Molly - Sarah Monzon Page 0,32

cause. But they couldn’t explain the emotional struggle of coming to terms with my healthy, vibrant, young wife leaving me the same day she gifted me with a beautiful daughter.

Molly’s fingertips lightly touched the side of my hand. “Enough of a similarity that his case triggered these memories for you.”

Her voice held empathy within its rich tones. Not sympathy—a simple feeling of concern or sorrow for another—but deep, profound, and overwhelming empathy. As if she’d crawled into my skin and taken on my emotions as her own.

A single tear gathered in her eye. The sister to those I’d shed earlier.

She was so good. Tenderhearted and more sensitive to others than anyone I’d ever met. That inner radiance enhanced the beauty genetics had already graced her with, and I felt a part of myself that had been shut for a long time creaking open to allow her in.

My hand moved without a conscious command from my brain, and I leaned forward, bringing our faces inches apart as I collected the drop of liquid on the pad of my thumb. “Wouldn’t want any salt streaks now, would we?” I whispered, my voice husky to my ears.

Her hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

A forgotten sensation spread outward from my belly, clenching my abdomen then rushing hot, leaving tingling pinpricks in its wake. Surprise warred with pleasure but was ultimately beaten by chagrin.

I retreated from Molly in a single, quick motion, sitting back against the cushions of the couch. If I were in an MRI machine, my brain would be lit up like a Christmas tree. I was momentarily blinded by the brightness.

Molly smiled in understanding then turned back to her computer and open books without a word—I assumed to give me a moment to stop seeing stars dance in front of my eyes.

My gaze caught on the cover of one of the books. “Dr. Seuss?”

She ran her finger over the mouse touchpad then double-clicked on something. “I’m writing a paper for my classes on early literacy, and a section of the essay covers how to use Dr. Seuss’s works in pedagogical practices.”

“Really?” My holiday-lit brain warned this is a bad idea, but my mouth said, “You know what you need, then, don’t you?”

Her lips quirked. “Green eggs and ham?”

Agree! Agree! Offer breakfast in a box with a fox. “I do not like them, Sam-I-am.” I smiled and ignored the counsel of my prefrontal cortex. The thalamus, home of my limbic system, seemed to have taken control of the helm, flooded my blood stream, and gagged my frontal lobe.

Was it smart to spend more time with Molly outside of her caring for Chloe? I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted to. “No, you need a field trip. Lucky for you, Chloe and I were planning on going to La Jolla tomorrow. You have to come with us.”

She tried to scowl and failed adorably. “Have to?”

I nodded. “Once I sic Chloe on you, there’ll be no way you could tell her no.”

At that, she laughed. “In that case, I surrender.”

“Good.” I stood and yawned, all sides of my brain threatening to strike if I didn’t get sleep soon. “And now that I have a bed-time story stuck in my head, I’m going to get some winks.”

She offered me a warm smile. “Sweet dreams.”

I hadn’t thought pleasant dreams would be possible with a night like I’d had. While memories of Laura were normally sweet, the ones surrounding her death often left me with nightmares and stole any possibility of a peaceful rest.

I glanced at Molly over my shoulder as I rounded the hall. Instead of a cavernous emptiness in the hollow of my gut, a calm filled me. Maybe I’d enjoy sweet dreams after all.

9

Molly

Mom

Today at 11:38 AM

Do you have my Pyrex?

Yeah. I’ve been meaning to

drop it off. Sorry!

It’s ok. Can you do lunch

at 1? The bakery?

1:30?

See you there

I pulled into an empty parking space at the bakery where Mom and I often met to have lunch. The rush had passed, but quite a few cars still occupied the lot. Being right outside the main gate of the Naval base, the chain restaurant had a steady flow of sailors filling up before heading back for their shifts.

Meeting here was easier for Mom and me as well. I’d aged out of the dependent stage and no longer had a military ID, so if I wanted to visit my parents, who lived