No Safe Secret (6 page)

Kristen tossed the remainder of her orange juice in the sink, then slammed her glass down on the counter. “Are you helpless? Can't you see
my mom
is busy?” Kristen said, her voice raised a notch.

“Both of you calm down,” Molly said before their verbal slashing worsened. “Graham, your dad is having guests tonight. I didn't think you would be home, so I . . . ”—
didn't plan on serving you dinner
—“figured you guys would eat before you came home. Or I can order a pizza, if you like.” Molly had begun to feel intimidated by the twins when they were around fourteen. The sweet little boys she'd raised had turned on her. She had complained to Tanner, and he had done nothing. In fact, once she'd brought it to his attention, it seemed that he actually encouraged their disrespectful behavior. If she served them a dish they didn't like—the two seemed more connected to one another's likes and dislikes as they got older—they would make a big show of their dislike: dumping their food on the floor, pretending they were going to throw up. Their antics knew no bounds. Once Graham took his plate and tossed it into the deep ceramic sink, causing the plate to shatter. When he'd grabbed a piece of the broken plate and cut his hand, requiring stitches, Tanner had flown into a rage, telling her she was a horrible stepmother, and if it weren't for Kristen, he would contact the authorities and report her for abusing
his
son. She remembered being shocked at Tanner's accusation. When she'd tried to point out Graham's deliberate act, he had slapped her in front of the boys. They'd laughed at their father. Grateful that Kristen hadn't been home to witness that horrible night, from that moment on Molly felt as though she had to tiptoe around them when they were in the house.

Both boys had just graduated from Harvard with business degrees. But they hadn't moved out or bothered to search for a job. She feared their expensive education had been nothing more than a waste of money.

Sally placed a dishcloth over the cheese platter, her way of saying what lay beneath it was now off-limits. Kristen leaned against the refrigerator door, watching and waiting.

“I hate pizza. You'd know that if you ever paid attention to me,” Graham said, his man voice firm and decisive, just like Tanner's.

Holding back the urge to scream and remind him of the hundreds of times she'd served him pizza, she took a deep breath before she spoke. “Graham, now isn't the time. I'm busy. If you'd like a sandwich, I'm sure Sally would be more than happy to make one for you.” She hated dragging Sally into their arguments, but Molly felt Graham needed to be reminded that they were not alone in the kitchen.

“You're an asshole, Graham,” Kristen said before turning her back on them and opening the refrigerator. She grabbed a package of turkey, a jar of plain mustard, and a package of processed cheese slices. She closed the door with her hip and took a loaf of bread from the cabinet. “Here,” she said, holding the food out in front of her. “Make your own goddamn sandwich.”

“Kristen!” Molly gasped. Her insides turned to water. For a second, she thought she might be sick. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Tonight wasn't a good night for a fight between brother and sister.
But was there ever a good night for a fight?
she thought, as she formed her next words. “Graham, make yourself a sandwich,” Molly said as Kristen plopped the food in the center of the kitchen's large island.

“I'm going upstairs to finish packing. I can't wait to get out of this hellhole,” Kristen shouted as she stomped out of the kitchen.

Kristen was right. Their home had become a hellhole, at least when the twins were home.
And their father
, Molly thought, but knew it was best not to share this with her daughter. Tanner was her father, too.

Without so much as an apology, Graham hurriedly made two sandwiches and grabbed a can of soda; then he, too, stormed out of the kitchen.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She would be so glad when the twins moved out. They made everyone miserable. Except for Tanner. He actually thought their hateful, childish behavior comical. Afraid to challenge him, Molly kept her opinions to herself. It was enough that the twins turned the house upside down whenever the urge hit them. She wasn't going to add to the chaos. She kept telling herself that when they moved out, things would be different, like they used to be when they'd first married. She and Tanner would have the house to themselves. She would try harder to make their evenings more romantic. They'd have dinner, spend more time making love and relaxing with one another. They would discuss their day together as they lay in bed, hips touching, his hand lightly touching hers. She would tell him about Gloria's constantly asking her to come to work, and he would tell her about the frightened, cavity-filled patients he'd seen during the day.

Right. She knew full well that this was an absolute fantasy. She might as well wish that she and Tanner could hop on a rocket and fly off to the moon for some sightseeing.

“Miss Molly, you all right?” Sally asked in a much softer tone than normal.

Was she?

She cleared her throat. “Sure, I'm good. Those kids just love to annoy me,” she said. Her words sounded as though she were including Kristen, but she wasn't.
Those kids
, in her mind, referred to the twins. How had two adorable toddlers turned into such cruel, hateful young men? She knew the answer but didn't want to go there. She was so tired of trying to be a good mother to them and a good wife to Tanner. Her yearning for the perfect family had become nothing more than a fantasy from long ago, one born out of the hellish existence she had lived through as a kid. The fight to turn that fantasy into reality left her the night Tanner had slapped her in front of the twins.

Sally removed the cloth from the cheese platter and added more brie. “Kristen's a good girl. She don't ever annoy me. Now, those two grown boys, well, you know as well as I do, that's a completely different story.”

Molly wanted to agree but refrained. These days she never knew when they might be lurking around the corner.

“Kids are challenging,” Molly offered. A flimsy answer, but she wasn't taking any chances with their overhearing what she said.

“Yep, they are. Especially when they ain't your own,” Sally whispered.

Molly knew this was her way of saying what she herself wouldn't. Holden and Graham didn't share her genetic makeup. They were spoiled, mean, and beyond immature. She had tried her best to be a good mother to both of the boys, and truly, she did love them, but not with the same all-consuming, to-the-death kind of love that she felt for Kristen. When they were toddlers, she had loved them, cared for them as if she'd given birth to them. The change had been abrupt and hurtful.

At first, she had berated herself over and over for her lack of motherly feelings, told herself she wasn't normal. Then she decided it was just a phase. The boys were in their early teens, at an age where even biological parents might question their feelings for their children, even if only in thought. This was when she really began to notice how Tanner encouraged them to disrespect her. She made excuses. Boys will be boys. They were hormonal teenagers. They would grow out of their hatefulness. One excuse after another, but their behavior only worsened as they got older. She took most of it, swallowed it, and occasionally choked on it. When the plate-shattering incident happened and Tanner accused her of physical abuse, she knew both her husband
and
the boys were not acting normally. It was at this time that Tanner's abuse took a turn and became more than she wanted to admit. She couldn't even think about the state of her marriage. Not now. If she did, she was afraid of what she might do.

Molly took a deep breath. “I love them, Sally, but sometimes they make it hard.”

Sally moved the cheese platter aside and began working on the meats. “Yep, I can see that. I just don't understand why Mr. Tanner doesn't discipline them.”

Molly removed lemons, garlic, and Worcestershire sauce from the refrigerator. She took a knife, a cutting board, and a garlic press from a drawer and began prepping the Caesar dressing. “It's difficult at their age. They're adults, remember?” She popped a clove of garlic into the press. “I'm sure once they're out on their own, they will mature and settle down.”

“I sure hope so, Miss Molly,” Sally said, her tone doubtful and unconvinced.

“I think it's a guy thing that they'll grow out of.”

Again, she didn't believe her own words. Dreading the evening ahead, Molly chopped and sliced, anything to erase the twins and their father from her thoughts, even if it was only for a little while.

 

 

O
n her first day in Cambridge, she'd learned about Mrs. Garner's Boarding House for single women from an ad in Harvard's newspaper, the
Crimson
. For twenty dollars a night, she shared a small attic room with three other girls who weren't much older than she. The twenty dollars included one hot meal per day, the use of a large bathroom with a time limit of ten minutes per shower, and you had to provide your own bath towel. Sarah, a shy girl not much older than she, had loaned her a clean towel. Molly was thankful and planned to wash it and return it to her as soon as she was able to purchase one of her own. She found the streets of Cambridge filled with tiny shops, selling everything from homemade candles to rosary beads that claimed to be blessed by some pope she'd never heard of. So far, she hadn't located a Walmart or a discount department store she could afford that sold bath towels.

Molly stepped off the city bus, amazed that she'd mastered the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority's system so quickly. Florida had no public transportation system. If you needed to get from point A to point B, you either drove, walked, or hitched a ride. She'd decided it would be best to use the public transportation system. In the first place, she feared the police would be looking for her Mustang, and second, the parking situation in Boston and the surrounding towns was very tight, so that off-street parking was way too expensive. Finally, Mrs. Garner allowed free parking. She was immensely grateful that her parking space was located behind the giant old Victorian that, for a while, would be her home. For the past three mornings, she'd been stunned upon opening her eyes and realizing she was no longer in her tiny room in the trailer in Blossom City, Florida. Being surrounded by others somewhat like herself reassured her that she wasn't the only girl to have suffered in a way that had brought them all together in the small attic room. They shared two large chests of drawers, where they stored their meager clothes and any personal belongings.

Molly used one drawer for clothing. In her second drawer, still inside the wastebasket liner from the hotel, was her prom dress. She had promised herself she would burn it. So far, she had yet to find an ideal place to do this, so she had been forced to hang on to the dress until she found a way to destroy it without attracting attention. There had been much talk on the news lately about something called DNA and how it could identify people and solve crimes. From what little she'd gathered between reading the newspapers and listening to the occasional bits of news, this stuff had helped O. J. Simpson get away with murder. She didn't understand the science behind it but stored the information for another time.

As she hurried along Bayline Street, she rehearsed what she would say when she entered the diner. Molly had spent the past three days searching for a job. She scoured the
Boston Globe
, the
Boston Herald
, and
USA Today
searching for work. Having had no luck, she returned to Lou's Diner for a quick bite and with a plan in mind. Secretly, she was hoping to see the doctor again, if only to see if he recognized her. She'd had an idea that she wanted to work at the diner, and if luck was on her side, she was about to do something so out of character, it truly scared her. She reminded herself she wasn't Maddy anymore. She was Molly. Molly was smart, secure, and unafraid. Yeah, sure you are, she thought as she entered the diner.

The smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying wafted throughout the diner. Molly found a seat at the counter, her hands trembling as she picked up the plastic-covered menu. She'd calculated her money, and the figures weren't very promising. If she didn't find a job in the next few days, she was going to be in trouble. Hence her decision to make another visit to the diner. She'd waitressed at Tony's BBQ Pit and had plenty of experience, so that shouldn't be a problem.

An older woman—she guessed her to be in her mid-forties—placed a glass of water on the counter in front of her. “What'll it be?” she asked in a thick Boston accent.

Should she order first, then ask for a job? Or wait until after? Taking a deep breath, she said, “I'll have the number three, over easy with bacon.”

“You's want the toast that comes with it?” the waitress asked. Beneath her long brown hair, Molly could see part of a name tag, but only the last few letters. Pastor Royer always said it was nice to be personable with his parishioners and, whenever possible, use their name. He said it made people feel comfortable. She wanted to take his advice now, but the waitress's hair prevented her from seeing the rest of her name.

“Uh, sure. I need to ask you . . . ,” she stumbled over her next words. “Would it be possible to speak to the owner?” She paused, swallowed, then went on. “I am searching for a job, and”—she motioned to the crowd of diners behind her—“it looks like you all have a lot of customers.” There. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. Well, not really, she thought, as the waitress scribbled something on her pad.

“Call this number, ask for Louise. She's out sick, but between me an' you, girl, we need plenty of help here. School starts in August, and we ain't prepared, if ya know what I mean.”

Molly shook her head. “Yes, I do.” She thought she sounded way too southern and made a mental note to practice speaking without her twang, just one more thing that would draw attention to herself. Maybe Sarah would help her. She'd offered the bath towel, and she hadn't even asked for one. She would ask her tonight.

“Tell her Teresa told ya to call,” the waitress said before turning away to place her order on a round metal wheel with clips attached to it. Tony's had used this simple but efficient system, so at least she knew how to use one. Simple is all she could handle now, she thought, as Teresa slammed a cup of black coffee in front of her. Molly took a sip, liking the hot, bitter taste. Three days spent drinking it at the Wilkins Motel, and she was already craving a cup of the stuff in the morning. It didn't take long for habits to take root.

A few minutes later, she tucked into her breakfast, wishing she could have this every day, but until she secured a job, she'd settle for the one meal a day provided by Mrs. Garner and write this breakfast off as an investment. It wasn't as though she wasn't used to being short on food. She'd gone way longer than a day without food when she was younger, and her body had adjusted just fine as long as she had water.

Molly felt a presence come up behind her. Hesitant to turn around, fearing it could be the police or, God forbid, one of the guys who'd attacked her, she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice.

“Do you eat like this every day?”

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, she kept her gaze on what was left of her breakfast. Feeling the desire to be hip and testy, she replied, “So what if I do?” She said the words slowly, forcing herself to speak as much as she could without her southern accent.

He slid onto the empty stool beside her. “You'll get fat. Men don't like fat women.”

Molly turned to stare at him, not caring if she appeared to be shocked. It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts. When she did, her words were honest, something she hadn't practiced the past four days. “That was an incredibly rude thing to say.” Just to prove herself, she took a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and jelly, then took a huge bite. She felt his eyes on her, watching her, and for some odd reason, she liked the idea that she had his full, undivided attention. She wasn't used to feeling this way since she almost always tried to avoid being noticed. Maybe her newfound courage came from the name change, and the new city. The beginning of a new way of life.

“I'm being truthful. Men like women who take care of themselves.”

Was this true? Her mother certainly hadn't taken care of herself, and men swarmed around her like flies on a sticky tape, but she certainly would not tell this to the doctor. For that matter, she would never tell this man, or anyone else, about her past. From this day forward, she was Molly Hall. Maddy Carmichael no longer existed. So she continued to eat, deciding not to reply to his comment. She buttered another slice of toast and took a bite, waiting for him to comment. When he didn't, she raised her coffee cup in the air as she'd seen the other diners do, in hopes that Teresa would refill her cup. Anything to break up this uncomfortable silence between herself and the doctor.

“Patience, kiddo,” Teresa yelled from the opposite end of the counter.

Molly felt like crawling into a dark hole. Kiddo? That certainly wasn't the impression she'd hoped to make. Maybe Teresa thought she was a student. She could live with that. Yes, being called kiddo, someone who appeared to be, at the very least, old enough for college was okay. It didn't hurt that Harvard was right around the corner.

Teresa appeared with a coffeepot in her hand. “Hey, why don't you stick around for a while? We're super short-handed today. I'll call Lou myself. You seem like a decent enough kid.”

Did this mean what she thought it meant?

She must've had a strange look on her face. Teresa's next words, “Yeah, I think we can give ya a test run today. I'll show ya the ropes, then you can help out with the lunch crowd. Whatever tips ya make are yours.” She spoke fast, and Molly had to strain to understand, as Teresa's Boston accent was extremely strong.

All she could say was, “Today?”

“Yep, if ya can. I'll go call Lou now while I have a minute.” She poured coffee for the doctor and immediately disappeared through the swinging doors behind the counter.

“You're really looking for a job? Here?” the doctor asked, incredulously.

The new Molly spoke. “Yes and yes.”

“Ah-ha, I see you are a woman of few words. Just what I like,” he said, then took a sip of coffee.

Molly felt her face turn red again. Did this mean he thought she was attractive, that he liked her? She had no experience with older men. Or any man, other than her perverted brother's friends, the ones who'd sent her running.

“I might have a job for you,” he said.

She looked over at him. “What?”

“A job. You're looking for a job, right? I might have something for you. It's much better than serving greasy diner food.”

“Why do you come here if you don't like the food?” Molly asked, curious as to why the doctor would frequent a place if he didn't like the food.

“It's convenient to my office,” he replied. “And really, the food isn't bad. I wouldn't be here if it were.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss for a witty and clever reply.

“Don't you want to know what the job is?” he questioned her.

She placed her fork across the top of her plate, wiped her mouth with the paper napkin, then turned to look at him. “Not really.” She couldn't work for a doctor! She didn't even have a high school diploma! He must think she was older than Teresa had. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

“Are you joking with me?” he asked her.

“No. Why would I do that?” she replied.

He smiled and shook his head. “You are an original, I'll give you that much.”

Molly tilted her head and stared at him. “What do you want from me? I don't even know you. Do you always speak this way to strangers?”

“I'm sorry. You're right, I don't normally speak so bluntly to strangers. Please accept my apology. I didn't mean to offend you.”

Now she felt guilty. “It's okay. You didn't offend me. I'm just not used to . . .”

“What?” he quickly asked.

Men. But she wasn't going to tell him that. “I . . . I'm new in town. I guess what I meant to say is most of the people I've met aren't quite as outspoken as you are.”

“Wait a while. You'll find that most Bostonians are quite friendly and mean you no harm.”

Teresa pushed through the double doors. “I talked to Lou. She says if I think you're waitress material, then she says, welcome aboard.”

Molly's heart raced. For once, something was going her way. “Thank you so much. I . . . where do I start?” She stood, picked up her clutch purse and tucked it under her arm, and raked a hand through her hair. She was glad she'd shampooed her hair last night. At least it wasn't hanging in greasy strands, and her clothes were new and clean.

“Come with me,” Teresa said. “I'll find you a uniform.” She glanced down at Molly's feet. “Those shoes will work for now. Long hours on your feet, you'll need a good shoe. Trust me on this, kiddo. First time I spent twelve hours on my feet, I went home and cried. Sharps has the best shoes in town. Tell 'em you work for Lou, they'll give you a ten percent discount. Isn't much, but it beats nothing.”

Molly nodded. A new pair of shoes was the last thing she needed, but maybe later, when she settled in and had put aside extra money. For now, her sneakers would have to do.

Without saying another word to the doctor, whose name she couldn't recall, Molly followed Teresa through the swinging doors, leaving the doctor sitting at the counter.

Lou's kitchen was huge, ten times the size of Tony's. It had a prep area where three people chopped, diced, and sliced. There was a huge grill next to a stove top that had at least eight gas burners, all with pans of various sizes and shapes sitting on them. It was attended to by a short woman with a long black braid hanging down her back and a man who was at least a foot and a half taller than the woman. Two sets of fryers were attended to by a middle-aged man. Activity buzzed throughout the kitchen as she followed Teresa. A giant dishwasher hummed in the background, and a young girl around her age quickly stacked thick white dinner plates beside the grill.