Orphan Train(78)

“She doesn’t think that.”

“She does, Jack. And I don’t blame her.” Molly glances over at the tea service drying in the rack. “And I have to say one more thing. Vivian said she wanted to clean out her attic. But I think what she really wanted was to see what was in those boxes one last time. And remember those parts of her life. So I’m glad, actually, that I was able to help her find these things. I feel like I did something important.”

She hears footsteps in the upstairs hall—Vivian must be on her way downstairs. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m making breakfast.” She flicks on the gas burner to warm the oatmeal, pouring a little skim milk into it and stirring.

Jack sighs. “You’re a major pain in the ass, did you know that?”

“I keep telling you that, but you don’t want to believe me.”

“I believe you now,” he says.


A FEW DAYS AFTER MOLLY ARRIVES AT VIVIAN’S, SHE TEXTS RALPH to let him know where she is.

He texts back: Call me.

So she calls. “What’s up?”

“You need to come back so we can deal with this.”

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“You can’t just run away,” he says. “We’ll all be in a pile of shit if you do.”

“I didn’t run away. You kicked me out.”

“No, we didn’t.” He sighs. “There are protocols. Child Protective Services are going to be all over your ass. So will the police, if this gets out. You have to go through the system.”

“I think I’m done with the system.”

“You’re seventeen. You’re not done with the system till the system is done with you.”

“So don’t tell them.”

“You mean lie?”

“No. Just . . . don’t tell them.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “You doing okay?”

“Yup.”

“That lady is okay with you being there?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts. “I’m guessing she’s not a certified foster care provider.”

“Not . . . technically.”

“Not technically.” He laughs drily. “Shit. Well, maybe you’re right. No need to do anything drastic. When’re you eighteen, again?”

“Soon.”

“So if it’s not hurting us . . . and it’s not hurting you . . .”

“That money comes in handy, huh?”

He’s silent again, and for a moment Molly thinks he’s hung up on her. Then he says, “Rich old lady. Big house. You’ve done pretty well for yourself. You probably don’t want us to report you missing.”

“So . . . I still live with you, then?”

“Technically,” he says. “Okay with you?”

“Okay with me. Give Dina my best.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he says.

TERRY IS NOT PARTICULARLY HAPPY TO FIND MOLLY IN THE HOUSE on Monday morning. “What’s this?” she says, her voice a sharp exclamation. Jack hasn’t told her about Molly’s new living arrangements; apparently he was hoping the situation would somehow magically resolve itself before his mother found out.

“I’ve invited Molly to stay,” Vivian announces. “And she has graciously accepted.”

“So she’s not . . .” Terry starts, looking back and forth between them. “Why aren’t you at the Thibodeaus’?” she asks Molly.

“It’s a little complicated there right now,” Molly says.

“What does that mean?”

“Things are—unsettled,” Vivian says. “And I’m perfectly happy to let her bunk in a spare room for the moment.”

“What about school?”

“Of course she’ll go to school. Why wouldn’t she?”

“This is very . . . charitable of you, Vivi, but I imagine the authorities—”

“It’s all worked out. She’s staying with me,” Vivian says firmly. “What else am I going to do with all these rooms? Open a bed-and-breakfast?”

Molly’s room is on the second floor, facing the ocean, down a long hall at the opposite side of the house from Vivian’s. In the window in Molly’s bathroom, also on the ocean side, a light cotton curtain dances constantly in the breeze, sucked toward the screen and out again, billowing toward the sink, an amiable ghostly presence.

How long has it been since anyone slept in this room? Molly wonders. Years and years and years.

Her belongings, all that she brought with her from the Thibodeaus’, fill a scant three shelves in the closet. Vivian insists that she take an antique rolltop desk from the parlor and set it up in the bedroom across the hall from hers so she can study for finals. No sense in confining yourself to one room when there are all these options, is there?

Options. She can sleep with the door open, wander around freely, come and go without someone watching her every move. She hadn’t realized how much of a toll the years of judgment and criticism, implied and expressed, have taken on her. It’s as if she’s been walking on a wire, trying to keep her balance, and now, for the first time, she is on solid ground.