We Told Six Lies(55)

“But you don’t know Duane?” I ask.

She hesitates, and I see that she knows more than she initially let on.

“We’re friends,” I push. “But I haven’t seen him in a while.”

What would Molly do?

I frown. Run a hand through my hair. “I’m kind of worried. The two of us were more than friends, if I’m being honest.”

Molly would be proud.

“Oh, okay. Well.” The girl looks back at the gym. It’s gotten darker, and those metallic letters are now backlit in blue. I can hear the music from out here. It’s subtle, but it makes my muscles ache with the need to move. She makes a face like she’s telling me something she shouldn’t. “I think he took off. Went to Thailand. I guess he didn’t put in his notice, so Chad was pretty pissed about it. That’s what this guy Aaron told me, anyway.”

“When?” I ask, stepping toward her. “When did he take off?”

My entire body tenses, awaiting her response. Calculating how long Molly’s been gone.

She scrunches up her face. “Uh, right before I got hired. So…a week ago? I think he called Chad collect from Thailand, but Chad wouldn’t accept the charges.”

I have to laugh then, because only Duane would first skip town without word and then try to call collect from another freaking country.

“Did you…did you want to come back to work at Steel?” the girl ventures. “Like I said, I haven’t been there long, but I could—”

“No,” I say. “No, that’s okay. But maybe don’t tell Chad you saw me.”

The concern rushes back to her eyes. “Okay. Hey, sorry, I’ve got to run. Sorry about you and Duane. You’re better off, if what Aaron tells me is true.”

I watch as she gets into her car and drives away. She glances back once to see if I’m still there.

I almost wave.

After she’d gone, my eyes flick to that glowing Steel sign. I think about what she said. That Duane left town long after Molly did. I have serious doubts that Molly went to Thailand. Whether she sent that letter to her mom herself, or someone else did, in the end it was mailed inside the U.S. So, no, I don’t think Duane has any idea where Molly is. He probably doesn’t even know she’s missing.

It hits me, then, just how absurd it would have been if he had. I mean, why did I even suspect him of anything at all? Because he thought my girlfriend was attractive?

What about Jet? Because she embarrassed him?

And Nixon? Because he was male and her friend?

Rhana? Because I thought she was jealous of Molly?

Her mom? Because she smothered her daughter?

My brother? Because he asked about her?

The reporter? Because he took a photo of us?

I’ve pointed fingers in as many directions as I could to avoid the inevitable. That maybe, just maybe, Molly really did just leave me. Maybe, in the end, Molly only did what she did because she is everything that reporter insinuated she was. Unpredictable. Manipulative.

Just like her father.

The other alternative is that she was taken. But my list of suspects has shriveled to exactly zero, and I’m no closer to finding out what happened to my girlfriend.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense!

Except, that is, the line from her letter.

My compass is broken.

I finally remember how she referred to her heart as her compass.

So her heart is broken, is it?

An answer, at long last.

But it’s an answer that leads to yet another question— Am I the one who broke it?





MOLLY


He brought her the bird.

It lived after all, and so he placed it inside a small rusted cage and hung it from the ceiling. Molly could hardly sleep at night since its arrival. She feared it would disappear when she wasn’t looking.

She loved the bird, but it hurt her to see it. To be reminded of the outside. Of beautiful things, and unexpected things. She had to escape. She could no longer be patient. And so when he brought her another dress—this one with plastic flower buttons—she asked him a single question.

“Can we spend the night together?”

He’d been watching the bird, but he turned to look at her when she asked this. He didn’t respond, and so she asked a different way.

“I’ve missed singing to you,” she said. “You haven’t come to me in several nights.”

He looked up at the bird as if saying she had plenty of company.

“It’s not the same,” she said in a rush when he moved toward the door. “I need human companionship. I know you understand that.”

He stopped in the doorway and kicked the door open a little wider with his boot. An invitation.

“Blue,” she said when he started to go up the stairs without her.

He turned around, impatient, and then remembered her bound wrists. He came toward her with his knife to cut them. She wondered how much more of the unbreakable plastic rope he had. An infinite amount, she decided. Enough to lasso the moon. To pull it toward him and bind it so that no light shone from the heavens at night.

He reached up to cut the ties, and she pressed against him. Blue grew still. As soon as her arm was free, she wrapped it around him. Hugged their bodies close.