Can't Look Away(47)

“Well, he is around. And that’s more than I can say about mine.”

The Danner home was roughly what Molly expected from the outside—a one-story ranch slightly smaller than her mother’s own average suburban house, but not by much. The neighborhood was green and lush and a ten-minute drive from the ocean.

Mrs. Danner greeted them in the front hall. She was a petite woman with a silver bob and dark eyes. She wore a pale yellow button-down and boxy khakis that Molly’s mother would’ve called “old lady pants”; the outfit combined with her lack of a dye job made her appear older than she probably was. She set them up in separate bedrooms—I told you she was conservative, Jake muttered under his breath—and said they should wash up for dinner.

Though it wasn’t big, there was a coldness to the house that Molly couldn’t ignore. There was little variation in color—mainly beiges and taupes—and hardly anything on the walls. It lacked the busy, lived-in feeling her own home had always evoked, despite the fact that it had only been her, her mom, and Andrew there.

After she showered, Molly put on a green sundress, combed out her hair, and swiped a coat of mascara on her lashes. By the time she made her way into the kitchen for dinner, Mr. Danner was there—he’d been napping when they arrived. He sat at the table in front of a full pint glass, and Molly was so shocked by his appearance she couldn’t speak. Even though his curls had gone gray and he was notably disheveled—red-rimmed blue eyes, unshaven, slumped posture—he was the spitting image of Jake, and Molly could see that he had once been as radiantly handsome as his son.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Mr. Danner spoke in a thick Southern accent, circling the glass in his fingers. “Jake never said how pretty you were. Not that he says much to his folks at all, these days. He didn’t even say y’all were coming until … what was it, Lorna? Friday?”

Mrs. Danner said nothing as she tossed the salad. She’d put on a different shirt and some pink lipstick, but still wore the old lady khakis.

“Easy, Pop.” Jake stepped into the room, and Molly felt her shoulders relax. “Can I help you, Mom?”

Mrs. Danner shook her head. “Fix yourselves a drink, if you’d like.” Her voice was quiet. She seemed timid as a mouse.

Dinner was a shrimp casserole cooked in cream, and it felt so heavy in Molly’s stomach that she had to force the bites down. They ate at the kitchen table—which overlooked a small patch of backyard—with the overhead light blazing and no music in the background. Conversation was minimal, too. It was mostly Jake asking his mother questions, which she answered quickly and without enthusiasm. Mr. Danner refilled his pint glass more times than Molly could count, keeping one eye glued to the small television perched on the counter. Neither of his parents asked Jake about the band.

When they’d finished eating, Mr. Danner switched to bourbon and disappeared into the den.

“He’ll be passed out in an hour,” Jake whispered to Molly as they cleared the plates. His mother had gone to take the trash out. “I think we should leave in the morning.”

Molly nodded, unable to object. Being in this sterile, eerie house around Jake’s dysfunctional parents, she understood why he hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“But I’ll take you to the beach, tonight, if you want.” His eyes were desolate, and Molly squeezed his hand. Her heart was overwhelmed with love for him.

“Yes, please.”

Jake was quiet on the drive out to the Narrows. Molly stared out the window, watching the last of the sunset between the trees as it slipped below the horizon, a tangerine line scorching the earth. She felt somber and strange, eager to shake the hours with Jake’s family from her memory. Until that moment, she’d always believed she and Jake shared the experience of coming from broken homes. But her home wasn’t broken, not like Jake’s. Yes, her father had left their family—or had been pushed out by her mother, Molly had never been fully sure which description was most accurate—but her family was still a family. Her mother and Andrew would do anything for her, and vice versa—it was an unconditional love that she carried in her heart and never questioned. Jake, she understood for the first time, had never had that. Molly couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so profoundly sad.

Their rental car didn’t have four-wheel drive, so they parked it on the side of the dirt road and walked hand in hand toward the water.

“I know this is more of a bay than the true ocean,” Jake said, breaking the silence. “But it’s my favorite spot on the coast. Sam, Hale, and I … we spent so much time here.” He sat down on the sand, placed his elbows on his knees.

“It’s beautiful.” Molly slid off her sandals and slumped down beside him. She watched the moonlight float on the bay, squished the sand between her toes. The sound of the gentle waves crashing was like a tonic, and the tension dropped from her body. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know how to verbalize what she was apologizing for, only that Jake would understand.

“Don’t be.” Jake glanced at Molly. “It wasn’t all bad, growing up here. It might’ve been, if I hadn’t had the Lanes.” He tipped his head back, gazing up at the inky-blue sky. “They were my family, really. I spent every waking hour there that I could.”

“We should go see them. Mr. and Mrs. Lane, I mean.”