“And now it’s too late for Mama, too late for me, but maybe you can stop him.”
Porter just sits there for a few seconds. Then his eyes narrow and jerk back up to meet mine. “Where did Mimmy keep her wedding rings when she scrubbed pots?”
Great, I think. He wants to play twenty questions. But Molly’s answer is instantaneous. “In the bunny cup, the one by the sink, with all the paint chipped off.”
“What song did you play for her sixty-fifth birthday and why?”
Molly pauses, then says, a bit more tentatively. “‘The Little Old Lady from Pasadena.’ ’Cause she grew up near Pasadena. And ’cause you say she drives too fast.”
“How about the year before that?” he asks.
“Jeez, Pa! I think it was ‘Copacabana.’ And I played it ’cause she likes it, but if you want to know why she likes it, you’ll have to ask Mimmy.”
Porter starts to speak again and then closes his mouth. “You—your grandma . . .” He stops, swallows, then starts again. “You don’t know about Mimmy, then?”
I feel a streak of pure joy run through Molly.
He knows it’s me, he knows, he said “your grandma.”
Then my heart stops. Molly is neglecting to breathe for some reason. I struggle to shove her aside, to suck in the air on my own, but she ignores me. A long moment later, she asks in a tiny voice, “Know what, Pa?”
He moves his hand as though he’s going to touch my hair, before catching himself and putting the hand back in his lap. “She’s gone, Molly. She died about a year after you and Laura. It was awful tough on her, losing the two of you like that. I thought maybe she’d snap out of it. We bought that camper, traveled around a bit, but she—her heart just gave out. Told me she was ready to be with you and your mama. Though I guess maybe that didn’t work out quite the way she thought . . .”
“You’re all alone now, Pa. You and Mimmy were going to travel, and—”
“I’m okay, baby. Ella stops in every day or two, and Phyllis and the kids come down now and then. An’ I went back to work—not much point in retirement and just sittin’ around all day. But yeah, I miss her a lot.”
Molly pulls my arms tight around my body and sits there, rocking back and forth, making a soft keening sound, almost like a teakettle coming to boil. Tears stream down my face, and in that second, I know Molly is right. Porter is a believer now. He’s seeing Molly, not me. Seeing her grief, her anguish. There’s a look I can’t quite place in his brown eyes. Pain, bewilderment, helplessness—and something else. He loved her so much. His expression scares me a bit with its intensity, but I’m also envious. And yes, the irony of being jealous of a girl who was brutally murdered has not escaped me. It’s just that I can’t remember anyone ever looking at me that way.
Molly is still rocking, digging my nails into my upper arms. It hurts.
Molly! Time’s up.
But she’s not responding. I try to push back to the front, but Molly’s pain is so strong that I can’t break through.
It’s my body, damn it! Give it back!
Kelsey has been watching quietly from behind the desk. I don’t know if she can see fear in my eyes or maybe she can just sense my panic, but she moves quickly and kneels next to me, her arm around my shoulders. “Anna? Anna? Molly, I need to speak to Anna now, okay? Molly? I’m so sorry about your grandmother, but I need to be sure that Anna—”
“No,” Molly says, wrenching away from Kelsey, her tone flat but adamant. “I’m not done.”
“We can finish this another time. You need a chance to process what your grandfather has told you, and I think Anna is a bit overwhelmed.”
“I said no! Anna can wait.” Molly still has control, but at least Kelsey’s words have snapped her out of the emotional pit she was falling into.
“Perhaps,” Kelsey says. “But I’m pretty sure that if you make her wait this will be the last time you speak to your grandfather. You’ve told him that this Lucas was the one who killed you. Surely that’s enough for him to get started.”
“I have to finish, Dr. Kelsey. Anna’s okay.”
Kelsey looks hesitant, but she backs away, sitting on the sofa rather than going back to her desk. I’ve never seen Kelsey sit on the sofa. She looks odd there, out of place.
Then Molly turns back to Porter. “Pa, Lucas didn’t kill me. Not directly. I’m pretty sure he killed Mama, though. I heard it. I was in the closet, Pa. Someone shot her.”