Can't Look Away(52)

“I’m not sure.” He shrugs again. “I’ve been working every weekend.”

Molly tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. This is the first time, she realizes, that they are somewhat close to being alone. They’ve drifted away from the cotton candy cart, away from the crowds. “Right. The new album.” She smiles. “That’s wonderful, Jake. That you’re making music again.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “It is, Moll.” She at once resents and cherishes the fact that it’s so easy for him to call her Moll, as if no time has passed since their carefree, lovebird days on Driggs.

“She’s got spunk,” he says, nodding his head in Stella’s direction. “Just like her mom.”

They glance at Stella, who is plopped down on the grass, elatedly dissecting her massive pillow of pink-and-blue puffed sugar.

“I don’t know if I have as much spunk as I used to, Jake.”

“And why’s that, Moll?”

Her shoulders drop. “Life, I guess.”

“You look the same, you know.”

Molly laughs. “That’s something a woman in her thirties will always appreciate hearing. But you seem the same, too, mostly,” she adds. “Except your Southern accent is hardly there at all anymore. And the preppy garb is new. The Jake I remember lived in sweats and unwashed tees.”

“I was pretty grubby, wasn’t I? My tortured artist days. Sisi’s had a big influence on my … attire. Though you know I could wear a paper bag and be happy.”

“A paper bag? Not here at the club?” One side of Molly’s mouth curls.

“I would do it in a heartbeat if I could spare Sisi the embarrassment. Give these folks something to talk about.” Jake swallows his last bite of cotton candy. Behind them, the sun is a stripe of neon slipping behind the horizon. Dusk is falling, a slight chill in the air now. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? That we both ended up in a fancy suburb, married to rich people. Who woulda thought?”

“Hunter isn’t rich, Jake.” Molly shoots him a look. “Not like Sabrina, anyway. I mean, his mom has some money—she helps us, sometimes. But mostly we’re trying to save, for college and stuff.”

Jake shakes his head contritely. “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”

“It’s all right. Truthfully, Flynn Cove has changed since Hunter grew up here. From the way he describes it, the town used to be more laid-back—nice, but definitely not as ritzy.”

Jake nods. “I guess that makes sense, with all the hedge funds out here now.”

Molly can’t help but smile. “I’m surprised you know where the hedge funds are, Jake.”

He gives a goofy grin. “I’m very corporate these days.” A few beats of silence pass. Jake blinks. “There are so many things I want to ask you,” he says. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Goose bumps prickle Molly’s skin all over. She glances down at the ground, at the short, evenly mowed grass. Finally, she looks up. She finds Jake’s eyes. “What would be your top three?”

He juts out his bottom lip, considering. “One, are you happy here? Two, why did you stop writing? And three…” He pauses, locking her gaze. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

Molly’s eyes fill with tears; she blinks them back. Jake steps toward her, so close that the edge of his hand brushes hers, her skin burning all over from the single spot of his touch. Just then, the first firework sounds in the distance. An explosive pop. Around them everyone oohs and aahs and shuffles to make their way toward the first hole, where families are setting up Crazy Creek chairs and picnic blankets to watch the show.

Stella springs to her feet, discarding her half-eaten stick of cotton candy. She grabs hold of her mother’s leg with sticky fingers as Molly backs away from Jake, the intensity of the moment between them dissipating as quickly as it arrived.

“Mom!” Stella points to the sky, her gaze wide-eyed with wonder. “Fireworks!”

“I need to take her to wash her hands.” Molly turns away from Jake. Has he seen her cry? God, she hopes not. But she feels him watching her, his eyes full of concern.

“We’ll meet you over there,” he says. “Sisi—Sabrina, I mean—she’s got a big, checkered picnic blanket. Look for that.”

Molly doesn’t realize how fast her heart is beating until she and Stella reach the quiet of the women’s locker room. It’s peaceful in here, smelling of lavender and baby powder. She checks the mirror; her mascara is smudged below her eyes. She dabs at it with a tissue.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Stella rinses her hands in the sink, her little knuckles still dimpled with baby fat.

“Jake—my friend who likes cotton candy—was telling me a sad story.” Molly hands her a paper towel.

“What’s the story?”

“I’ll tell you later, okay? We don’t want to miss the fireworks. But I’m all better now.”

“Good.” Stella takes her mother’s hand as they leave the locker room, and Molly is in awe of her daughter’s sweetness, her pure-hearted compassion. “Hey, Mommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I like Jake.”

Molly smiles, her throat full of tears again. “Me, too, baby.” She squeezes Stella’s hand. “Me, too.”