of looking for a friend. She was terrified of Moll. She was worried about Moll.
There was a particular bench she liked. There was a particular café. Everywhere she went she felt as though Moll had just been there. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to ask anyone, “Excuse me, have you by chance seen a woman identical to me but wearing dirty sweatpants?”
She sat in the parked car in the uncomfortable heat, immobilized by the what-ifs, the swiftness with which anything can change, the ever-present split second that is the difference between blood spilling or not, the difference between one future and another. She contemplated equally the possibility that Moll had slipped away for all eternity and the possibility that Moll would reappear at any moment to kill her.
Where was she?
Molly was unlocking the door to Norma’s house when she remembered that Norma was back from her trip. She did not want to see Norma. She did not want to see anybody. Only one person. But here came Norma, through the kitchen with her walker.
“Forget something?” Norma said.
So Moll had indeed done the same: had gone to Norma’s, had unlocked the door before realizing the house was no longer uninhabited.
Molly stepped inside. The kitchen still buzzed from her first encounter with Moll. It was the same as ever: the tarnished copper kettle, the red-and-white-checkered fabric, the strawberry lamp. Yet now it buzzed with something, and would forevermore.
“It really will take me a while to get over your slaughter of my plants,” Norma said. “But still, do you want another cup of tea?”
Norma was tall and keen and now, often, ill. The word BLOOD on the whiteboard on the fridge had been replaced by the word PAY, in the same blue letters.
“How was Arizona?” Molly said, trying to think of what one ought to say.
“I thought I was supposed to be the one in danger of senility,” Norma shot back.
“I should—” Molly said, struggling to facilitate a graceful exit. Feeling guilty, rude. “—the kids.”
Norma was, as ever, unruffled. “Yes, I thought you were in a rush to get back to them. Go! Go! Don’t forget to tell them I got them a dodo.”
Driving home she thought of the night—she refused to believe it was only five nights ago—when Moll, silent and unknown, had driven her to Norma’s house. The way the car had smelled of papier-mâché.
Through the side window Molly spied Erika giving the children a snack at the table. She snuck across the yard, went to the basement to look for Moll.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, Molly took note of the cardboard box (now shoved partway under the futon) that Moll had brought down two nights ago, the box containing their most mundane favorites, the scarf, the hoodie, the T-shirt, the socks. At the time she had believed it was a threat, a sign of Moll settling in, taking possession of all her precious things. Only now did it occur to her that Moll had brought it down so both of them could be a little more comfortable during their long cellar hours, could have a hint of solace.
She checked every corner, every shadow, but Moll was not in the basement.
4
Upstairs, the kids were out of sorts, and Erika was out of sorts too. Erika was never out of sorts. She took the cash from Molly and hurried off, gathering herself just enough to mutter, “Sorry, I’m so not feeling great.”
Viv kept begging for things (a video, a Popsicle), and, weak, Molly acquiesced.
Ben didn’t want to do anything except nurse. Even once he had drained both breasts still he wanted to suckle. She let him, held him, but after a while it became ridiculous and she had to get dinner on the table. She pulled him off her and set him on the rug, surrounded by toys. He howled as though she had orphaned him.
Where was Moll?
She finally put her foot down vis-à-vis the videos and instructed Viv to entertain her brother. Viv built a block tower. Ben knocked it over. Viv screamed at him. Ben tried and failed to throw a block at his sister.
“Relax!” Molly found herself shrieking. “Relax!”
Neither child would eat a bite of the dinner she had prepared. No pasta? No carrot? No banana? No graham cracker with peanut butter?
No! No! No! No! No!
Come to think of it, the food was repulsive to her too.
Bath time, early bedtime. She could make it. Somehow she would make it.
Oh, but Viv did not want to take a