Page 53 of Molly
“You were about Chloe’s age the first time we told you we had to move, and you understood what that meant.” She smiled, but the action appeared sad somehow—remorseful more than anything else. “Boy, did you let us know in no uncertain terms what you thought of that. You cried for the whole six months before the move. I’d thought telling you early would be best so as to give you enough time to get used to the idea. Showed you pictures and made lists of all the fun new things we could do and explore, but you didn’t want anything to do with it.” She looked at me then. “I even bribed you with a puppy.”
I’d forgotten about that. “Butterscotch.” A cute little pug with a curly tail and a face that looked like he’d run into a sliding glass door one too many times. If Peppa Pig had been created when I was a kid, Butterscotch would’ve had a different name.
She nodded. “So, when it was time to PCS again, I agonized over what Dad and I should do. The last move had stressed you out so completely—and us too, honestly—that we agreed maybe a quick change would be easier that time around. Like yanking a Band-Aid off.”
A Band-Aid’s sting only lasted for a minute or so. I could still remember each time I came home from school and saw the huge moving truck parked outside our house, the men in jumpers boxing up all our belongings. All I could think at the time was how could Mom and Dad not tell me? Prepare me or warn me or something. Their silence had felt like a lie. A betrayal.
“I was afraid you’d get sullen and withdrawn, always having to change schools and leave friends behind,” Mom continued, “but you were amazingly resilient. You’d march right up to a kid on the playground and stick your hand out, introducing yourself and telling that boy or girl that the two of you were going to be best friends for the next few years. I was a little envious, if I’m honest.” Her voice shook.
Why was she doing this? All of that was in the past. No, my childhood hadn’t been the easiest, but everything—all the moves, the new schools, the making and losing friendships—had shaped me into who I was now. Jocelyn had been a recipient of mywe are now going to be friendsspeech, and now we shared a house together and had our own little posse, although they hated it when I called them that. Lots of people had to remind themselves to seize the moment, but I’d developed an internalcarpe diemcompass, so to speak. You could never take people or time for granted because you never knew when they’d be stripped from your life.
“But I can see how being a military brat”—she winked to take the sting out of the negative word—“and our springing every PCS on you has left a scar. And for that, Dad and I are truly sorry.”
I picked the spoon back up. “Mom, I’m fine.”
“You are, but…” Her eyes met mine.
“But what?”
“I’m not saying honesty no matter the consequences is a bad thing, but for you, Molly, telling the truth is a compulsion.”
Snow White’s seven dwarfs started using their pickaxes to mine in my brain. Shooting pain raced across my forehead and took up a dull residence around my temple. I wanted to argue Mom’s statement, but what was the point? Even if I possessed the energy, what argument did I have to counter with? Ididfeel compelled to tell the truth, and I had enough introspection to name the cause the same as she had. But, really, what was the point?
“You father has orders.”
My hand stilled around the water bottle. “When?”
“Three months. He’ll change commands on theRushmore.”
“Where will you be going?” Some sailors could spend their entire career in the San Diego area, changing commands within a base or transferring to a neighboring installation.
“Japan.” She reached down and picked up one of the canvas bags she’d brought with her, pulling out a piece of paper. “I know you never had much choice as a child, but now you’re an adult.” She handed me the paper.
My eyes scanned over the letterhead, then the message in the body of the letter. An invitation to complete my student teaching and receive a position at the DoDEA school at the Naval Air Facility in Atsugi.
“I know you probably won’t accept.” Mom squeezed my leg. “Especially now that I’ve met Chloe and Ben. But I wanted to let you decide.”
My fingers twisted off the cap to the water bottle as my mind tried to deafen the dwarves’ work and maneuver around their painful scrapes against my gray matter. Mom was right. I hadn’t ever been given a choice to leave or stay. Dad’s job said go, so we went. Simple as that. If theyhadasked, what would I have said? Would I have made the same sacrifice they’d been willing to make, or would my feet have insisted on putting down roots, never to be replanted over and over again?
Did it matter? The past couldn’t be changed.
I glanced down at the paper again. But the future—that was a different story.
18
Ben
“Thanks again for coming in early.” I handed off the beeper and all the patient info to Drew. The night had gone textbook. No emergencies. No crises. All the patients snug in their beds, staying alive like we wanted.
Drew clipped the beeper to the waistband of his pants, then leaned against the wall. “No problem. Tell Molly I hope she feels better and to save the three-legged race at the fundraiser picnic on Tuesday for me.”
Drew and Molly glued together side-by-side, their ankles joined. His arm around her back, hand anchored at her hip. Moving together as one.
The blood heated in my veins at the mental picture.
Drew burst out laughing. “Yeah, man, tell me again how you think keeping things professional between the two of you is the best idea.”
I’d been an idiot to ever think the smart thing to do was to keep Molly at arm’s length. No, if I possessed even a single cell in my brain, I’d race home and tell her how much I needed her in my life. Not just Chloe’s. Mine.
