Can't Look Away(15)
“Even better.” Molly smiles. “Skipping Beach is only a few blocks away. We can drink it there? It’s so nice out.”
“I love Skipping Beach!” Stella chirps, wrapping her arms around Molly’s thigh. “Can I come? Please, Mommy?”
Molly glances at Sabrina, who winks at Stella. “The more the merrier.”
Fifteen minutes later, the women spread two yellow-and-white-striped towels over the sand. Skipping Beach isn’t yet crowded—most of Flynn Cove is still finishing up at the parade.
“Not too close to the water, Stell!” Molly calls to her daughter, who is already chasing a particularly large seagull toward the surf.
Sabrina pours the rosé into two plastic cups, the pale pink liquid clunk clunk clunking through the nose of the bottle.
She hands one of the cups to Molly. “I just thought … wine beats iced tea, especially on a holiday weekend, right?”
“Obviously.” Molly grins. “I haven’t met many women around here who would day drink. Everyone is so … by the book.”
“Ha. Connecticut is fucking boring.” Sabrina flashes Molly an apologetic look. “No offense.”
“None taken. You live here, too, now.”
“Touché.” Sabrina laughs. “So tell me honestly, do you think I’m a total snoot for belonging to that stupid club? My grandparents used to live in Flynn Cove, and I grew up visiting them here. They were very involved at the FCCC, so I felt like we had to join. But it’s kind of dumb. My husband doesn’t even golf.”
“Neither does Hunter, really.” Molly feels like Sabrina is reading her mind. “But no, if you have family ties, of course it makes sense. Hunter grew up here, and his parents were never FCCC members. His is a big boating family, they belong to the yacht club, over on Harbor Street? It’s smaller, there’s tennis, no pool, but it’s nice—Stella sails there, and she’s crazy about it. Hunter taught me to sail, too, so it’s become a big family activity.”
“That sounds so great.” Sabrina stretches her legs long on the towel, leans back on her elbows. “And really, who needs a pool? The FCCC pool is overrated. I’d take this beautiful public beach over that tub of chlorine any day.”
“Oh, same. I’m a total beach girl.” Molly sips her wine. It’s a little warm from sitting in Sabrina’s car, but it’s making her limbs feel pleasantly loose, her head light.
“So you guys have been here for a few years?”
Molly nods. “We were in Brooklyn before. Hunter loved growing up here—his family is, like, fourth-generation Flynn Cove or something, and the town is such a part of him. He lost his father when he was just out of college, and he always thought he’d come back and settle down near his mom.” Molly adjusts her Ray-Bans on the bridge of her nose, gazes out at the ocean. “I resisted for a while—all my friends are still in the city, and I loved it there—but the schools here can’t be beat. So when Stella turned three, it just felt like the right time to make moves.”
Molly omits the part of the story that involves Jake—the weekend morning she spotted him from a distance at the farmers’ market in McCarren Park. His head was bent over a carton of strawberries; she could only see the side of his face, but it was a profile she’d recognize anywhere. Stella was in the stroller, and Hunter was busy inspecting fistfuls of swiss chard, and Molly had beelined for the park’s exit so quickly she’d nearly plowed down an older couple browsing artisan cheeses. Later, back at their apartment, she told Hunter to call the Realtor in Flynn Cove, the one he’d been mentioning since Stella’s first birthday. He was so happy that he didn’t question her abrupt change of tune. But Molly knew she couldn’t stay in a place where running into Jake would never stop being a risk.
“That makes sense.” Sabrina nods, pouring them more rosé. She peels off her white tank top, revealing a black bra that could double as a bathing suit, and her perfectly taut stomach. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “My body hasn’t seen the sun since last summer.”
“Of course not.” Molly pauses. “Can I ask you a question?” She turns to face Sabrina, fueled by the wine, by her own curiosity and the desire to talk about something real, for once. It feels like every conversation she’s ever had with women in Flynn Cove is about house renovations and wallpaper or what the kids are up to and where everyone is vacationing in August.
“Duh.” Sabrina flips onto her belly, swinging her heels.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I was thinking the other day, after I ran into you at Dr. Ricci’s…” Molly draws in a breath. “When we first met at Yoga Tree, you told me you and your husband were newlyweds. So you can’t have been trying to conceive for that long, right?”
Sabrina swallows. “We got married in January but started trying awhile before that, actually.”
Molly is caught off guard. “Oh?”
Sabrina drops her chin. “I had a bad eating disorder for much of high school and college. I lost my period for a while. I had a strong hunch that conceiving would be difficult, given what I’d put my body through, and my OB had always suggested the same. So we actually started trying last fall. We figured if I got pregnant right away, it would still be early enough that I could hide it at the wedding. But I didn’t, of course. So now it’s been … eight months. I know that isn’t that long, and I’m thirty-one—relatively young—but still. If there’s a problem, I’d rather know sooner.”