“Thank you for all you do. On behalf of all students. Sincerely.” He saluted her, then relaxed against Molly’s support, a deflating little Christ.

In the hallway, Molly propped him against a wall. “Are you really that high?” Usually White Kush didn’t have a late-onset effect, but he might have “sensitivities.”

“Did I do a good job?” His sandy hair flipped up. “I thought if I acted that bad I could pretend tomorrow I don’t remember. And, like, get you out of trouble.”

James had a point. If he’d been coherent Beth would’ve insisted on questioning him, and no one stood up to Beth’s questions, not even Molly. “Why’d you call me a murderer?”

“Come on,” he said. “You killed her dog.”

Molly’s arm twitched to hit him. He was an entitled brat like she’d suspected, meddling in her affairs without a blip of remorse. But she made herself breathe. Maybe he was right. She had to tell Beth about Chowder. Of course she did. That would be the first question when she reentered the suite. And now, an opening. Why did James Masterson call you a murderer? Oh, that? Because I am one. She should slap herself for failing to leave a voicemail while Beth was on her panel. At least James hadn’t told Beth that Molly had outed her.

When she entered the suite, the cake was on the burners, Beth pushing smoke out the window with a rag. “What are you doing? Why was James here? Why is a cake burning in the oven? Why is the dog food under the sink? And where is the dog?”

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.