Chapter 20
TWENTY
“Molly, will you wait up?”
For a woman in a short skirt and boots made more for walking the streets of Paris than a field of lava rocks, Molly has already made it pretty far by the time I catch up to her.
“Ugh. It’s you,” is all she says, not even turning to look at me. “What do you want?”
I’m trailing behind her, trying desperately to hold my camera on one shoulder and keep the tripod steady on the other. “I, uh…I’m supposed to be filming you for the rest of the day. We’re supposed to hitch a ride with—”
“I’m not hitching a ride,” she hisses, whirling to face me as I skid to a stop, fumbling my camera and tripod and nearly dropping both. “I’m not doing any of this shit.”
“I mean…you kind of have to,” I say bluntly. “You signed a contract.”
She huffs out an exaggerated sigh and turns on her heel, beginning her slow descent down the rocky slope toward the cable car station. A few hikers pass and give Molly some very confused glances, which turn into looks of understanding once they catch sight of my camera.
Since she’s already heading in the direction I need her to and I don’t have to corral her toward the cable car station, I decide to hang back a bit.
I quickly swing the tripod down and press the legs into the loose rocks under my feet so it holds steady, then I crouch, adjust my angle, and hit record.
Surrounded by muted shades of black, blue, and gray, Molly stands out against the harsh terrain, her honey-blond hair and the yellow of her blouse reminding me of sunshine breaking through the dark clouds of a storm.
The shot I set up is so visually pleasing that it scratches the artistic itch in my brain that’s always sort of buzzing in the background.
Molly sways a little and stumbles as she carefully makes her way down a steeper part of the slope, and the smallest pang of empathy flares and then fizzles quietly in my chest.
The anger I’ve held toward Molly has been so heavy for so long. But after having to see her almost every day for several weeks—a real person, and not just a memory I’ve conjured up—I can’t help but notice little glimpses of the Molly I knew as a teenager.
The flash of hope I saw on her face earlier, her desperation as she was left behind, and now, seeing her stumble…they’re all little cracks in Molly’s mask. And, despite everything, my first instinct is still to help her.
That being said, my second instinct is to throw her off the side of the volcano. So, who knows how this little excursion will end?
Shutting off the camera, I lift my tripod with one hand and carefully place it on my shoulder, then head toward her. She’s made it fully down the slope now, and is stalking toward the station in a determined way that makes me think she may just leave me behind if given the opportunity.
I make it to her just as the next cable car lets its passengers off, and she hops in.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, sliding in after her. “You’re not getting out of here without me.”
“Can you just, like, go away?” she hisses, fists balled at her side. “Seriously, I’ll find my own way back to the ship. Go away.”
The hurt behind her eyes is jarring. Something else is going on—something that I’m not privy to.
“What is your problem, Molly?” I hiss through gritted teeth.
The door to the cable car shuts with a clank, sealing us in together—alone—and it lurches forward as we begin our descent. I wedge the tripod between the bench seat and the wall and sit immediately.
If there’s anything I hate more than flying, it’s heights. Which, I guess, kind of plays off the same fear—falling.
“My problem?! What’s yours? You knew I was going to be here.
You know—here, on the show!” I freeze. What is she talking about?
This is not the conversation I was expecting to have.
Meanwhile, Molly’s rant continues. “And obviously you took this job just to piss me off, because it clearly doesn’t seem like you’re planning to apologize! ”
She flings her hands outward as she talks, sending the cable car swaying with the force of her movement. My heart practically leaps into my throat, and I grip the cold metal seat underneath me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask shakily, and frown.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I talking about?’” Molly fires back.
She’s pacing now, which is sort of comical to watch, given that the available space to move around in is about five feet by five feet.
Meanwhile, I’m nearly frozen to the spot, trying to wrap my head around how anyone can remain calm at approximately 8,000 feet above ground, dangling in a tiny cable car—let alone stomp about angrily like a petulant child.
“Shit, Molly, can you please sit down?”
She pauses mid-step and whips her head around to face me, blinking in surprise. Something must click, because she looks around dazedly, as if only just realizing where she is, and promptly drops her ass to the bench.
“Look, I didn’t know that you were going to be here. How would I know that?”
“I sent you a message.”
My frown deepens—the words don’t compute. Did she send me a fucking carrier pigeon that I missed or something? Because, last I checked, I had Molly blocked on every single social media platform I could think of.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw your comment on your friend Glen’s post on LinkedIn about being interested in working this gig. I guess we have some mutual friends or something, and it showed up on my feed—I don’t know how these things work. So, I messaged you to tell you that I would be here. And you didn’t answer.”
LinkedIn? I didn’t even think of Molly having an account there. I guess I just assumed she didn’t have much of a career either, after what she pulled in college.
“Did it say that I saw the message?”
“No.”
“Well, obviously I didn’t read it then.”
“I didn’t know if you had that stupid option turned on or not—you know, where you can let people see if you’ve read their message? So, I just, like, assumed you knew. It’s not my fault you don’t check your messages like a normal person.”
I blink, trying to wrap my head around the words coming out of her mouth.
“So…you knew.”
“What?”
“You knew I would be here.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Well, no…I figured you’d back out, once you saw my message.”
I think back to that first night, when I came face to face with Molly on the deck, and I realize—seeing me wasn’t a surprise for her. I came into this situation completely blindsided, but she had been prepared, even if just a little bit, for the chance that I might be here.
That’s why she had looked at me like that.
Molly thought I had read her message and decided to come in spite of it.
“Well, I didn’t see your message.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
Then I remember the second part of the bomb she just dropped on me.
“And—wait, what the hell do you mean about me not planning to apologize? Apologize for what?”
Because if anyone should be apologizing, it’s Molly.
“For ghosting me.”
Her voice wavers as the cable car sways gently in the wind.
That would have made my stomach drop even a few minutes ago, but the movement doesn’t seem to bother me now. I don’t even care that I can see tiny specks in the distance—people, hiking up the side of the volcano—indicating just how high off the ground we truly are.
A piercing, high-pitched ringing crescendos in my ears, and my whole body feels like it’s been set on fire.
I can’t concentrate on anything except the white-hot fury burning in my chest. I’m only slightly aware of the sharp metal edge of the bench seat digging into my palms as I grip it tightly, but the pain isn’t registering.
This is why she had been acting so haughty, like I had done something wrong.
“I…ghosted you?” I snort a sarcastic laugh and stand.
“Yes. You left Colin’s office and I never heard from you again.”
“What the hell did you expect? You almost got me kicked out of school! You got me fired from my internship. I could barely get a job in film after I graduated, let alone one I actually wanted. I’ve spent the last decade trying to prove I’m not some fuck-up to an industry that barely even wants me as it is.
Molly, my shitty career is just one more casualty of your selfish and stupid decisions, and you’re upset because I ghosted you? ”
I can practically taste the venom in my voice, the sharp, acidic sting of it burning my tongue with its ugliness. Normally, I’d feel shame for reacting like this—and I do try to rein it in, tamp it down, and move on—but right now…I feel vindicated.
All my anger, after all these years, and Molly doesn’t even care about what her decision did to me. She doesn’t care about the consequences.
Before I can stop them, words bubble up to the surface. There’s a millisecond when I consider slapping a hand over my mouth to force them back, but every part of me that hasn’t moved on from the pain of the past pushes what I’m about to say up and out of me like a tsunami of rage.
“No wonder your parents were always so disappointed in you,” I sneer. “Seems like they were right.”
My words echo in the small space and hover between us as I realize the old wounds I’ve just sliced open and poured salt into.
Almost immediately, I wish I could snap those hurtful words up and shove them back down my throat.
But I can’t. They fall away like sand, leaving us both stunned.
Hurt contorts Molly’s face, and she blinks away tears.
We glare at each other for a long moment before she finally looks away, and I’m aware we’re getting closer to the ground as my ears pop.
The silence is torture, until, finally, she nods and stands.
I’m prepared for her to turn teary eyes on me, but as she steps in close, taking my hands in hers and meeting my gaze again, I can see she’s slipped her mask back on.
The walls are up, and something vicious is glinting behind her icy gray eyes.
I flinch, trying to pull my hands from hers, but she grips them tighter, and my entire body freezes up.
What the hell?
“You’re right, Chloe. I am a disappointment,” she bites the words out, but her tone is even and calm.
Molly straightens her spine and rolls her shoulders back.
She’s the same height as me, but the way she’s holding herself makes her feel taller—more dangerous.
Her glare is steady, her hands wrapped so firmly around my wrists that I can’t move away from her, even though I’m still pulling against her grip.
Then she adds, “But the only stupid mistake I made was ever being your friend. Because in typical Chloe Hill fashion, you have no idea what you’re talking about—and, at the end of the day, everything is always about you. ”
At that moment, the door to the cable car creaks open, and an elderly gentleman peeks around it when we don’t immediately vacate the space—we’re too busy staring each other down, daring the other person to make the next move.
“Mi scusi?”
Molly’s grip suddenly loosens and she turns away, dropping my hands quickly as if my skin has burned her. She storms past the man and stalks off toward the parking lot.
I watch her go, as the anger that consumed my entire being in that tiny metal cable car washes away, leaving nothing behind but shame and regret.
What did I just do?