Someone to Love(67)

“Shit.” Cruise dips into the windshield disbelieving. “Molly said it wasn’t that big a deal.”

I want to say, that’s because she’s got a forked tongue, but don’t. I bite the inside of my cheek instead, as we take in the melee.

“Jeez,” I say as they pull a stretcher out of the wide mouth of the ambulance.

Cruise and I speed our way over. I’ve never been to the bed and breakfast before. I’ve sort of been behind the scenes, literally.

The Victorian style building, with its sunny disposition, looms larger than life as we barrel past the litany of emergency crew workers.

Molly straggles outside, looking frightened out of her mind.

Cruise snatches her by the shoulders. “What happened? Where’s Mom?”

“She’s inside. She fell.”

Cruise races past her, and we follow.

At the base of the entry, sits his poor mother, howling in pain as several EMTs struggle to land her on a gurney. She lets out a deafening bellow as they count to three and swing her just the way my brother used to maneuver me before throwing me in the pool.

“I’m okay.” She clutches at Cruise, digging her freshly manicured nails in his flesh like she’s totally not. “Fell from the top, lucky I didn’t damn near kill myself. Just twisted an ankle, that’s all.”

“You could’ve broken your neck,” Cruise says, glancing up at the uniformed technician to affirm his spine-snapping theory.

“You never know”—the EMT ratchets up the gurney, and Sam lets out a riotous cry—“X-rays might show exactly that.”





Cruise, Molly, and I follow the ambulance to a hospital situated by the cape. We sit in a waiting room for hours as the doctors assess the damage.

Cruise sits on the couch hovering over his laptop while Molly flips through an old issue of People. But it’s the view outside that captivates me, casts its spell over me and makes me linger. From the large picture window, you can see the Atlantic seize against the icy shore. A blanket of fog penetrates the vicinity as the moon slices through its shallow curtain, but you can still make out the jagged shoreline as it illuminates through the mist. The whitecaps glow as they release against the sand in a fit of sensual delirium.

I had lived all my life near the ocean and never witnessed such magic, such brazen prowess exhibited by the stormy sea. The anxious waves thrust their hips against the shore, roaring as they push deep into the pliable sand until it smooths into submission. The water trembles over her tawny expanse until it ejaculates all of its foaming affection, reducing itself to a whisper. The waves roll back into themselves in a bionic rush, just to repeat the effort. Cruise is the sea, insatiable and hungry, all whispers and roars.

Molly creeps up beside me while Cruise continues to work diligently on his thesis. I can’t help but give a private smile. I feel like a leading character in a book he’s writing.

“It’s almost time,” Molly sings it low and mean like a bully. “A week and a half and we’re good to go.” She pulls at one of her blond curls and lets it spring back into shape.

“Good to go for what?” I feel a threat coming on like a cold.

“You know…” Her eyes bug out as if I should finish the sentence. She plucks at the pendant dangling from her necklace, inadvertently showing off her chipped black polish. Looks like Molly steers clear of the Not-So-Happy Hair and Nail Salon, and for good reason—“skunk” isn’t exactly the latest hair craze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can hardly walk, let alone recall anything from our last encounter. God—how I’d like to forget our last encounter.

“The pill.” She elongates the word as if it had special meaning, but I’m still not picking up the psychotic connection. Come to think of it, I’d much rather Molly go skunk than skank. Why did I ever drive her to the free clinic to begin with?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I curl my L in the same manner. I wouldn’t put it past little Ms. Manipulation to fake some conversation just to make me feel senile.

She draws back with horrified surprise, and her mouth squares out as if she’s truly shocked by something. “Did you have sex with my brother?”

“Shh!” I give a little spastic dance on my tiptoes. The last thing I want Cruise to hear is Molly and I shooting the sexual breeze. It’s all kinds of wrong for me to be talking to his little sister about S-E-X.

I dart a look over to Cruise, who sits blissfully unaware of the fact I’m busy discussing pills and coital encounters, with, of all people, his bratty little sister.