Molly was walking on a beach. It was twilight, the magic hour. Everything was frosted, the air alabaster. At first she was alone, casually tracing her name in the sand with a stick. As the water danced alongside, Molly kept rewriting, trying to imprint herself onto the beach. She looked up and saw a pelican dip over the water. The sun was setting. She returned to her canvas, methodically drawing her L’s.
“Molly, Molly, Molly.”
“Hi, Liam.”
“Nice name.”
“My favorite name is Charlotte.”
“Like the spider. I remember you told me that night you were sick and I sat with you by the bathtub for hours.”
“She taught Wilbur how to be a proud pig.”
“You taught me how to be a proud man.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“You left.”
“You promised.”
“I tried. I am trying.”
Liam took hold of her stick and quickly fashioned something in the ground beneath her. It was dark. Molly turned and he was gone. She tried to read what he wrote but the tide had already washed it away. She fell to her knees, stabbing at the sand with her glittery nails, trying to decipher the words. She kept grabbing and poking, her fingers becoming numb and raw, scraped clean by nature’s pumice. Soon she would hit China.
Molly awoke with her hands balled into fists, clutching the blush blanket swathed around her. Her face was hot. She rolled over. The clock read one-thirty P.M. She hadn’t slept this late since college, and those early afternoon wake-ups were usually preordained by large amounts of beer, sex, and marijuana. A sliver of light shone around the edge of her patchwork curtains, nudging her left foot with its rooster call. Molly disentangled herself from her covers and sat up. She grabbed a hair elastic from the nightstand and stood. Gingerly, she opened the curtain, slowly letting her eyes adjust to the brightness. Outside, she could see in the corner of the yard a patch of sunflowers. Their yellow smiles hung low and swayed in the light breeze. Molly twisted her hair into a ponytail and made a mental note to pick some later to sketch. Maybe doing some of the little things she always did would help her regain her center. She pulled out her journal, but set it back down on her bed. There was just too much to write and she was just too tired.
When she walked downstairs into the kitchen, smells of garlic, thyme, and apples tickled her nose. That was something she could always count on, the very particular, special aroma of the Stern family kitchen. It was always warm and luscious, damp with the odor of earthy mushrooms or just-picked potatoes. Spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg, crisp with the freshness of sweet peas and honeydew melons. Their safe little cave housed a cornucopia of treats every day of every year. All of the Sterns were fabulous cooks. Henry handed down tradition after tradition, mirroring all the teaching he received from his mother, grandmother, and handful of aunts. While other little boys were out on their bicycles or climbing trees, Henry clambered around his mother’s ankles, watching and stirring when told. His mother used to say that when he was a baby, the only place he would quiet down was under the kitchen table. The moment she wrapped him up and placed him in an old vegetable box, this little smile would wash over his tiny face. Somehow his body chemistry boiled at the same time as the chicken soup on the stove.
Molly too loved the kitchen, yet it was something that came to her later in life. When she moved back to LA for college and had her first apartment, she was grateful for her father’s skill in the kitchen. She learned to appreciate food on his terms and whenever she screwed up some perfectly simple dish, she called her father for the remedy. Now she loved taking random raw ingredients and dicing, dashing, and dispersing them into something complete, a new entity entirely formed from her imagination. The unprepared food, her tabula rasa. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and went to the fridge for some juice. Pinned in place with a princess teddy bear magnet Molly had fashioned in second grade for a Chanukah present was a note from her mother.
Honey, had to go help Dad at the restaurant. Didn’t want to wake you. Wasn’t sure what you would want so there is some squash soup on the stove and fruit in the fridge. Come by when you want. I will call later to check in. Mom. Oh, also, Jaycee called to check on you.
Molly took the note down and sky-hooked it Kareem Abdul-Jabbar–style into the trash. She pondered her breakfast/lunch decision. Tossing a glance in either direction, Molly headed for the stove and lifted off the copper lid. The smell of ginger and onions pricked her senses and she ladled herself a big helping. After tearing off a big piece of crusty sourdough, she took her meal to the table. From the window she could still see the patch of flowers. It would be a yellow day. Unlike yesterday in all its unflinching blackness, today she would try to focus on a more cheery shade. Yellow, heat, sunlight, Labrador puppies, yet also the color of jaundice and three-day-old bruises. Molly would try to stay with the puppies.
Molly returned to her soup, but it just didn’t taste right to her. She went over to the sink, dumped it down the drain, and watched the golden liquid swirl. Maybe now that grief diet would kick in. She washed out the bowl and left it facedown on the blue-checked towel beside her. Molly went over to the phone and dialed. It wasn’t until she heard the message on his cell that she realized she had called Liam. She hung up quickly and took a deep breath. How long would he be instinct and the thing that she thought about when she wasn’t trying to think about anything? She needed to train her mind on something or someone else, but who could become breath overnight?
Molly looked back to the phone and this time placed the call she was attempting in the first place. Jaycee picked it up on the third ring.
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Molly! How are you? Your mom said you were still sleeping when I called earlier,” Jay answered.
“Okay, I guess.” Halfheartedly. “How’s the place?”
“Clean, finally. I think I lit most of your candles trying to get the beer smell out.”
“Thanks. By the way, I forgot to deal with work stuff. Do you think you can go by the studio and send out the order for Barneys? All of the necklaces are laying right in the middle of my desk and the order form is next to it. You would just need to check all the tags and make sure the right ones get in the box. There should be packing stuff, and send it COD insured for the amount of the order. You can use my UPS account, and the number is in the Rolodex.”
“Done. I’ll call when I get there to make sure. Will you be around later?”
“I’ll have my cell on. Also, you might as well send me some finished pieces and my workbox too. Maybe I can design while I am up here.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“You know he called me today wondering where you were. He told me what really happened.”
“Yeah.” Swallowing hard. “And?”
“And, I get it, but you can’t just run away. You’re supposed to be the grown-up here.”
“Whatever, I can for now. I just can’t talk to him. You didn’t tell him where I was, did you?”
“No, but he’s not an idiot. He figured it out.”
“I hope he doesn’t call.” Breathing hard. “Look.” Starting to tear up again. “Jay, I got to go. Thanks for everything.”
“Molly, you need to talk about all this. Stop cutting me off! Please, just stop for a second and focus.”
“I just can’t. I don’t want to focus and think and deal! I just want everything to fucking go away!”
“That’s exactly why you need to talk about it.” Getting upset. “It’s not going to go away by you shutting your eyes real tight and clicking your fucking heels three times!”
“That’s all well and good, Toto, but I’m hanging up.”
“Molly, come on.”
“Gotta go. Love you.” Interrupting and hanging up.
Molly went back to the sink and splashed water all over her face. The cool liquid eased the temperature of her overheated cheeks. Her yellow day was
beginning to dull and look like congealed turkey fat the day after Thanksgiving.
four
After showering long and hard, and crawling into a pair of dirty gray cords and a pink Abercrombie fake-aged T-shirt, Molly grabbed her hobo bag and headed outside where her car stood shiny and newly washed. This was one tradition Molly missed desperately in Los Angeles. While she barely managed a bath once a month for her Land Rover, Henry was a twice a weeker. Molly smiled and climbed into her spit-shined chariot. She flicked on the radio and drove into town. Exactly eight minutes later, at 3:12, she pulled in front of Helen’s, their family restaurant. She saw her mom’s, dad’s, and brother’s cars parked and spaced evenly down the street. Determined not to fall into another weepfest, Molly pulled a Mr. Potato Head and plugged a big fat smile on her face.
She pushed open the walnut wood door. The restaurant was empty except for her mother carefully sipping a cappuccino and going over the reservation book at the end of the bar. Her mother’s silvery blond bob hung over her eyes as she bent her head down while working. Her faded khakis and pale green cashmere short-sleeved sweater contrasted with the dark wood of the restaurant.
“Hi.” Giving her mom a kiss on the cheek. “Make me one?” Taking a sip from Helen’s cup.
“Hi, baby. Sure.” Looking up at her daughter with her green eyes. “Double?”
“Yes, I need the caffeine.”
Helen got up from her seat and went around the bar. She resteamed the milk and hit the espresso machine. Soon, a perfect latté was walking back to Molly.
“How are you doing?” Handing it to Molly.
“Fair.” Taking a sip. “I slept forever.”
“I didn’t want to wake you, you looked like you needed the rest.” Sitting back down. “Ready to talk?”
“Let me go get something to eat from Dad, and then we’ll see what springs forth.”
“What about the soup?”
“It just didn’t sit right.”
Molly got up and took her cup with her as she traipsed back into the kitchen. Her flip-flops slapped against the cool certainty of the waxed cranberry-colored concrete floor. The aromas tickled her nose immediately, their delicate web of fragrance warming her senses. Angel, the line cook, stood next to Henry behind the big stove, stirring large stockpots and preparing sauces. Alex sat on a little stool by the counter, trimming and portioning the meat. And Charlie, the prep chef, worked feverishly whisking oils, preparing his dressings. Renee, now conveniently Alex’s wife, walked in from the back holding a tray of apples sprinkled with butter and brown sugar. She popped them into one of the ovens. She was the first to see Molly.
“I know that girl.” Coming over and giving Molly a big hug. “Your parents said you made quite an entrance this morning.”
“Yeah. You know me. I am all about big productions.” Squeezing back. “Is that your belly I feel?”
“Yeah.” Rubbing her hand over her tummy. “It just really popped out. I’m starting to look like a house.”
“How far along are you now? Five months?”
“Almost six.”
Molly leaned down and talked to Renee’s stomach.
“Hi, little one. I’m your aunt and can’t wait to meet you.” Standing back up. “You look great by the way. Where did those boobs come from?”
“Pretty amazing, right? One of the only perks.” Winking at Molly. “How are you doing?”
Molly was about to answer but was swooped into a Stern bear hug. Her dad and brother smothered her with their arms. The smell of raw meat and vegetables wafted around her.
“Hi, fellas.”
“So what’s going on, sister?” Alex asked while sitting back down. He nudged the back of his wrist through his curly brown hair, going back to his task.
“Hungry?” her dad asked. “I can make you some pasta.”
“Sounds good, Dad. Thanks.”
“I asked you a question, Molly,” her brother restated, ditching the pleasantry.
“Jeez, I heard you. We can talk later when you aren’t bearing sharp steel.”
“After work, I’m coming for you.” Pointing a knife at her.
“Fine.” Cutting him off with a reluctant agreement. “Renee, how much longer are you planning on working?”
“A few more weeks. I have been training this new girl, Ashley. I think she’s going to work out fine.”
“Great.” Swallowing the last of her coffee. “Oh, are you still doing yoga classes, with the baby and all?”
“Saturdays at the Sacred Cow.”
“Count me in.” Heading for the door. “Dad, I’ll be outside with Mom.”
“I’ll bring the pasta out when it’s ready.”
Molly went back into the front room and sat down next to her mother.
“Mom, I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”
“That’s okay.” Patting Molly’s hand. “Did you see Renee?”
“Her tummy is so cute! I can’t wait for that baby to get here.”
“I know, I went with them to their first sonogram and it was amazing. I think I have the picture in my purse. I was going to mail you a Xerox, but I forgot.” Getting up and walking to the coatrack in the corner. “Here. My first grandchild. I’m so proud.”
“Wow, it looks like a peanut. Our very own Goober.”
Molly’s mom, instead of sitting back down, went over and began folding a stack of napkins laying on one of the tables. They were all different French Provençal patterns based in gold, coral, and red tones.
“What do you think of these? We just got them in. I ordered them when Dad and I were in Saint-Tropez.”
“I like them. They look good on the tables.” Getting up to help. “I like the flowers too.” Gesturing to the sunflowers.
“I brought them from home. We have tons in the backyard.”
“I saw them when I woke up. They inspired me to try to have a yellow day.”
“Glad it’s not blue.”
“Glad you are not a poet.” Winking at her mom.
Molly and Helen quietly folded and placed napkins for a while, their actions mimicking each other like a well-rehearsed ballet. It seemed as if each were listening to the same song, singing in the silence.
“How’s the business going?” Helen asked.
“Good. Jay is sending off that big order I got from Barneys and I just got some pieces in the October issue of Elle. I went kind of crazy the last few weeks and made a ton of pieces so I can fill orders right away if need be, which looks like it was a good idea because I’m not sure when I’m going home. Jay’s still trying to persuade me into the store thing.”
“What do you think about it?”
“Definitely not at the top of my list of things to think about right now.”
“Okay. By the way, I think that Susan wants some more for the store here. Your jewelry has been a big hit up here with all the summer tourists.”
“Cool. I’ll go see her. Jay’s sending some up with my materials.”
“Good. Maybe you want to help out here a bit? While you sort out whatever it is that you are going through?”
“Sure, and I will tell you when I can, Mom.”
“I know, I know. I’m just worried.”
“So am I.”
Molly walked over to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“What a picture. My two girls,” Henry called out while walking in. “Molly, here you go.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Molly went back to the bar and sat down behind her plate of steaming pasta. Her appetite immediately returned. Molly forked her plate with the ferocity of a scavenging dog feasting on a half-eaten McDonald’s burger lying limp in a dark alleyway. She barely swallowed between mouthfuls.
“Slow down, kid.” Henry chuckled, his round, ruddy cheeks glinting. “Alex isn’t here to hijack your meal.”
Molly’s stuffing her face ended with the ring of a phone. From within her purse on top of the bar, Molly’s cell sang. Thinking
it was Jay, she ran over and flipped it on.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Hey,” a sleepy voice purred.
Molly could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end and she felt her pulse beating in her ears. She gulped.
“Molly, are you there?” Liam asked.
“Yeah.” Choking out the word.
“Hey.”
“You said that already.” Still trying to catch her breath.
“I guess. So …” Liam searched for words. “You’re home?”
“Yeah. I pretty much left from the hospital.”
“Jay told me and so did my mom when she got in a little while ago. How are you?”
“How do you think?” Stifling a large sob.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!” Raising her voice.
“You’re right. Molly, I’m so …”
“Don’t even! Don’t even let the words fall from your mouth.” Starting to yell. “It’s all bullshit!”
Henry and Helen looked at each other and back at their daughter. Helplessly they watched her entire body react.
“Molly, I’m sorry. I am.”
“I told you not to bother. I can’t do this.”
“I fucked up.” Liam starting to cry into the phone.
Molly put her hand on the receiver and dry-heaved. Her body convulsed and hot tears fell on her cheeks.
“I really fucked up. Fuck.” Crying harder. “I’d do anything to take it back.”
“Well, you can’t, and I can’t do this anymore. Liam, it’s over.” Crying with him.
“Just like that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Getting her wits about her. “You broke the promise, the one fucking thing I asked of you ever.”
“I know, but give me another chance. It won’t happen again, ever. I’m going to get help. My mom is taking me to a place right after they let me out of the hospital. I know I can’t do it alone and I am going to get clean. I am going to this time. I have a problem, and I’m going to fix it.”
Tangled Up in Daydreams Page 7
