We Told Six Lies(16)
I released you at last, and you said, “Say it again.”
And I said, “I’ll never let you go.”
And you laid your head against me.
I thought of myself as an animal then. As your protector. You held my leash in your soft white hands. If someone upset you, all you had to do was release me, and I’d have torn them to pieces just to see you smile.
NOW
I sit on the edge of the couch, digging my fingers into the fabric.
My dad is at work. My mom, picking up unwrapped toys from neighbors. And so I am alone when I learn what happened to Molly.
“The letter was found this morning at approximately nine fifteen a.m.,” the TV reporter says. “We’re told there’s no return address, but there was postage, and it’s believed the letter was dropped at a free-standing mail receptacle. It was postmarked at the distribution center in Allentown, but we’ve learned that all mail in the area is processed here, so that doesn’t necessarily mean it was sent from Allentown. It could have been mailed from anywhere within a hundred-mile radius.”
Get to the point, I think as my pulse races.
“We’re told Molly’s mother has handed over the letter to authorities, and we do have the contents of that letter to share with our viewers.”
The man raises a piece of paper.
Is that the letter? No, he said they just had the wording. He did this to make the moment more dramatic.
He begins to read—
“Mom, I’m okay. I just need some time away. My compass is broken. I love you.”
The reporter lowers the paper, giving his audience time to take that in.
Giving me time to put my head between my legs and breathe.
“It seems that, for today, Molly Bates is okay, and her mother can rest a little easier. But I’m sure she’s eager to have her daughter home safe. Molly will not turn eighteen until June eighth, and so police will continue to search for her until that time. But all signs point to Molly being a runaway. If you or someone you know sees Molly—”
A picture of Molly then.
Smiling.
Wearing a pink sweater though she despises pink.
“—call the police, or you can contact us at KGTV.com/bringhomemolly.”
My stomach rolls. Is the local news station really so desperate for a story that they’ve set up a page for a seventeen-year-old runaway?
I sit upright. Struggle to regain my composure. Molly ran away. That was the plan, wasn’t it? But who did she run with? And why leave behind the car?
It was supposed to be me with her.
There was never supposed to be a letter.
What happened to our plan, Molly?
WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR PLAN?!
My compass is broken.
Why does that ring a bell?
“I heard,” Holt says from where he leans against the doorway.
I’m relieved he’s here. Molly being gone is shredding me, and it’s nice to feel like someone cares enough to stick around to make sure I’m okay. At least, I hope it’s because of that and not just because he’s tired of campus life.
I furrow my brow and look back at the TV, which is showing Molly’s mother, dressed in that same robe. I can’t help noticing that her hair is fixed and her makeup is on. She seems awfully put together for a woman who hasn’t seen her daughter—who she can’t seem to breathe without—for six days. But she is vain. And if that letter had said Molly was dead, her mother might have still smeared on lipstick and a smile for the cameras. And then promptly downed a fistful of Percocet and a bottle of vodka and kissed this life goodbye.
Holt walks into the room and stands beside me as we watch the TV.
He shakes his head. “Always the last to know.”
“Who? The parents?”
He points at the TV. “No, our news station. They reported it on the Pittsburgh stations an hour ago.”
My heart wrenches. I hate thinking of all these people knowing about Molly. Of them praying for her or her mom. I like to believe I’m the only one who sees her. But now all these people do. They’re staring at her photo and saying, That poor girl. Her mother must be a monster. That’s why she ran away, you know?
And she was, sort of, but not in the way they’re imagining.
Holt slaps me on the shoulder. “How you doing?”
I shrug.
“Do you know why she ran away?”
“You know I don’t.”
Holt looks at me a while longer, as if he suspects more than what I’m telling him. “Cobain,” he says softly.
I look at him. I can feel the anger boiling behind my eyes. Can he see it?
He sees it.
“When you were younger…”
“Don’t,” I warn.
Holt sits down on the coffee table. “It’s just…do you think it’s possible that, I don’t know…that Molly was ever uncomfortable around you?”
“What?” I say, genuinely surprised. “No.”
Holt glances back at the TV. “She was definitely running from something, don’t you think?”
“Well, she wasn’t running from me. Christ, Holt, you’re my brother.”
“Yeah, I know. I know. I’m sorry. I was just thinking how you used to get really stressed about things. Sometimes that was… It was hard to be around.” When I open my mouth to defend myself again, Holt raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just wondering why she would take off, that’s all. Is there anything that might have spooked her?”