CHAPTER 5

Molly

CORRINE’S APARTMENT IS SMOTHERING ME. I CAN’T SEEM TO TAKE A deep breath, to pull air down deep into my lungs. I feel trapped here. I want to go home. That’s where I want to be, home with Jay.

The doorbell chimes, and someone raps on the door as well. It has to be my parents. My mother is impatient in the best of times. I sigh and drag myself to standing.

Mother and Dad sweep into the apartment, brush by Corrine, and Mom pulls me into her arms. “Sweetheart, we just can’t believe it. We can’t believe Jay’s gone.” She stands back, her hands squeezing my arms, and looks me up and down. “But you’re all right?”

I nod, my gaze on the floor.

“Thank God!” Her short brown hair is neatly combed, her glasses gleam. She looks every inch the math professor she is, organized and logical.

Dad nudges her aside and hugs me. “What did the cops say, Moll?” His chin wobbles just a little.

“I’ll put coffee on,” Corrine calls from the kitchen.

I clasp my arms across my chest. “They don’t know anything yet.”

“But someone killed him? Who in their right mind would do such a thing?” Mom clutches her hand over her mouth. But I see it in her eyes, a vague accusation as if this is my fault. Trouble seems to find me was her mantra when I was growing up.

I shake my head. I have no answers.

“It must’ve been some low-lifer on dope, don’t you think?” Mom says. “You live in a pretty expensive neighborhood, Molly. I can’t believe you two don’t have a security system in that big place. Even Dad and I have ADT. And you, especially, should know better after . . .” She doesn’t finish that thought. She doesn’t have to.

I turn away, heat rising to my face. “It was on our list.” It was one of the things we hadn’t gotten around to since moving in last spring. The house had fallen into some disrepair when we bought it. There’d been a lot to do. Now, of course, I’m full of regrets. Refinishing the hardwood floors and updating the master bath seem irrelevant. And besides, Jay made me feel safe, untouchable, which is ridiculous in hindsight.

Mom’s phone rings from her huge open purse. “It’s been nonstop,” she says, fishes the phone out and disappears into the powder room.

“You’re okay, kid?” Dad asks. He looks utterly lost and hugs me again.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” I tear up and start to walk over to the window, change direction and swing into the kitchen. Corrine is standing at the counter, assembling a platter of snacks. “Can I borrow your phone. The cops have mine.”

“What? Sure.” She tips her head toward the table. “In my purse.”

Phone in hand, I head to the guest room. I hear my mother talking in the powder room as I walk down the hall. Her loud nasal voice cuts through my head. I close the guest room door and drop down on the bed.