“Is Daniela a woman in your life?”
He sat down at the table and laid his head on his arms. He was too tired to match wits with Molly. She had always been able to read him like a book. She hadn’t even needed to touch his goddamn clothes.
“How did you know about Dani?” he muttered.
“I called Eliot.”
“You called Eliot,” he said flatly. “Why does everyone call Eliot?”
“Because he’s the only friend you have,” she snapped. “And he’s the reason you were in Cleveland in the first place. He shows up here, you run there, and now you’re back, looking like the Mad Butcher himself hacked you up, and you tried to sew yourself together. You run yourself ragged, Michael Francis. Ragged. And for what? For who?”
“I will be done soon, Molly. Then I will be out of your hair.”
“I don’t want you out of my hair! I want to know why you aren’t in Cleveland when that’s clearly where you want to be.”
“Nobody wants to be in Cleveland.”
“Eliot says you are in love with a woman named Daniela. You were a boarder in her house for all those months, apparently?”
He stared at her glumly, wondering why in tarnation Eliot, who was a master negotiator, couldn’t hold his tongue with Molly.
“Oh, my dear brother. Have you not learned anything from your suffering?” She tsked.
“What suffering?”
“You have carried your share of burdens, to be sure,” she said, and he could see she was warming up for a good lecture.
“Molly—” he groaned.
“But responsibilities should not be avoided.” She stabbed her finger at him.
“So I work too hard, but I’m avoiding my responsibilities?” he snapped.
“You are afraid of commitment,” she said. “And it’s understandable, really, after Irene. But I must speak plainly to you, brother. You avoided Irene too.”
“I didn’t avoid Irene.”
“You did.”
When he began to protest in his own defense, she raised her hand, halting him.
“I am not accusing you. I am not judging or condemning. Don’t misunderstand. I know Irene told you to go. I know she pushed you away.”
“Yes. She did,” he said, surprised that it still wounded him and more surprised that Molly was picking at the wound.
“So, in response, you have taken on burdens that require no emotional commitment. For the last fifteen years you have solved one problem after another, and I am proud of you. But the kind of burdens you build a life around aren’t the ones you can set down. You carry them always. And in turn . . . they carry you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Molly.”
“Yes you do!” she cried. “Irene insisted you put her down. And you did. She made you afraid to try again. But you are built to carry heavy loads, Michael Francis Malone.”
Suddenly his nose was stinging, and his chest ached, and he cursed the grief that would not . . . let . . . him . . . be. He couldn’t even look at Molly. He made to rise, but she clamped her hands over his wrists, demanding he stay put.
“Loving is the greatest burden of all. The heaviest burden of all. And who do you love, Michael?”
“You. I love you, Molly,” he said.
“Yes. And I love you. But who else? You are a big, strong man with a powerful heart, and you aren’t using it.”
He was silent. Everyone he’d once loved was gone. He loved Dani, but it did him no good to dwell on it.
“It is the things we most want to put down, the things that are hardest to carry, to endure, that give our lives the most meaning. Sometimes our burdens are taken from us. And sometimes we walk away from them. Sometimes, not having that burden might even feel good. We might feel relief. But it doesn’t take long to realize that the things we call burdens are most often ballast. Our burdens give weight to everything we do. They shed light on all that we are. And the moment we lose them . . . we lose everything.”
He had lost everything, once. And he’d made damn sure he couldn’t lose it again.
“What if . . . ,” he began.
“What if she asks you to put her down?” Molly finished for him.
“Yes. What if she tells me to go?”
“It sounds to me like she’s a strong one.”
“I think she is. Yes. But she’s young too. And naive. And a little blind when it comes to me.”
“Is she really?” Molly scoffed. “From the way Eliot tells it, I don’t think she’s blind at all. I think she sees too much.”
“Yeah . . . well. You see too much. And Eliot has a big mouth.”
She laughed. “Go to her, brother. Go to her, pick her up in your arms. Take on the burden of love. And don’t ever let her go.”
“It would not be a burden to love her,” he argued, needing the last word since Molly had let him have so few.
“Of course it would. It is a burden to love anyone. And it is a burden to be loved. Stop running from it, my boy. Go back to Cleveland. Go back to your Dani. Be a burden to her. I beg you. And ask her to be yours.” She winked. “And now, if you don’t mind, I think one of my burdens just pulled in the driveway, and I am going to dish up his dinner. You’re welcome to join us.”
28
The refrigeration at the morgue was on the fritz. Mr. Raus had all the bodies moved to other facilities or prepared for burial and transported to cemeteries while repairmen sweated in the storage locker, trying to bring the system into working order. On Friday it was working at full capacity, pouring cold air into the storage locker, and Dani documented and dressed ten bodies for burial on Saturday, but by Monday it was back to running in fits and starts, and Mr. Raus was at his wit’s end. He and Mrs. Raus left for a convention in Detroit with a warning to Dani that the Mead facility would not be receiving any more of the city’s indigent dead until they returned and any necessary repairs had been made.
Mr. Raus asked if she would check the facility Tuesday evening to make certain that no new cases had been delivered.