All the Way Home (23 page)

The baby will be here soon.

That’ll be nice.

Babies are sweet.

Molly stops several paces away from the crowd and the police cars and the Wasners’ house. She glances up. The house looks deceptively the same as always.

Neatly clipped shrubs.

American flag.

Wicker furniture on the porch.

See? Everything’s fine. You can go back home and
—

Rory turns her head suddenly, as though sensing Molly’s presence. Their eyes meet, and Molly recognizes the mixture of distress and sympathy in her sister’s gaze. She’s seen it before. Years before, in other peoples’ eyes, when she was too young to understand what it meant. When she couldn’t grasp the enormity of losing Daddy, and Carleen, too, and how it made people feel sorry for her, poor little girl, having lost both her father and sister in so short a time.

And now . . .

“Molly,” Rory says, breaking away from the crowd and coming toward her.

“No.” Molly shakes her head, taking a step backward.

Don’t you dare tell me, Rory
.

Don’t you dare make this real
.

“Molly,” Rory says again.

Molly backs away, then turns and begins running toward home. She runs as fast as she can, and it feels good, her sneakers slapping against the concrete and her hair streaming out behind her.

All too soon, though, she’s home. She takes the steps two at a time, conscious of the pounding footsteps behind her, and throws the door open.

Rory grabs her from behind, catching her on the shoulders, saying, “Molly, Molly, don’t run away. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No it isn’t!” Molly hollers, spinning to face her sister.

Tell me I’m wrong, Rory. Tell me again that everything really is going to be okay. Please
.

“It’s Rebecca” is all Rory says at last, her gaze fastened on Molly’s.

“No.”

“She’s gone, Molly. Nobody knows where she is.” She pauses to heave a deep breath, then adds, “Her parents found her bed empty this morning.”

“No!”

“Molly . . .” Rory folds her into her arms and Molly lets her.

She allows her head to fall on her sister’s shoulder and she allows her tears to soak Rory’s T-shirt and she allows Rory to croon her name and whisper, “Shhh . . . shhh” as she strokes Molly’s hair.

The way a mother would comfort her hurting child.

Mom has never comforted Molly this way.

But Mom isn’t my mother
.

Renewed pain surges through her gut.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she says, pulling back from Rory and looking up at her face.

Rory’s eyes are still sympathetic. She understands. She knows what Molly means. For some reason, that helps.

So does the fact that she doesn’t tell Molly again that it’s going to be okay.

She says only, “I know. You’ve been through hell.”

“I want it to stop. God . . . I want it all to go away.”

“I know.”

She closes her eyes and sees her best friend’s face.

“What happened to Rebecca?” she asks Rory. “Where is she?”

“Nobody knows. You don’t have any idea, do you, Molly? You’re her friend. You two must have been together.”

“No. We haven’t. We had an argument. God, it was so stupid. Friday night. I haven’t talked to her since then. I haven’t seen her.” Her voice breaks and tears rush in.

“Shhh,” Rory says again.

“Why did I give her such a hard time about that stupid party? I knew she didn’t want to go. Why did I start a fight over it? If I hadn’t, we would have been together yesterday and she wouldn’t be missing.”

“No, Molly. Don’t blame yourself. You have nothing to do with this.”

And she knows Rory’s right. But still a sick feeling comes over her as she thinks of Rebecca.

Poor Rebecca.

What could have happened?

Pounding feet on the porch steps catch Molly’s attention. She turns to see Lou Randall standing on the other side of the screen door.

“Molly, thank God,” he says, slightly breathless, his eyes flicking briefly to Rory, then back to her. “I was hoping you’d be here. I know this is a terrible time—” He breaks off awkwardly, adding, reluctantly and belatedly, as though he isn’t sure if she’s aware of it, “Rebecca . . .”

“She knows,” Rory tells him.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, to Molly, and repeats, “It’s a terrible time, but . . . we need you. It’s an emergency.”

It’s Rory who responds first, as Molly’s head reels. “What is it?”

“My wife is having pains in her stomach. She’s pregnant—we think they’re contractions. They’re pretty strong. I called the doctor and he said he’ll meet us at the hospital. But Ozzie—”

“It’s okay,” Molly speaks up, finding her voice. “I’ll watch him.”

“Molly, are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I’ll come with you,” she says, making a move toward the door.

“Molly, wait . . .” Rory puts a hand on her arm. “I don’t think this is a good time to—”

“It’s okay, Rory.”

And strangely, it is.

Not just because there’s nothing else she can do—how can she tell Lou that she can’t help him under circumstances like this?

Besides, watching Ozzie will get her out of here.

Away from Rory’s sympathetic eyes.

Away from Sister Theodosia and Mom.

What about Rebecca? You can’t escape that
.

But I can’t deal with it now. I just have to get out of here. If I don’t I’ll go crazy
.

“I’ll come with you,” Rory offers. “Just let me grab my keys and—”

“No,” Molly quickly cuts her off. Lou is already down the steps, striding swiftly toward home. “I’ll be fine alone, Rory.”

“Molly, this isn’t a good time to—”

“I know, but Ozzie—he doesn’t like strangers,” she lies. “It will just upset him if you come, too. I’ll be fine. I’ll be right next door. If I need anything, I’ll yell.”

“Molly—”

“See you,” she calls over her shoulder, dashing through the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk to follow Lou. She nearly smashes into a stranger who’s just turning in their gate.

“Sorry!” he says, and she looks up to see the dark-haired man Rory had been talking to earlier.

“It’s okay,” Molly mutters, hurriedly pushing past him.

“Are you all right, Molly?” he calls after her.

“Fine,” she flings back, wondering how he knows her name. Rory must have told him.

It isn’t until she’s dashing up the Randalls’ front steps that it strikes her that she’s heard that deep voice before.

But where? When?

A long time ago
.

She briefly turns her head to look back toward home. The man isn’t visible from here, but she doesn’t have to see him again to know that he doesn’t look familiar.

No.
Not at all.
I must be mistaken about knowing him,
she tells herself, following Lou into the house.

“R
ory?” Barrett calls through the screen, looking into the front hall. “Are you here?”

She sticks her head out of a nearby doorway. “Barrett?”

“Hi. I just . . . I wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

Rory sighs and walks toward the door, running a distracted hand through her red curls. Her hair flops stubbornly back into its wayward shape, as though she hasn’t yet washed or brushed it this morning. “Things could be better.”

“Is Molly okay? I saw her running away.”

“She’s just going next door to baby-sit.”

“Now?”

“It’s an emergency. The woman went into labor.”

“Oh. Busy morning on Hayes Street, huh?” he asks humorlessly.

“Looks that way. Listen, I was just going to grab a cup of coffee and then go up to take a shower, so—”

“Mind if I join you? Just for the coffee part, of course,” he adds quickly, offering her a faint grin.

She hesitates, then returns it. “If you want to, I guess it’s okay.”

“I just thought maybe you could use some company, with all hell breaking loose around here. It must bring back memories,” he adds cautiously, as she unlatches the screen door and holds it open for him.

“It does.”

“It was like this when Carleen disappeared, wasn’t it.” It’s a statement, not a question.

She nods. “And Emily, too.”

“Your next-door neighbor.”

“And best friend. Just like Rebecca is Molly’s best friend. God, Barrett, I hope nothing terrible has happened to her, but all I can think is that this is no accident. It’s just like before. It’s starting again.” Her green eyes bore into his, as though she’s asking him to tell her that it’s not true, that this is different.

“I don’t know,” he answers instead. “There’s no way to know, is there?”

“No. Not yet. Not until it happens again.”

She turns away from him.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Abruptly, she offers, “Come on into the kitchen if you want some coffee.”

“Sure.” He follows her down the hall.

As he does, he sees the framed childhood photos carefully arranged on the wall above the stairs rising along one side of the hall, none appearing more recent than a decade ago.

He notes the faded floral paper, some edges curling along the baseboards and around the doorways, and the threadbare green runner stretched beneath his feet, hiding most of the scarred, dull hardwood floor.

He glances at the small round pie-crust-edged table in the corner beside the archway leading into the kitchen, at the porcelain vase of artificial flowers sitting, precisely centered, on top of an Irish lace doily.

It’s exactly the same,
he thinks incredulously.
All of it. Exactly the same as it looked ten years ago
.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

“H
ow are you feeling now, Michelle?”

She looks up to see the familiar face of her doctor poking through the curtain separating her bed from the one near the window.

“Better, thanks, Doctor Kabir.”

He gives a reassuring smile, but his black eyes are concerned. “I’ll be in to check on you again in a moment.”

She nods and turns her head on the pillow to look at Lou, who’s sitting in the single chair beside the bed, his eyes focused on the computer screen showing the progress of the fetal monitor strapped to her stomach.

“What’s going on?” she asks him.

“Nothing. No contractions for a long time, now. I guess it isn’t labor.”

“I guess not.” She shakes her head. “They were coming fast and furious at home, though. After the first one at breakfast I thought it was just Braxton-Hicks, but—”

“Braxton-Hicks?”

“You know, false labor. But then it really kicked in. And I thought, I’m going to have this baby more than a month early.”

“I hope not.”

“So do I. It’s too soon. I just want the baby to be all right, Lou,” she says, and her voice cracks. She swallows hard and adds, “I’ve had this feeling lately, like something bad is going to happen.”

“That’s just because you’re pregnant. It’s your hormones.”

“No, I don’t think so. I really feel like something’s going to go wrong.” She finds herself bursting into tears.

“Michelle, come on.” Lou stands and looks down at her, after a moment, reaching down to briefly pat her arm. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, but she notices his expression isn’t exactly comforting. Well, he hasn’t ever had the best bedside manner. Probably thanks to Iris, who isn’t the most nurturing person in the world.

“I’m sorry for falling apart,” Michelle says, sniffling.

“Don’t worry about it.” He looks edgy even as he says calmly, “After what happened this morning at the Wasners’, you’re just emotional.”

“I know. Maybe that whole thing brought on the stronger contractions, Lou.”

“Maybe. You were upset, and the stress might have triggered false labor.”

“Right.”

They’re silent for a moment
.

He sits again, looking at the monitor. “The baby’s heart rate is staying in the range the nurse said is safe,” he comments. “So that’s good.”

“Yeah. That’s good.”