The questions rushed at Molly, pricking her skin. Beth would find out any second what had happened. There were only a few moments left in her life where Chowder lived on. Molly covered her face against the assault. “I’m high.”

“Great. I’ll add that to the list of delightful events that occur when I leave for two days. You corrupt my students; you give them drugs. Jesus. I could lose my job.” She held her hand to her mouth as if to block herself from saying more.

“I’m sorry.” Saying the words was like eating an insubstantial snack, reminding you how hungry you are.

“Oh, great. That makes it all okay. All is solved now, because you’re sorry.”

That was it. Poor, idiotic Chowder at the bottom of the river. James Masterson’s innocence, gone. Her relationship with Beth, ending tonight, just when Molly had decided it was what she wanted. And she couldn’t change any of it. She leaned against the cold tiles and cried. She cried until she convulsed, until she had to run to the bedroom and lay on the quilt, the bed a mossy field beneath her, dragging her down. The tears were real but they were also theatrical. Her gasps belonged to someone else.

Beth loomed in the doorway. “Are you for real?”

Molly nodded into the quilt. She shook her head. She wanted to stop crying, but holding it in made the sobs bounce out erratically.

“Relax,” Beth said. “They’re not that innocent.”

“But your job,” Molly said. “And the dog.”

Beth paused, perhaps thinking of what James had said, wondering who the murderer was. There were only so many possibilities. Maybe, hopefully, Beth thought something worse had happened. But nothing was worse, not for Beth.

“Where’s Chowder?” Beth said.

It wasn’t fair to tell her this way, earning her pity first. Even though Molly didn’t like the dog taking up half the bed or his white hair on her black wardrobe or his steaming shit, the thin skin of plastic bag over her hand her only protection, or, most of all, how Beth hugged and fondled him instead of hugging and fondling Molly, now Beth was alone—stuck in Hurlbut with all these kids and no Chowder. What if Beth ended up not really gay, or what if the relationship grew too serious for Molly and she left? Or, most likely, what if Beth dumped her right now?

“He’s dead,” Molly said. She’d blown her load earlier, describing the incident to James with nuance and remorse. Now the plain truth was out, ugly and unwieldy. She sponged her tears with the corner of her flannel. Then she described what had happened.

Beth shook her head. She set her fingers on her temple and closed her eyes. When Molly was done, they went minutes without speaking, Beth raising a finger whenever Molly opened her mouth. After ages, Beth said, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?” Molly shuddered, flashing on Beth pulling the soggy corpse from the Charles.