It’s eighty-five degrees and I’m getting sticky in my rain jacket, but the clouds are growing thick and dark, and a downpour seems inevitable—my choice of attire was smart. I watch Jake and Stella clamber out of the ocean, dodging the mellow waves as they make their way back onto the beach. I don’t know what is said—too bad binoculars don’t work for hearing—but it must be something emotional, because you and Jake have a moment. I see the way he takes hold of your hand, his gaze fixed to yours, grave and unmoving, like a glass-eyed doll. Really, Molly? In front of Stella? Bold.
And then the two of you pull apart, and you’re walking back down the beach with Stella at a brisker pace than before. There’s something helpless in Jake’s body language as he watches you go, arms hanging limply at his sides, palms open. It’s unclear if there was any kind of formal goodbye.
You’re getting closer now; I put down the binoculars and turn back to my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see you load Stella into your Audi—buckling her into her car seat like the responsible parent you pride yourself on being—and drive away.
Jake—poor, pathetic Jake—stares after your car like a sad child. He doesn’t move for several minutes. When he finally does, he spins around and looks toward the picnic tables, so quickly and directly I almost fall off the bench. But my body relaxes when I see that he’s heading for the gazebo, that he hasn’t noticed me sitting here at all.
Thunder rumbles through the sky. The rain starts slowly, one droplet at a time. The few families that are still gathered on the beach start to pack up their belongings. Whining children covered in sand are dragged toward SUVs. I watch Jake typing on his phone, and I know—I just know, Molly—that he’s texting you.
I’m not going anywhere until Jake leaves the beach, but I have to change my post. I’m too close to the gazebo. Dangerously close.
The umbrella was a good idea. I open it, using the canopy to shield my face as I walk to the right of the gazebo and head down the beach. I need to be careful, so I don’t stop until I’ve gone at least a quarter mile, well out of Jake’s sight. Then I sit down on the sand and take the binoculars back out of my bag. It isn’t easy to use them and keep the umbrella propped over my head at the same time—it’s started raining more steadily now—but I make it work. I study Jake. He leans against the railing of the gazebo, staring pensively out over the water. I don’t know if he just needs a moment alone to collect his thoughts, or if he’s waiting for you. I am praying, begging, pleading with the universe that it isn’t the latter.
But the universe is not on my side today, Molly. Because there is your car, pulling back into the parking lot. A knife stabs my gut. A sharp, unfurling pain.
You run down the beach toward the gazebo, toward Jake, your ponytail a flash of yellow dancing behind you. I watch the two of you collide; I watch him wipe the rain—or tears?—off your face.
There’s a loud crack of lightning, and the rain falls faster, slapping the umbrella at a steady pace. Water gathers in the lenses of the binoculars, and it’s harder to see, but there are Jake’s hands, running down the length of your body, pushing you against the rail of the gazebo. I want to die, Molly. I really want to fucking die.
It’s pouring now. The bottom half of my leggings are soaked, and I can’t see a thing. I stand and jog haphazardly toward the gazebo, and that’s when I see the two of you heading toward Jake’s Jeep, ducking your heads as you run through the rain. You climb into the back seat, and the knife inside me twists, burrowing deeper. I stop in my tracks. I can’t risk getting any closer.
Time stands still. I drop the umbrella and stare at the car through thick silver sheets of rain. I am drenched and sick and helpless. I don’t know how much time passes—ten minutes, or maybe it’s hours. Eventually, the back door of the Jeep flings open. I watch you climb out and run across the parking lot to your own vehicle. I watch your engine rev; I watch you speed away from Skipping Beach, your taillights flashing red in the blur of wet, gray darkness.
You won’t get away with this, Molly. Not on my watch.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Molly
2015
It was September, but the summer heat hadn’t cooled. Despite the AC unit that hummed in their bedroom window on Driggs, Molly still woke up sticky with sweat. Beside her, Jake stirred. She was almost afraid for the moment when he’d open his eyes. She never knew what kind of mood he’d wake up in.
“Morning, Moll.” His voice was scratchy. He reached for her underneath the covers, wrapping one arm around her bare abdomen and pulling her in close.