Chapter 38
MOLLY
I wipe away my tears and blink a few times, then I look in the rearview mirror at my reflection.
My eyes aren’t red. I smile, but don’t feel it. I force myself to make a wider smile, but I close my eyes and sink back in the driver’s seat and stay there a bit longer. My insides are hollow and I’m left feeling numb all over.
I’m not ready to go back into my apartment.
The entire way back my mind flip-flopped between two thoughts: How would the children react when another teacher walked in?
And how do I face Enzo? What do I tell him?
I sit inside my car for the longest time replaying the conversation with Miss T. She cares for me. She really does.
I could see it in her face. Hear it in her voice. This hurt her too. But she has an entire school to protect, and she can't treat me differently just because she cares about me. I understand that, and it doesn't make me love her any less.
I’ve lost everything. The life I tried to create for myself. The safe haven. My happy place. It will soon be gone. And not through any fault of my own.
The thought is enough for me to leave the car. This morning I couldn’t wait to get back home, to Enzo, and now, I’m afraid to face him.
Not afraid in the way I was of my father. The key turning in the front door signaling that he was home. Or knowing from the way he shut the door, what sort of evening mom and I would have.
I’m afraid to face Enzo because I’m ashamed.
How do I tell him that I’ve been placed on administrative leave?
But I’d better get it over and done with. I don’t know how he’ll react, and maybe that’s what I’m afraid of the most.
I find the courage to leave the safety of my car and head towards my apartment. I shuffle my feet on the doormat outside, put the key in the lock and open the door. Only to walk in just as Enzo springs to his feet.
He looks nothing like the relaxed man I left in bed this morning.
He knows.
I set my bag down, heart sinking further into my belly, but as I turn to look up at him, he’s by my side. His arms wrapping around me. Making me feel safe and protected.
I sink into him.
He kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. His other hand is firmly around my waist. I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t want him to see how broken I am inside.
“I know about your father.” His voice is soft, just like his expression. There’s no judgement. No anger. No accusation. “I’m sorry.” He presses another kiss on my head. “Know that I’m here for you.”
Everything I’ve been holding back, or trying to, now comes flooding out. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I sob into his chest, letting his arms bracket me.
He lets me fall apart in the safety of his embrace. I try to tell him what happened at school, but the words come out between sobs, barely making sense. He smooths his hand over my hair, holds me closer, and waits.
I sob, unable to stop, and the whole time Enzo is patient and comforting. When I finally calm down enough to breathe, and stay silent, I lift my head and see the big white wet patch I’ve left on his shirt.
His shirt.
He didn’t dress casual today.
Is it because he’s leaving? Because it’s business as usual again?
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, everything in his expression gentle and supportive.
“I’m sorry.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. Then he pulls out a few tissues from the tissue box and hands them to me. When I’ve blown my nose a few times, and wiped my face, he asks, “Sorry for what?”
“For not telling you the truth, about my father, about my childhood.”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “I understand, and it’s okay.”
His words give me the courage to finally tell him what I wanted to tell him when the time was right.
“My childhood … is nothing like how you thought it was. I never corrected you because I didn’t want you to know the truth. No one knew, until now. My father’s alcoholism, and the physical and emotional abuse of my mom, is something I’ve tried hard to forget.”
He holds my hands, and listens. He watches me. Hands me another tissue when I need it. He doesn’t ask anything. And to me that’s the most freeing thing of all. I tell him the story I’ve kept buried deep inside me for all these years.
I tell him about my father, and how I’d see him hit my mother.
How I’d go over to her and hug her, and do my best to comfort her, as only a seven year could.
I tell him how I learned to take care of her, and cook for her, when she was so badly bruised she couldn’t get out of bed.
I tell him how we learned to read his moods by the sound of his footsteps, and the way he shut the door.
How we knew what type of evening it was way before we saw his face.
Every so often, a muscle in Enzo’s jaw jumps. I can tell that he’s biting down on his teeth. I can tell by the way his other hand is fisted so hard that his knuckles are white. I can tell how he fights to stay composed, even as he gently strokes my hands and is there for me.
I wipe my nose again, sounding sniffly. “Eventually, he got involved with some bad people. He was arrested for armed burglary and went to prison.”
I swallow.
“I was fifteen when Mom and I finally knew what peace felt like.”
I lower my head, the memory of those days sitting heavy inside me. Memories I’d managed to push out of my mind for the longest time as I worked to make a life for myself.
“Where is your mom now?” Enzo asks.
“She eventually got back on her feet and found steady work. She’s moved somewhere that’s not busy, and she’s doing okay. I visit her occasionally.”
He slides an arm around me, pulling me against his side and making me feel like I’m in a safe and snug cocoon. One I never want to leave.
“Coming to Oakleigh, working with my children, and having Miss T as my headmistress … it was a new start for me. Then I got my own apartment. My own little piece of paradise.”
I wipe my nose again, and stare at my hands. “I finally had the life I wanted.”
Enzo places his hand under my chin and brings my gaze back to him.
“Hey.” He shifts on the couch and turns to face me. I twist towards him. It seems like an eon has passed between this morning and now.
“You didn't do anything wrong, Molly.” He watches me. “You were a child. What your father did isn't yours to carry. None of it changes who you are.”
His thumb brushes my lower lashes, wiping the tears that threaten to spill.
“The press don't care about that,” he continues. “They want a story. This will die down eventually, and they'll move on to something else.”
I desperately want to believe him.
“It’s not just the news about my father,” I say, feeling ashamed. “There’s something else. Journalists were waiting at the school gates.”
“Were they?”
“The parents have complained and the board isn’t happy with the invasion of privacy. I’ve been placed on administrative leave.”
Enzo’s face falls. “Molly.”
I burst into tears all over again, because saying it out loud, to Enzo, makes the truth appear before my eyes again.
“Shush.” He reels me into him, and presses my head against his chest, trying to comfort me, but all I can think of is that the thing I loved the most, and the life I loved, have been taken from me.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “Everything always works out.”
I lift my head away and look up at him through blurry tears. “But it doesn’t. You said it never does.”
Enzo falls quiet.
I rest my head against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. I was so afraid to come through that door and tell him everything.
But it wasn’t so bad, and he's still here.
Still holding me.