Dreadful Sorry (2 page)

The headmistress frowned at Molly and opened the file folder of her record at West River Academy. "I never wrote your mother a note saying you had passed your swim requirement," she said. "Because, as you well know, you have refused to take the test each semester. And when your guidance counselor urged you to sign up for swimming lessons with Coach Bascombe, you signed up for debate instead."

Molly admitted that she had lied. Her mother was furious. "I just can't understand it!" she said over and over again. "You forged a letter from the headmistress? Why not just take the stupid test and get it over with?"

Sick with humiliation, Molly clenched her hands in the folds of her uniform skirt. It had seemed so simple, at the time, to write a quick note and get her mother off her back. She had shoved her guilt over this deception right out of her mind, along with the knowledge that someday the swim requirement would rear its ugly head again.
What a fool I am,
she thought.
A real ostrich.
She muttered, "Mom, I can't swim."

"Of course you can swim!"

"Have you ever seen me?"

"For goodness sakes! I don't know! But why not just sign up for a swim class, then?"

Molly hung her head. "I just can't." She glanced at Mrs. Higley. "I know it was wrong to forge your signature. I'm really sorry." In the pit of her stomach she felt the awful hollow ache of guilt and shame.

The headmistress and Molly's mother exchanged a glance. They then carried on for a half hour about honor and trust and respect. In the end they arranged that Molly would take swimming lessons after school with Coach Bascombe. She would begin the very next day. The headmistress would have to think for a while about whether any further disciplinary measure would be appropriate. "We've never had a forgery here before," she said sternly. "I'm so surprised and ashamed at your duplicity, Molly, I hardly know what to say."

That night, Molly had had the dream. It was the same dream she'd had from time to time, as far back as she could remember. She never got used to it. Each time the horror was fresh—just as if the dream were a new nightmare she'd never encountered before. In the past there were three or four months between dreams, but since the swim lessons began she had dreamed the same dream three times in a row. And, even worse, each night the dream changed a bit. Each night she floated a little farther down the long hallway, closer to the room and whatever waited for her there.

 

Now Molly hurried down the long corridor of the recreation wing and turned into the lobby. She heard footsteps tapping down the corridor to her right and pushed wildly through the heavy front doors. Coach Bascombe must not catch her!

She flew out onto the wide stone steps and crashed headlong into a man standing there. She reeled backward. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and steadied her. Her canvas backpack thudded down the steps.

"
Whoa!
" he said. "That was close."

Flustered, Molly stared for a second at the blur of his blue shirt, then smiled apologetically up at him. With surprise, she saw Kathi standing on the steps next to him.

"I came back to wait for your lesson to end so you and Jared could meet. I
thought
you would like Jared, but I didn't expect you'd totally
fall
for him like this!"

Molly laughed it off. "Head over heels, but you know what a klutz I am." She glanced up at the boy—not a man as she had first thought. She had been misled by his sheer bulk, but she saw now he was probably her own age. He was built like a football player, tall and stocky and solid. His hair was dark and curly like Kathi's, and his face seemed for a moment just as familiar.
Where have I seen him before?

There was a sudden rush of wind and, oddly, a smell of salt, as if an ocean breeze had somehow traveled far inland, wafting across the Ohio valley. "Hob..." She breathed the name softly, holding out her hand to him.

Kathi snorted. "Not
Bob!
I told you, it's
fared.
" And as the boy reached out and clasped Molly's outstretched hand, Kathi laughed. "You need formal introductions or something? Okay. Molly, this is my cousin Jared Bernstein, from Columbus. Jared, this vision of grace is the best friend I was telling you about, Molly Teague."

Molly removed her hand from his.
What is wrong with me?
Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and her stomach felt hollow. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The salt wind receded. Kathi stared at her, incredulous. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Jared reached down and picked up Molly's backpack. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Molly stood there awkwardly. She slung the pack over her shoulder. "Sorry—I mean, I was just in a hurry." The inexplicable guilty, hollow shame—the same feeling in the pit of her stomach that she'd felt in the headmistress's office—was gone, and now she felt like a complete idiot.
I could die! Wasn't plowing into him bad enough? Do I have to sound like an idiot, too?

Kathi began chattering about her weekend plans. "I want Jared to meet everybody," she said, "but he'll have to wait till later because our whole family's going to Lake Pymatuning for the weekend. But when we get back, I'm going to have a party. And now that the seniors have had their exams, they'll be giving graduation parties, too. Jared's probably going to be here the whole summer, isn't that great? His parents are archaeologists, and they've gone to Israel for a summer dig. Jared wanted to get a summer job instead. So he'll be with us."

Having regained her composure, Molly gave Jared her most dazzling smile. "I don't know—it seems Israel would be a lot more exciting than Battleboro Heights! What are they digging for?"

"Oh, ancient city foundations. Fragments of broken pots. Old shoes—you name it!". He pushed his dark hair off his forehead and grinned at her. "I've already been there and back again more summers than I can count. So I begged off for this summer. My mom and dad have dragged me around the world with them so many times, I have permanent jet lag."

Molly made her voice casual. "Have you visited Kathi before? I'm
sure
I've met you."

"Now there's a line!" teased Kathi. "I bet you say that to all the guys."

Oddly flustered again, Molly stared down at Jared's feet in large, dirty basketball high-tops. Why was she being such a jerk around this guy? Chalk it up to the overall bad week she'd been having. Well, at least it was Friday.

"Listen, I've got to get home." Now she was eager to be away. "I'll see you guys when you get back from Lake Pymatuning. Bye, Kathi. Bye, Hob."

Oh, God, I've done it again!
"I mean Jared." Face flaming, Molly flapped a hand at them and took off at a run across the lawn in front of the school. She could feel Jared's eyes watching her. She didn't slow down till she reached Mill Road, then walked with her long-legged lope down the big hill to Route 21.

Molly didn't notice her mother's red sports car until her mother tooted the horn and pulled up to the curb. Molly looked up, startled. Her pale cheeks flushed as she approached the car.

"I left the office early today," Jen told her daughter in greeting. "So I thought I'd wait at the school till your swim lesson ended and give you a lift. But you're early today, too."

"Coach Bascombe let me out early." The lie slipped out effortlessly. Molly slid into the front seat and snapped her seatbelt. She glanced nervously at Jen, who was dressed immaculately in cool beige linen, her blond hair, just the color of Molly's own, moussed into careful disarray. Jen always looked radiant. "I think Coach Bascombe had a dentist appointment," Molly improvised, then felt a flash of anger at herself for lying.
Why can't I just tell Mom the truth? I'm never going to swim, and that's that.

Molly's mother was a partner in a downtown law firm. She was very successful and enjoyed both her high-powered job and the fact that she was one of very few women in her firm who had risen so fast and so far. She used her maiden name, Deming, and was pleased that her secretary was a man. Her hours were usually long, and she brought casework home every night. She often left the house early in the morning, even before Molly finished breakfast, and returned around six in the evening. It was Molly's job to get their dinner started. The two of them would chat over dinner and then do the dishes together.

Molly wedged one foot at the side of the dashboard and glanced over at her mother. "So how come you left early today?"

"I'm going to dinner with a new lawyer at the firm. So I just told my secretary to divert all my calls and decided I'd come home early to get ready."

"Must be a very important new lawyer. Is it a man?"

"Yes." Jen kept her eyes on the road.

Molly looked at her mother and tried to smile naturally. "Rich and handsome?"

Jen raised an eyebrow. "This is strictly a business dinner." Then she glanced over at Molly and grinned. "I know you. You're wondering when I'll run off with Mr. Right, aren't you? Well, I promise I'll let you know when I find him." The grin turned into a smirk. "But don't you think one puppy-dog-eyed parent-in-love at a time is enough?"

Molly ignored this reference to her recently remarried father. Her mother was always laughing at her father.

Jen stopped the car at a light. "So? How was it today?"

"What?"
I made a fool of myself, that's how it was. And not just at the pool.

"Your lesson, of course. How did it go?"

"Fine, I guess."
Where could I have seen Kathi's cousin before?

Jen accelerated smoothly. "You got in the water, I hope?"

"Of course, Mom."
He must think I'm a total dork. Why did I call him that bizarre name?

"Did you even get your hair wet?"

Molly frowned at her mother. "Of course! I even dried my hair afterward, just like a good sensible girl."

"All right." Jen turned off Route 21 and drove around the bend onto Valley. "I'm glad there's some progress. Really, I wish you'd told me years ago that you couldn't swim. I would have sworn you could. I mean, we never went swimming together, but I just assumed ... Well, we've been all through that. What really gets me is the lie. Forgery, Molly! Really! And you with a mother in criminal law." She pulled the car into their driveway and cut the engine. "If you're worried about something, I wish you'd talk to me about it. That's the way people solve their problems in this world. By talking things over and formulating solutions."

"You make everything into a business meeting." Immediately Molly regretted her sharp tone. Her mother was only trying to help.

"Business meetings get things done," said Jen. "And I think it would be ridiculous if you weren't able to graduate with your class this time next year." She shook her blond head and fished in her purse for the house key. "The smartest girl in the school!"

Molly slipped out of the car and followed her mother slowly up the walk. "The policy stinks, Mom. Joe Rabinski doesn't have to take the test."

"Well, it's different with him. He has a medical excuse. Joe's knee is still in a cast after the car accident. You, on the other hand, don't have a valid reason at all." Jen glanced at Molly as she opened the door. "Hey, are you all right? You look so ... shaky."

Molly hugged her backpack to her chest and pushed past her mother. "I'm fine."

"Well, never mind," Jen said comfortingly. "Everything's working out all right now. You'll be swimming in no time. I asked everyone—and they tell me Coach Bascombe's the best teacher around." She kicked off her pumps and moved toward the kitchen. "I have to leave at seven, but I'll cook tonight—something just for you."

Molly escaped to her room and lay on the bed. She could hear classical music blasting from the kitchen as Jen began preparing the meal. Jen played Beethoven and Tchaikovsky at top volume whenever she cooked or did housework. "It takes me beyond the mundane," she'd explained once when Molly yelled for her to turn the music down.

Now Molly burrowed her head into her pillow. Thank God it was Friday. No swim lesson tomorrow. Maybe she'd see Michael—go to a film or something Saturday night,(if her mother let her go. She needed to do something fun.

I need to feel Hob's arms around me again...

She sat up abruptly. Across the room on her desk lay the most recent letter from her father, still unanswered.
Maybe I should just go to Maine after all.

The month she spent with her father each summer since the divorce was always peaceful. But this year would probably be different. Her father had remarried on Valentine's Day, after what he'd referred to (none too originally, her mother pointed out) as a "Whirlwind courtship." Molly had almost decided to write and tell him she couldn't come; maybe this was the year to get a summer job and stay in Battleboro Heights. Things could never be the same with a stepmother around.

"You'll just love Paulette," Bill Teague had written in his most recent letter. "She's fifteen years younger than me—and only ten years older than you, Molly. You'll be just like sisters—talking about everything." And then Paulette herself had added a little message to the letter, writing that she was sure they'd be on the same wavelength and would enjoy their time together in the summer, exploring each other's worlds. Her handwriting was round and childish, and Molly could just imagine her voice—all breathless and giggly and California-mellow. When, she'd shown Jen the letter, her mother rolled her eyes.

"She and your dad are perfectly suited."

The phone on her bedside table jangled now, but even as she rolled over to answer it, the ringing stopped. Downstairs, Beethoven sank to a hum. Molly was surprised Jen could hear the phone over her music. She went to her desk and read over the results of a chemistry experiment. Then she sat at her word processor and typed up the notes effortlessly, enjoying the click of the keys under her long, competent fingers. While working, at least, she could keep her mind off things.

She never had problems with schoolwork, and she loved burying herself in academic projects. Molly's science project—charting genetic tendencies in frog reproduction—had won first place in the state science fair that year. And her research paper for history on ancient maps and the development of cartography had won a state award for excellence. Her teachers praised her for never being afraid of hard work. She glanced up with satisfaction at the prize certificates mounted above her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard.