Chapter 3 Jesse #3
I pull her tight against me and invoke our ritual. “Worst--case scenario,” I whisper.
Molly hums in thought. “More states follow Florida in getting rid of vaccination mandates.” She looks over her shoulder at me for my answer.
For a moment, my throat is too tight to speak. “Losing you two,” I manage.
“You won’t,” she says, although we both know that’s a promise no one can keep.
Molly falls asleep, but I don’t. She’s like a glowing coal pressed against me, a little furnace. She always runs hot—-in body temperature, in compassion, in umbrage, in all things.
Her hand covers the scarred patch of skin above my wrist that I showed Ravi today, that got him to confess. If you had told me at Ravi’s age that I had more to learn about starting fires, I would have told you to fuck off.
I glance down at this treasure in my arms.
Some fires are built to consume. Others you tend so they can keep you warm forever.
A couple of days later I do a polygraph of a guy who was busted for child pornography. The test was meant to see if he was touching children, too; and he failed it. I am damn good at my job, but fuck me if some aren’t harder than others.
I leave work early, because if I can’t go hug my daughter I may actually punch a hole through the wall of my office.
I text Molly, who says that she and the baby are at Georgia’s, and I should meet them there.
No one is loitering in front of the building.
Like Soo--Yun predicted, a new story knocked Georgia out of the headlines—-the announcement of several Democrats planning to primary for the presidential ticket. It’s all anyone can talk about.
Eloise Ambrose is officially old news.
My first impression of Georgia’s apartment is that it’s . . . sad. It looks like the lodging of a twenty--two--year--old who just graduated from college—-Ikea furniture, bare walls.
As soon as Georgia lets me in, I zero in on Adie, who is nestled in the crook of Molly’s arm while she sits at a table covered with bits of glass.
I pluck our daughter right out of Molly’s grasp and bury my face against her little body.
She pulls at my hair with her fists. I -gently disentangle her and press my lips against her forehead.
I will slay your dragons, I promise silently. I will build walls and moats around you to keep you safe. I will rescue you, every time you need it.
“Tough day at work?” Molly asks, raising a brow.
“Not talking about it,” I say.
“Well, I have exciting news to distract you,” she offers. “We have a new nanny.”
I look over Adie’s head at Georgia. “Yeah?”
“I feel bad taking your money,” Georgia says.
“You have to eat,” Molly insists. “And pay rent for this . . . awesome apartment.”
“And buy a placemat or a piece of art, for that matter,” I chime in.
“Well, thank you,” she says. “I feel very honored to be asked.”
“Have you broken the news to Toby yet?” I ask Molly.
“I thought I’d wait a little longer,” she replies. “I’ll go back when Adie’s three months old.”
I grin at her. “Think you can hold out that long?”
“Easily,” she says, tossing her hair. “I might even pick up a hobby. Georgia’s teaching me how to make a mosaic.”
I glance down at the oval on the table. A kaleidoscopic mess of glass swirls in front of Molly, but on Georgia’s side of the table, the colors have been sorted and arranged, edges pressed together on what looks like sticky mesh.
The image taking shape is a sprawling tree with a broad branch, and the spiky twigs of a nest. I watch as Georgia searches the mass of colors and plucks a golden sliver from the mix, fitting it into an empty spot like she is doing a jigsaw puzzle.
“Well, I want to learn, too,” I say. I shift Adie to my other arm, and with my free hand, squeeze Molly’s.
It’s not that different from detective work, really. You have to find the pieces and assemble them, if you want to see the whole picture.
I vow I won’t take one more shower in this damn stall until I fix the spray.
Not only does it manage to hit me in the eye every time I turn on the water but it makes a mess all over the floor, leaking so that I have to use a towel to mop up the excess, which means doing even more laundry than we have to do already with a newborn.
It makes me think of Adam, of how he’d decided to stop off in an airport club to shower instead of squeezing himself into the stall of the guest bathroom, and how it saved his life.
But suddenly, I’m not thinking about the spray in my face. Eyes wide, I throw open the shower door and stare down at the puddles all over the floor.
I dry myself off quickly and wrap a towel around my waist. In the bedroom, I gaze at Molly, already asleep. I make another vow: I won’t say anything to her about this until I’ve done my due diligence.
Sometimes my brain thinks like a detective.
But sometimes, I think like a criminal. And when I was lighting fires, the biggest thrill was not running from the scene of the crime.
It was returning to watch myself get away with it.
I ask Molly if she’s spoken to Evie since the dinner from Hell. “I texted but she didn’t respond,” she tells me. “I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or if they’re working out their issues or what.”
“Maybe they silenced their phones,” I suggest. “For a sex marathon.”
“Ew,” Molly says. “Never say that again.”
“Invite them over,” I suggest. “Without Georgia around, I mean. We may have been rushing that family reunion. And I know they’d love to see Adie.”
“You think so?”
I shrug. “Evie probably needs to feel like she still matters to you. That you’re not completely distracted by the shiny new relative.”
So two weeks after the disastrous dinner in the suburbs, Evie and Adam come to the condo. Molly, a superhero, has managed to assemble a lasagna while simultaneously taking care of Adie. I come home from work with a loaf of fresh bread and toss a salad. We open a bottle of red to breathe.
I am not sure what to expect. When we left them, Evie was still crying and Adam was beating himself up. So as I open the door and find them beaming, Adam’s arm around Evie’s waist, I am pleasantly surprised. I guess they’ve kissed and made up.
By the time we have finished eating and have opened a second bottle of wine, it’s clear that something’s up. Molly has been cutting glances to me all night, every time Evie tells a story and rests her hand on Adam’s forearm. When Adam winks at Evie, Molly turns to me and raises her brows.
Just as I am about to clear the dishes, Evie takes Adam’s hand. “I can’t keep it a secret anymore. We’re renewing our vows, and we want you two to be our witnesses and Adie to be the flower girl!” Beaming, she turns to Adam, who smiles at her.
Surprise skitters over Molly’s face, but she covers it quickly. “Congratulations! Of course we’ll be there.”
There is so much I want to ask—-starting with whether Adam is going to legally divorce his first wife beforehand. Instead what comes out of my mouth is “Adie may not be able to walk down an aisle yet, but she’s honored.”
“So is this, like, a City Hall thing?” Molly asks.
Evie shakes her head. “Big party. White dress. Band.”
“We didn’t have much of a celebration before,” Adam says. “It wasn’t the right time.”
Because he thought his wife was dead. But she’s not, which is exactly why this makes zero sense to me.
Evie offers to do the dishes when Molly says it’s time for Adie’s bath. “Oh, just stack them,” Molly says. “I need the kitchen sink for her tub.”
She fills the little plastic oval and undresses the baby, soaping her up and letting her kick at the bubbles.
Evie helps, holding up a towel with a giraffe hood so that Molly can place the squirming, naked baby in her arms. “Give me a few minutes to get her down,” Molly instructs.
“I want to talk about this wedding.” Then she carries Adie off to the bedroom to diaper, dress, and nurse her to sleep.
Adam excuses himself to go to the bathroom, so I wander into the kitchen, where Evie is emptying the little plastic tub. She dries it with a dish towel and sets it on the counter.
“I’m going to have to move to a place with a bigger kitchen,” I say. “I didn’t realize I’d be bathing a kid in the sink.”
Evie laughs, wiping her hands on the dishcloth. “Imagine doing it in a tiny apartment in Washington Heights,” she says, “when the kitchen is the size of a broom closet.”
I fold my arms, leaning back against the counter. “Guess that’s why you used to bathe Molly in the master bathtub when she was a newborn.”
It’s go time.
Evie tilts her head, confused.
“You mentioned that you rescued Molly when Eloise was trying to drown her in the bathroom,” I say, shrugging.
Evie nods, turning to loop the dishcloth onto the neck of the sprayer. “Right.”
“But the thing is, Evie, there wasn’t any water in the master bathroom at the time.
It had been cut off so Eloise could finish her mosaic.
” I take a step closer, crowding her. “Adam recently reminded me that it’s why he’s with us today.
He showered at the airport the morning of 9/11, and was late getting downtown. ”
She turns, caged by me, a trapped bird. A flush rises up her throat. “It was a long time ago. If Eloise wasn’t bathing Molly in the bathroom, then it must have been the kitchen sink. I can’t remember.”
I look directly into her eyes, quiet for several beats. “You know I spot liars for a living, right?”
There is another swollen silence.
Her words become a hurricane. “What was I supposed to do? Eloise was a mess. Adam refused to see it. She may not have hurt Molly yet, but she was going to.” She turns away, arms braced on the sink.
“So, yes, I exaggerated. I just wanted him to bring her to a psychiatrist before it was too late. I didn’t know the building was going to be hit by a plane.
I didn’t know I was sending my best friend to a death sentence.
I never meant for any of that to happen. I was just trying to keep Molly safe.”
There is a small gasp behind us. When we turn, Molly and Adam are both staring at Evie.