understand. Did you work full-time when they were little?”
        How did she know that? “Yes, I’m an RN, which is a great profession for a working mother. My schedule was twenty to thirty hours a week, two or three days in a row. I never had to leave them for very long, and Harry worked around my schedule. He was a very hands-on father, as they say now.”
        “Charles, too. In his own way. He was home at 5:30 on the dot to eat with the children. Then he read to them. It was a terrible loss that he died when they were still living at home. Jasey was only twelve.”
        Anne scooted a few inches closer to Norma. “That must have been very difficult.”
        “It was.” Norma settled into the cushions and an uncomfortable silence passed. “Are you still working as a nurse?”
        “No. I still need to check into what I need to do about licensing, now that I’m in California. I’m considering several things, though I don’t think I’ll ever completely give-up nursing.”
        “You like it, then? Some people hate being around sick people.”
        “I do. Very much.” Anne put both hands in her lap, wishing the food would come. She still wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t eaten this morning because she was nervous, and now she was getting light-headed. And Norma suddenly seemed uncomfortable, as if the chit-chat was over and something much harder was ahead.
        “I’ve wondered about you for these past thirty-five years, you know,” Norma said softly. “A thousand times I imagined picking up a phone, or answering the door, or finding you waiting for us outside Molly’s school. When you never made any attempt to contact us, I finally gave up the idea that we would ever meet. Your letter came as quite a shock.”
        “I worried about shocking you. But it was important to contact you about something I’d learned about…” She swallowed. She couldn’t say the word ‘Molly’ aloud yet. “About your daughter’s genetic history. That’s the only reason I contacted you.”
        “How did you find me, by the way? Adoption records are still sealed in Maryland, aren’t they?”
        “Yes. But your husband left a letter with the attorney handling the adoption which gave permission to divulge your contact information, once your daughter was an adult, if any health information needed to be passed onto her. I’ve debated with myself for a couple of years about contacting you, but finally decided I couldn’t risk not reaching out to you. For your daughter’s sake.”
        “I see.” Norma took a deep breath. “It’s obvious to me that you aren’t going to know the answer to my next question, but my estate lawyer insisted I ask you.” She leaned toward Anne. “Do you know who Molly is?”
        “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”
        “She uses my maiden name instead of Wintz,” Anne said. “Harper.”
        “Harper Wintz? No, I don’t know that name. Is she famous?” Anne didn’t really think that it was possible, but she had, from time to time over the years, fantasized that her daughter may have grown up to be a ballerina or an astronaut.
        Norma chuckled suddenly. “I am confusing you. No Harper is her last name. My daughter is Molly Harper. Your daughter is Molly Harper. ”
        A bell went off in Anne’s head. The words echoed while her brain tried to explain why that name sounded familiar.
        Molly.
        Harper.
        Molly Harper.
        “Oh my god.” Anne’s eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
        “So you do recognize her name?” Norma looked proud.
        You’d have to be living in a tree in the rain forest not to know who Molly Harper was, Anne thought. Her picture was on every other magazine cover printed in the last five years. “Molly Harper, the actress?” Her voice trembled as she said her daughter’s name for the first time. “That beautiful girl from that TV show… What was it, Dinah?
        “Deeny’s Days,” Norma corrected. “Heavens, that show was on years ago, and only for one season. Surely you know she went on to do films since then? She won an Oscar last year, Anne. Best Supporting Actress.” Norma named the movie. “Did you see it?”
        “I, ah, no. But I do remember hearing about it. My son, Harry, loves movies and he’s always sending me DVDs to watch.” For a moment Anne considered the astounding fact that her sons had a sister who was a movie star. “My god, she’s a movie star!”
        “An immensely talented girl. She sings. And dances. And has acted since she was five years old. She started in school productions, but it was clear what she was meant to do with her life. And as for the fame, well, since her marriage…” Norma raised her skinny eyebrows. “It’s been traumatic. The poor girl can’t go anywhere now without having a camera shoved in her face.”
        Married? Molly was married! Of course she was, Anne realized. She wasn’t a child; she was a woman of thirty-five. But it was shocking to grapple with the reality that her tiny, squalling baby was all grown up and married.
        Who was she married to? “Oh. My. God,” Anne repeated as the knowledge slammed into her brain. “She’s married to that actor, Ben Delmonico, isn’t she?”
        “Shhhh.” Norma glanced around. “Let’s not get too loud here, dear. People in Santa Barbara aren’t obsessed with Hollywood stars, but you never know who’s eavesdropping on the off-chance they can sell some tidbit to a gossip rag.”
        At that moment the waitress showed up with their lunch.
        When they were alone again, Norma leaned closer. “I want you to know I hired a private investigator to check you out after I arranged our luncheon. I had to. There was the possibility you were a scam artist looking for money.”
        “Money?” Anne yipped, and then covered her mouth.
        “It’s obvious from the background report the detective delivered that you aren’t that kind of person, but I had to be prudent.” Norma shrugged. “I’m sorry for being blunt. I don’t know how else to be.”
        “I understand.” She did, but she was shocked Norma, or anyone, would think she was the kind of person who would try to profit from this situation.
        “Why don’t you eat something? You’re a bit pale,” Norma added. “Your salad looks delicious.”
        “It does.” Anne gestured toward the bowl of soup in front of Norma. “You eat, too.”
        “I will. Although I can’t wait any longer to ask about the main point of your letter. You said you had some information about a medical condition in your family?” Norma suddenly looked every day of her seventy-seven years. “I’ve been rather worried about what it might be.”
        Anne put her fork down. “It’s not in my family. It’s in your daughter’s birth father’s family. Do you know who he was?”
        “Steven Miller. Seventeen when Molly was born. Good family. Spoiled only son, headed to a scholarship at Yale. The family wanted no part of his child, I believe. At least that’s what our attorney said.” Norma looked at her closely. “Did I leave out anything important?”
        “No. Except Steven’s parents didn’t want any part of me, either. I never saw him again after the night our two families decided I would put the baby up for adoption. But I recently found out that he died in early 2010. Of Multiple Sclerosis. And that his mother also died from the disease before she was sixty. A few months ago I found out his younger sister has it, too, although she’s holding her own. My physician said it’s very rare for three members of one family to have the disease. Which is why I thought it was something Molly…” Anne stopped again and swallowed hard. “That your daughter should report this information to her doctor and they could do a genetic workup.”
        “MS? How horrible.” Norma went paler. “I know a woman who has that. A daughter of a dear friend. She was in a wheelchair in her forties.”
        “There’s no reason to assume the worst, but you do see why I thought it was important to tell her about this, so she would have this information in her health files, don’t you?”
        “Yes,” Norma finally said. “I do. But that’s going to be difficult, my dear.”
        Anne reached for her purse. “I’m sure she’ll probably have a lot of questions. I’ve compiled my health history too, along with the complete contact information for Steven Miller’s family. Maybe she’ll want to contact someone on that side and find out more.”
        Maybe she’ll want to see me, too, Anne thought. Though why would she?
        “Molly doesn’t know she’s adopted,” Norma said.
        Anne dropped the fork she was clutching. It bounced with a clatter and flipped onto the floor under the table.
        “But how can that be? I don’t understand,” Anne said.
        “Molly knows Jason is adopted, obviously, as he is Korean. But Charles and I never told Molly she was adopted too. We were going to tell her eventually, before she went off to college, but then he died, and I simply never found the right time for it.”
        “Wow.” That was a dumb thing to say, Anne thought. My secret-keeping from my boys is a big deal, but this seems even bigger.
        “I’m not sure what to do, Anne. If I tell Molly outright, she’ll feel, well, I imagine she’ll feel betrayed. Charles and I lied to her about something basic to her vision of herself. No way around that. I hope she’ll understand why.”
        “I think she will, once you explain it all.”
        Norma shook her head. “I hope so. But I’ll admit to you that I’m afraid to tell her, even though I know I must. I just don’t know how. What would you do?”
        The two women who had met less than an hour before, but had so much shared history, stared at one another.
        “I don’t know.”
        Norma sighed. “I don’t either. Why don’t we order a cocktail and think about it together? My tea doesn’t seem to be offering quite enough comfort today. Would you like one?”
        “Yes. Bourbon on the rocks. In fact, have them make mine a double.”

 


Chapter Two


        “Molly! Molly, look over here, sweetheart!”
        Molly Harper turned her head away and tucked her sweaty chin against her chest, hiding every feature of her face from the shouting cameraman’s lens.
        “Come on, gorgeous. Cooperate. This isn’t like you.”
        “Yeah, well get used to it.” Molly pushed open the heavy front door of her mother’s summer house, tucked into the side of the Santa Ynez foothills, and pulled it shut behind her, locking it for good measure.
        She listened for a moment, hoping for sounds indicating the men were leaving, but she heard nothing. The paparazzi would hang around for hours.
        Fine, she thought. They could rot out there for all she cared. Because she planned to stay inside for a while.
        Maybe for the next ten years.
        She yanked off the baseball hat covering her trademark shaggy blonde haircut, and pulled off her hoodie.
        She should have known better than to run down Orangewood. They’d been hanging out on that street and thought they were being clever by staying in the van until she stopped on the porch for her cool-down.
        Tomorrow she’d remember to go through the back and cut across the canyon to Jacinto Drive. That way she’d hear them coming before they could get a picture.
        Molly did some stretching to rev her body down. It was cool and quiet inside the old adobe house. And Marta, her mother’s cook, was out shopping.
        She was blessedly alone for the first time in the three days she’d been visiting.
        Molly kicked off her running shoes, feeling as if she’d been holding her breath for hours. She walked to the library and stood in front of the open window looking out on the back garden.
        It was lush with bougainvillea, birds of paradise, and lemon trees. Her mouth watered suddenly at the thought of Marta’s lemonade. She detoured back to the kitchen refrigerator, but the pitcher wasn’t there. She reached for a bottle of water.
        As she drained it, the sounds of a car engine catching and two men saying goodbye to each other drifted in on the breeze.
        They were leaving! Without a decent photo. Which means they don’t know, Molly thought.
        Yet.
        They don’t know about Ben’s new girlfriend.
        Molly sucked in her breath and stretched her arms above her head.
        If they knew, twenty of the jerks would be camped out on the front lawn or hanging off the tile roof like bats, cameras mounted on every available body part.
        Photographers were willing to risk bodily harm if it meant getting an eight-by-twelve portrait of disaster. The press and the public both loved those no make-up, bad-hair-day shots of someone ‘cut down to size’ or betrayed.
        Preferably both.
        And since she was a public figure who a lot of people recognized, when something bad happened to her, it made the news, especially since her husband was a star, too.
        That was the biggest reason why rumors about their troubled marriage had been batted all over the world press for a few months.
        And once they hear Ben is already involved with someone else, another dozen bad-news bears will head to Santa Barbara to try and get an exclusive picture of poor, abandoned Molly Harper.
        Maybe I should call the police and ask them to block off the street tomorrow. Molly leaned on the kitchen counter and looked out to the street. It was what she had to do when she and Ben announced their engagement at a charity gala at her mother’s house in Brentwood three years ago. And after the drama and near-tragedy of Cruz’s accident the day before her marriage, they’d had a security crew for a few months.
        Her tension meter went up a few degrees over the memory.
        It wouldn’t be popular with her mother’s neighbors, of that she was sure. People lived in these hills because they liked their privacy, not because they wanted satellite news crews from three continents blocking their driveways and taking a pee in their flower-beds.
        Wearily Molly tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin and told herself to focus on something-anything-else.
        She glanced at the clock. It was almost three.
        Where is Mom?
        Norma phoned this morning to say she was coming to Santa Barbara for a week. “I’ll probably be there by two,” her mother had announced, her voice less confident than usual. She’d asked Molly to please check that there were fresh sheets in the guest room because Roberto Garcia, her driver, would also be staying.
        It’s good she’s late, Molly thought. I’m not ready to face her yet.
        Her mother had the uncanny ability of looking at her and knowing something was wrong, though Norma would never ask outright what that something was.
        She was patient.
        Molly’s father had often said Norma could outwait leap year. Especially since she knew her daughter would spill her guts eventually. It usually took only ten minutes of being in Norma’s presence before Molly told her everything.
        With a sigh, Molly looked out through the peephole in the front door. No one in sight. Hopefully it will stay that way a while longer.
        She imagined telling Norma about Ben’s new lover. Her mother would be stoic and silent. And disapproving. Despite assurances to the contrary, Norma didn’t like Ben much, but her mother was also a woman from a time in history where a good or bad marriage wasn’t as important as the two people trying to work out their differences with a spouse.
        No one in her mother’s family had ever been divorced. Especially over something as common as discovering your husband was a cheat.
        “I’m not you, Mom,” Molly muttered to the empty room. She pulled her t-shirt off over her head and hurried down the hall to her bedroom. She wasn’t sleepy even though she hadn’t slept for two days. Or eaten since Ben called twelve hours ago.
        But she did feel empty. Like a hollowed-out version of herself.
        Molly stopped in the middle of her room. She’d trained herself to always examine her emotions, study how her body felt when she was experiencing new situations. That way she’d have the information to call on when she needed it for an acting role.
        She closed her eyes.
        How do I feel?
        Bereft, but not engaged in the pain.
        I’m numb. In denial?
        This can’t be happening to me, she thought again for the hundredth time since Ben’s call.
        But it was.
        Swiping at the bubble of tears, she closed the drapes and stripped off her shorts and socks. After a fifteen-minute shower hot enough to leave her skin blotchy and red, she dried off and pulled on jeans and a loose mini-dress.
        She was calmer.
        And sadder.
        But still wide-awake.
        Molly padded down the hallway and stopped in the doorway of the oak-paneled library, her favorite room in the world.
        Her earliest memories were of this place, where she and her father could spend quiet time reading before she went to bed.
        Molly threw herself down on the sofa.
        Tears welled-up again as she replayed the call from Ben. At three 3:27 a.m. her husband finally returned her messages from the previous two days.
        “Where have you been?” she’d demanded. She wasn’t that kind of woman, hysterical and bitchy, but she couldn’t control her anger after being ignored for two days. “And what time is your flight to California tomorrow? Are you landing at Santa Monica or LAX? I do need to know where to send the car, Ben.”
        “I’m sorry, Molly, but I’m not coming back to town at all for awhile. I’m going to Costa Rico.
        They both knew where in Costa Rica.
        She had waited for him to stick that knife in her, but he was too much of a coward to acknowledge who he was staying with in Costa Rica.
        “And when I do come LA, I’m moving out of our house,” Ben continued. “I‘ve already rented another place in Westwood.”
        Molly couldn’t, even now, believe he had actually broken up with her over the phone.
        “I, I don’t understand,” she’d mumbled. “I thought we were going to try again. Marriage counseling. You said you wanted us to try and work our problems out…”
        “There isn’t an ‘us’ any more. You know that, too, don’t you?”
        To her ears Ben’s sad tone sounded fake and out of character.
        Her husband had continued. “I’ll let you make the announcement to the press. Just give me a heads-up before you do it, okay? Celia can handle everything. Have her call and let me know when to expect the thundering herds.”
        Molly had not replied, she had just hung up the phone.
        Replaying that conversation now made her feel ill. And guilty for some reason, as if she’d been caught eavesdropping on someone else’s heartbreak instead of her own.
        She burrowed into the couch. She wished she could just go to sleep and not wake up for six months.
        Maybe in six months I can face my life.
        She couldn’t now. It was impossible.
        Molly closed her eyes and began counting backward from one hundred. It was something she’d done her whole life. On good nights she was sleepy by twenty-five.
        On bad nights she gave up and got back out of bed at the third set of a hundred.
        Eighty. Eighty-one.
        When her cell sang out, Molly opened her gritty eyes. Her phone was lit up like a mini-jukebox, flashing on the table across the room. She rolled off the sofa with her heart pounding and grabbed the phone, shocked to see it was 4:30 p.m.
        She’d slept for two hours! And now her neck and arms and legs ached. God, every time she ran lately, she hurt for hours afterwards. I need to take more vitamins or find a new trainer.
        “Hello?”
        “Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”
        “Hey, yourself, baby brother. What’s going on?” She cleared her throat. “Is the honeymoon over yet?”
        “No way.” His voice was full of a young man’s happiness. “What are you and Mom doing? Arguing over where to go to dinner? I bet you want enchiladas, huh? How’s she feeling?”
        “Actually, no. ” Molly walked into the hallway and looked through the peephole again. The driveway was still empty. “Mom hasn’t shown up yet. I know she was having lunch with someone at Cie la Vie. They must have gone shopping afterwards. But Mr. Garcia is driving. Don’t worry.”
        “I wasn’t worried,” he said defensively. “But she’s okay? Isn’t she?”
        “She sounded fine on the phone. Which I’m sure is how she’ll stay if she listens to Dr. Feldman. He told her after her last chemo that all she needed to do was eat more protein and stay away from the booze.”
        “And you think she’s doing that?”
        “Which? Eating meat or not drinking her highballs every afternoon?”
        “Both,” Jason said.
        “I think she’s eating fine. But I wouldn’t bet on her giving up the Southern Comfort. She says she gets her vitamin C from the twist of lime.”
        Jason attempted a laugh. “Yeah. Okay, I wanted to let you know Nicole and I are coming down tomorrow.”
        “Great. For how long?”
        “Two, maybe three days. Are you still going to be around? I’d love to have us all together for Mom’s birthday. Sorry, but I can’t keep your schedule straight.”
        Her new movie started principal photography next week. Location shooting was in Pasadena.
        Except all that was going to change. I’ll eat glass before I’ll make that movie now. Which reminds me, I better call Artie Stein. Today.
        And Celia.
        No! Celia is Ben’s publicist too. I can’t call her until I know whose side she’s taking.
        “Molly?” Jason said. “Are you still there?”
        “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking about some things I needed to do yesterday. I will be in Santa Barbara for a little longer than I thought.” Her brain hummed. “And that’s a great idea about getting us all together for a party for Mom. Were you thinking just us, or should I invite the Gardeners and Lois?”
        “I was thinking just us, and Nicole, of course, but yeah, you better ask Aunt Lois.”
        “When you say ‘us’, I know you mean Nicole, too, Jason. You’re married now, remember?”
        “Duh. You’re right. I’m bad.”
        “No, you’re a newlywed. But do you really want Lois to come? You had to drive her home last time because she claimed her eyes ‘locked-up’ in the dark, remember?”
        “I know. But Mom thinks we need to include her more. Since she lives in Ventura, we’ve got to ask. But not the Gardeners, Molly. I know they were Dad’s best friends, but please, Mom doesn’t even like them. She said they were ‘right wing nut jobs’ after they visited her in the hospital. Remember?”
        “I do. They brought her a Palin book.”
        “Yeah. She had her ‘take that out in the garden and bury it smile’ on her face, but they didn’t even notice.”
        Molly rubbed her eyes. “Okay, Jason, call me when you get back home to LA. Oh, and what are you going to get Mom?”
        “No clue. What does she need?”
        “Nothing. But she hasn’t needed anything for thirty years, so what’s that have to do with anything?”
        “I’ll ask Nicole. And I’ll see you next week.”
        Molly’s smile faded. “Great. But before you hang-up, I wanted to let you know that…” Her voice faltered and the hollow feeling returned. She hated to be pitied. Hated to fail. She clenched her jaw and changed the phone from one hand to another. “I…I just…”
        “Are you okay? Your voice has sounded weird during this whole call. Are you more worried about Mom than you’re telling me?”
        I can’t tell him yet. Molly pushed her hair off of her forehead. Her brother was empathetic, this was going to hit him hard. “No. No, I’m just tired. Tell Nicole that the place on Melrose near the Design Center has a lot of Metlox pottery. Have her look for another piece in that minty green color, if she can find it. A vase, maybe. Mom loved the other one you guys got her.”
        “Okay, thanks. Love you. Say hi to Ben. I’ve been meaning to reach out and tell you how glad I am that you two are going to counseling. Good luck with that, sis.”
        “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Jasey.” She clicked off the phone and sat for a moment staring at her hands.
        She never could give bad news to people over the phone.
        She wasn’t like Norma in that way.
        Her mother had called her at her summer job at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion the day her father died. Norma had instructed Molly to drive to UCLA Medical Center and meet her and Jason in the intensive care waiting room.
        Her mother had said she didn’t know how bad the heart attack was.
        But she did know.
        Slowly Molly got up and dialed Norma’s cell. No one answered, which wasn’t unusual. Norma only used it to call out. Molly stuck the cell in the pocket of her jeans and walked to the front door and opened it.
        There was no sign of anyone, and it was after five o’clock. Despite what she’d said to Jason, she was worried.
        She closed the door. Don’t panic. You always panic. You don’t need to panic. Go start dinner.
        She would fix one of the three dinners she knew how to make. Pasta and chicken with broccoli. Her mom loved that. Or used to, before the chemo. Norma had said recently that everything now tasted like paper.
        “White paper,” her mother complained. “And salt and pepper does nothing to enhance that taste, believe me.”
        It didn’t matter. She was going to cook, a real meal that would be ready when Norma arrived. They could sit outside and have a cocktail and catch up on the day.
        Then, after dinner, I’ll tell Mother that Ben is leaving me because he’s in love with Miss Universe. The real one.
        Twenty-one year old Daniela Hunter from Texas, whose billionaire father grows coffee in Costa Rica, was her husband’s latest lover.
        I’m going to also tell Mom I’m filing for divorce. And that I’m not going to do the upcoming movie project with Ben.
        And that I might be pregnant.
        Her brain immediately recoiled and she decided, no, she couldn’t hit her mother with that tonight. Molly settled into the chair in the foyer and put her icy hands on her cheeks.
        I’ll save that part of my freaking soap opera of a life for later in the week if it turns out to be true.
        After all, I’m very good at keeping secrets.
        I leaned from the master, you Mother.
        But there was another person she could call who would help share the burden of this misery with her. She paused. Am I being fair to do this? He’d been through so much.
        So have I, she thought, dashing fresh tears from her eyes. She pulled out the cell and punched #3.
        Cruz Morales was #3.
        Ben had once made a snide remark about the fact Cruz was #3 on her speed dial list and he was #6, after her agent.
        Ben never accepted that another man was his wife’s best friend since she was fourteen. “Cruz knows everything about me that I know, and some things I don’t,” she had told Ben more than once.
        It had been a dumb thing to do, confide that to her husband.
        But Cruz is my best friend.
        And he saw this coming, Molly realized as she listened to the phone ringing in her ear. He’d been warning her about Ben in his usual oblique way.
        But she hadn’t understood, hadn’t allowed herself to talk to Cruz about the fears and tensions she’d been suffering with Ben through the whole of their short marriage.
        Molly pressed her left hand against her chest. Her heart was racing. Did people die of stress? Did I just read that a person could expire from grief?
        “Molly.”
        There was a slight hesitation in his Mexican tough-guy accent. He was like that since his accident. No warmth in his voice until he was sure it was her. “Hey Cruz. You got a minute?”
        “For you, yes.”
        “Cruz,” she began and then burst into full-throated crying.
        “Where are you, Molly?”
        “At Mom’s, in Montecito.” The cell beeped that she had another call waiting, but she ignored the signal and sobbed louder.
        “What’s wrong?”
        “Ben…Ben called and he’s, he’s…” She couldn’t speak coherently.
        “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t move.”
        “Thank you,” she whispered.
        But he had already hung up and was on his way.



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Molly Harper
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