Sabrina’s face darkens. Her gaze turns icy, brittle. “Excuse me?”
“Lenore-dot-smith at Gmail dot com. You were the one who sent me that email with the picture. You’re the one who set Jake up. You wanted me to believe that he was cheating on me.”
Jake looks like he’s been socked in the stomach. “Is that true, Sabrina?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.
“Of course not,” she spits. “We know she’s a fucking liar.”
“So I’m a liar, and Liz is a liar, too?” Molly glowers. “What do you want from me? What did you want from Liz? Who are you?”
Sabrina moves toward Molly again. Her fists are clenched, and Molly takes a step back. “You’re the one who lied.” Sabrina speaks slowly, dragging each syllable. A muscle in her jaw twitches. “You lied to me. You lied to Jake. You lied to your husband. You lied to your own daughter about who her father is. Now it makes sense, why you can’t get pregnant. Maybe you should man up and tell Stella the real reason you can’t give her a sibling. Explain that her fake daddy’s swimmers aren’t up to the task.”
The current of Molly’s blood quickens into white-hot rage, at the same time a swell of tears gathers in her throat, pressing behind her eyes. She can feel her fury on the verge of boiling over. She takes another step back, away from the pool, outside the fence now. Sabrina paces forward, her green eyes demonic and wild, and presses her hands against Molly’s shoulders, shoving her farther back.
Molly nearly trips, fighting to catch her footing in her leather sandals—the slippery ones she dislikes but told herself looked good with her outfit. She nearly topples toward Sabrina, who is ready for her. In one quick motion, she shoves her whole body into Molly’s, springing her backward with surprising force. What happens next seems to pass in slow motion.
Molly feels herself slipping, feels her heels teeter at the edge of the top stone step—she hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close to the stairs—and then her arms are circling instinctively, though she knows it’s no use, she knows already she is going to fall, and in the moment before she does she takes stock of the scene around her—the colorful remains of the pi?ata hanging from Becky’s oak tree, the unicorn float bobbing along the glassy surface of the pool, the bright sun sitting high in the cloudless sky, the petrified faces of the people who watch her, helpless. Molly has the fleeting, useless thought that Hunter had always been right to pester his mother about installing a gate at the top of the stone steps. But it’s a moot point, of course, because Molly is already falling, and she’s aware that she’s falling and then there is pain—fast, rough, unstoppable pain she isn’t ready for—and she’s terrified at the same time she’s grateful Stella isn’t there to see it, and when it’s over there is nothing, only darkness.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Molly
2016
Hunter leaned against the side of the railing, gazing over the East River. It was the second day of 2016—cold but bright, with little traffic on the pier. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a tangerine shimmer onto the surface of the water. Molly had just finished explaining everything to Hunter—the news of her pregnancy, canceling the Europe trip, her fight with Jake, and her plans to move out.
Spilling her heart to Hunter was everything she needed. Though she’d barely known him a year, it felt safe, comfortable. Molly didn’t need to brace herself for opinionated feedback. Hunter knew just to listen.
“Wow,” he said after several moments of silence. The expression on his face was indiscernible. “I’m glad you told me. I knew something was up the night you called me a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry again about that. I was a disaster that night.” Molly pressed her forearms to the railing. “I was so drunk, first of all. And in the middle of being wasted, I decided it was a good time to take a pregnancy test and … well, yeah. It was bad.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Hunter studied her with those kind, wide-set brown eyes—eyes that had never stopped being familiar to Molly. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Physically? I’ve been so nauseous. I can only eat really simple foods, easy carbs like crackers and buttered noodles. Teaching yoga has been rough in my current state.”
“I can only imagine. Maybe you should talk to your boss.”
“I know. I think I’ll have to sooner rather than later.”