Chapter 22 #2
And yet, while I want to feel crushed that my sister and I won’t live in the same apartment anymore, let alone the same country, it’s also sort of…
a relief. I’m proud of her, yes, and it’s bittersweet, knowing our relationship might change.
But I also feel lighter, and excited—not just for her, but for myself.
For what my life might look like, no longer feeling like I’m tied down and responsible for another person.
I suspect I’ll have some new feelings about that when I get home. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
“Where?”
“It’s that position at the European Space Agency I interviewed for over the winter. I thought for sure it was a lost cause by now, but they called last week. Offered a pretty big bonus, too!”
“I wish I could give you a big hug.”
“When you get back, we’ll celebrate. But I want to get back to your dilemma. Because now that you don’t have to fix our money problem, you could just get on a plane and come home. You don’t need this job. You don’t need to mend things with Molly. So, what do you want to do?”
I’m quiet for a long while, thinking. Because Kyla’s right.
I don’t have to do anything. Molly is an adult who made a decision; I don’t have to live with her consequences. And I could quit before I’m fired. I could get a non-film job and get out of this industry for good. I could teach. Or I could go into communications, like my producer friend had.
But…none of that feels right. Not for me, but also not for the situation.
Leaving Molly to figure her shit out in the middle of Italy, and then potentially get sued for breach of contract? I couldn’t let that happen to her. Especially not after what I said to her at Mount Etna.
And I wasn’t going to let Glen down. I had agreed to fix my mistake, and I needed to follow through.
When I share these thoughts with Kyla, her response is warm and supportive.
“That’s fair. You’ve always done the right thing, Chloe. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard,” she says, and I feel like I’m going to start crying again.
“Thanks, sissy. I have to go and—”
“Wait,” Kyla interrupts. “Go fix things with Molly and your job. But can you also promise me you’ll find Nolan and apologize, too? This guy sounds like a walking green flag. And you deserve that.”
My chest squeezes at the mention of Nolan, and I clench my eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling. I had been such an ass, the way I snapped at him.
“I panicked,” I croak, pushing the heels of my palms into my eyes to rub at them while balancing the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “And you’re right. About everything. Why haven’t I gone to you for advice sooner?”
She laughs. “Because I’m a ball of anxiety most of the time, and everything scares the shit out of me? Even this job, if I’m being honest. Shit, I’m terrified. But even being halfway across the world, I plan to be there for you when you need me. I’m going to be a better sister, I promise.”
A notification comes in on my phone as it lets out a quiet chirp in my ear. Not wanting to interrupt our moment, I lift my wrist to check the notification on my watch.
Only…it’s not there.
I check my other wrist, but it’s bare, too.
“What the fuck?” I whisper-shout.
“Weird reaction, but okay…” Kyla says slowly, a hint of confused panic in her voice.
“No—sorry, I just mean… My watch is gone.”
“Gone? Did you lose it? Was it stolen? You know you have to be careful with putting your stuff in your safe at the end of the day. I had a friend who went on a cruise, and someone came into her room in the middle of the night and stole her stuff.”
“Kyla, that doesn’t happen if you put the lock on the door, like you’re supposed to.”
“Oh. Right…”
“I don’t know where I would have lost it; the band wouldn’t have come off unless I undid the clasp…”
Then it dawns on me.
During my argument with Molly, she’d grabbed my wrists to hold me in place.
It had been weird, I thought, in the moment.
I didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, but then again, I was paying less attention to what she was doing with her hands and more to what she was saying.
I try to recall the last time I looked at my watch, but my phone had been dead for a while, so I wouldn’t have felt any notifications buzz on my wrist until just recently.
So, Molly has my watch.
Which means Molly also has access to my credit card.
“One sec, Kyla,” I say, pulling my phone away from my face and opening the app that can track down any of my devices. It takes a few seconds to load, but sure enough, when I click on my watch in the device list, a tiny dot appears on the map. She’s near the mainland coast, heading north.
Where are you going?
I think back to everything I know about Molly. Her parents, the places she had talked about visiting, and the films she loved.
Suddenly, a memory floats to the surface of my mind of us stuck in a broken elevator in a dingy apartment building on our way to some party. We sat there for so long that we started going through each other’s wallets to pass the time.
She teased me for still having a condom I got in our twelfth grade health class in there, while I reminded her that I—surprisingly—lost my virginity first.
And then I had pulled out a photograph from Molly’s…
“I think I know where she is, Kyla!” I jump up and rush to the stateroom’s safe, where her wallet had been secured before filming started, and punch in the numbers Glen gave me before he left my room earlier.
The vintage Gucci wallet she had carried around in college has since been replaced by something smaller, a cheap brand I don’t recognize.
But as I open it, I spot the photograph I’m looking for, tucked away in a small pocket, the edges worn and bent after years of traveling from one wallet to another.
I gently slide it out.
In the photo, a young girl with honey-blond hair and beachy waves stands smiling next to an older couple, their hands on her shoulders.
The woman is laughing and pointing at something behind the person taking the photo, and the man is in the middle of saying something, his mouth slightly open and his face expressive.
The only person looking at the camera is the young girl, Molly.
And she looks the happiest I’ve ever seen her.
She had been thirteen, she told me when I asked about the photo, and her grandparents had splurged to take her to Europe for the summer.
I still remember the emotion in her eyes as she told me how loved she felt on that trip.
And my heart aches again, as I remember the words I hurled at her in that stupid cable car.
I study the black and white striped cathedral behind Molly and her grandparents and then flip the photo over in my hands. A date has been scrawled in delicate handwriting, and just below that, two words, faded with age: Amalfi Coast.