15

Molly could hear Bruce and her mother arguing. She couldn't make out all the words, but the tone was unmistakable. She lay on the floor of her bedroom, near the air-conditioning duct. Her room was right above Bruce's office, where he often summoned her mother or Chad or Erin to shout at them for their latest sin against him. Molly had learned long ago to make herself inconspicuous to the men her mother dated. She made no exception for Bruce, even if he was technically now her father. She didn't think of him that way. She thought of him as someone whose house she happened to live in.

The argument was about Erin. Her sister's name had stood out in the rise and fall of the conversation. Something was definitely up. Her mother had already been upset when Molly had gotten home from school, pacing, nervous, darting out the back door to smoke one cigarette after another. Dinner had been delivered from Domino's. Krystal hadn't eaten any of it. Chad had bolted down enough to choke a wolf, then beat it out of the house before Bruce got home.

And when Bruce walked in the door, Krystal had immediately asked to speak to him in his office.

Molly's stomach was churning with worry. She had made out Erin's name and had heard the word "police." Her mother's tone had gone from urgent to angry to hysterical to tears. Bruce just sounded angry. And intermingled with the voices was a mechanical sound, like the VCR going on, going off, rewinding. Molly couldn't imagine what it meant. Maybe Krystal had found a porno tape in Chad's room. But then, why had she heard Erin's name, not Chad's?

Heart pounding, Molly left her room and crept down the back staircase. The house was dark except for the light coming from the office. She made her way down the hall on her tiptoes, holding her breath. If the office door opened, she was caught. The family room was adjacent to the office. If she could just slip in there… She ducked into the corner behind the ficus tree and crouched down against the wall.

"We are not calling the police, Krystal," Bruce said. "First of all, I don't believe it's real. It's some kind of hoax-"

"But what if it isn't?"

"They said don't call the police."

"My God, I can't believe this is happening," Krystal said, her voice trembling.

"I don't know why not," Bruce said. "She's your daughter. You know she's never been anything but trouble."

"How can you talk that way?"

"Easily. It's true."

"You can be so fucking cruel. I don't believe it. Ouch! You're hurting me! Bruce!"

Tears welled up in Molly's eyes. She hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to shake.

"I've asked you not to use foul language, Krystal. You can't be a lady with the mouth of a sailor."

Krystal rushed to apologize. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm upset. I didn't mean it."

"You're irrational. You have to get control of yourself, Krystal. Think this through logically. The tape says no police."

"What will we do?"

"I'll handle it."

"But I think-"

"Has anyone asked you to think?"

"No."

"Who makes the decisions in this house, Krystal?"

Krystal drew a shaky breath. "The person who is best equipped to make them."

"And who is that person?"

"You."

"Thank you. Now leave it to me. Go take a pill and go to bed. There's nothing we can do tonight."

"Yes," Krystal said softly. "I think I will do that."

Molly knew from past experience her mother would take more than one pill, and she would wash it down with vodka. She would retreat into her own little world and pretend everything in her life was lovely and fine. Molly, meanwhile, felt sick to her stomach. Everything she'd heard frightened her. What had Erin done now? Something terrible, if Krystal wanted to call the police.

"I'm going for a drive to clear my head," Bruce said. "I had a terrible day. Now this."

Molly held very still, praying neither of them would come into the family room for any reason. She heard her mother's heels on the tile in the hall. Krystal always went up the main staircase because it was beautiful and she had always dreamed of living in a beautiful house. Bruce walked past the family room on his way to the kitchen. Molly stayed still until she heard him go out the door to the garage. She waited to hear his car start and for the garage door to close, and then she waited a little longer. When she was sure he had gone, she crept out of her hiding place and went into his office.

No one was allowed in Bruce's office when Bruce wasn't there. He expected everyone to respect his privacy even though he regularly invaded everyone else's. This was his house, and he never let any of them forget it.

Molly turned on the desk lamp and looked around at the bookshelves and the walls covered with photographs of Bruce shaking hands with important people, with Bruce's awards for this and that having to do with his job and with his service to the community. Everything in the room was placed exactly as Bruce wanted it, and he would know if one little thing got moved a fraction of an inch.

Molly checked over her shoulder as she picked up the remote for the television and VCR. She hit the play button and waited, so nervous she was shaking all over.

The movie started without any credits or titles or anything. A girl standing by a gate on a back road. Erin. Molly watched in horror as a van pulled up and a man in a mask jumped out and grabbed her and threw her into the van.

A strange mechanical voice came out of the speakers: "We have your daughter. Don't call the police-"

Tears flooding her glasses, Molly hit the stop button, hit eject, scrambled onto a chair, and reached up to snag the video out of the machine. She wanted to cry out loud. She wanted to throw up. She did neither.

Clutching the tape, she ran through the house to the laundry room and grabbed her jacket off the hook. She wrapped the tape in the jacket and tied the jacket around her waist. She was shaking so badly, she didn't know if she would have the strength to do what she had to. All she knew was that she had to try.

She opened the garage door, climbed on her bike, and took off, pedaling as hard as she could down the street and into the night.