Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Zipping her jeans back up, she threw on the periwinkle top she’d planned to wear and hurried down the stairs. Molly unlocked the front door and opened it. “Hi, Angela,” she murmured, puzzled.

Jeff’s ex stood on the front stoop with a tray of hummus, raw vegetables, and pita bread. Her silver-brown hair was slicked back in a small ponytail. She wore big gold earrings and a silky bronze-colored V-neck top over black jeans. She’d laid the makeup on a bit thick.

“The potluck is at Lynette’s,” Molly said, her hand on the doorknob.

“I know,” Angela replied sheepishly. “Can I come in?”

Molly opened the door wider. “I’m just getting ready. It’s in forty-five minutes, isn’t it?”

Angela didn’t seem to hear her. She stood in the front hallway, gazing around. She took a deep breath. “It’s exactly the same. I thought it would be different.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Molly that Angela hadn’t been inside the house for well over eighteen months. She noticed the tears in Angela’s eyes. “Here, let me take that for you,” she said, relieving her of the hors d’oeuvre tray. She carried it into the kitchen and set it on the counter.

Following her, Angela pulled a handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose. Molly watched her assessing the kitchen and family room. Two months ago, Molly had gotten rid of Angela’s ugly maroon drapes with the fleur-de-lis design and replaced them with some heather-green curtains from Pottery Barn.

“I see a few changes,” Angela announced, “but nothing really drastic. If I were you, moving into another woman’s house, I’d have gutted the place and started all over again.”

“The kids were going through enough transitions,” Molly explained. “So — Jeff and I decided to take it slow with the redecorating. I didn’t throw anything out. I put it down in the basement. If you want your old curtains—”

“God, no,” she said, with a wave of dismissal. “I don’t care. Give them to Goodwill.” She wandered over to the breakfast table and stood behind Molly’s chair.

Molly realized it used to be Angela’s chair. She hadn’t thought about it until now.

Angela put her hand on the top of the chair’s backrest and sighed. “I took everything I wanted out of here when I left. Anything you decide to replace, you can throw out. Except one thing — the white wicker rocking chair in Erin’s room — it used to be my mom’s. She rocked me in it when I was a baby, and I rocked Chris and Erin in it when they were babies. I want Erin to have it.”

Molly nodded. “I know, Jeff told me. Erin’s room is just the same as when you left.”

“Would it — would it be okay if I went up there?” Angela asked.

Molly gazed at her. “Is this why you’ve dropped in — because you want to see the house again?”

Angela nodded. “I knew Erin had a birthday party, and Chris had a swim meet — which Jeff wouldn’t miss for the world. I didn’t want to come back here while anyone else was home. I didn’t know how I’d react. . ” Her voice started to quiver. “I lived here for two years, and some of that time was very happy. I’ve missed this place. . ”

Molly didn’t say anything. She wasn’t quite sure she believed Jeff’s ex had dropped in for solely sentimental reasons. Up until now, she’d been so manipulative and catty. She watched Angela dab her eyes with the handkerchief again.

“Sure, you can take a look at Erin’s room,” Molly said finally. She started up the stairs. “For a change, it doesn’t look like a cyclone hit it.” While Angela followed her up the stairs, Molly wondered if she’d ask to see the master bedroom, too. She didn’t want Angela in there. It was just too weird.

Letting Angela step inside Erin’s room first, Molly stood in the doorway. Angela reached down and rearranged two stuffed animals — a giraffe and a pig — on Erin’s pillow. She moved to the empty rocker and tipped the arm, so it rocked back and forth for a few moments. The squeaking sound filled the silence between them.

“I hear you turned the attic into an art studio,” she said, at last. “Would you mind if I took a peek?”

Molly worked up a smile. “Sure, why not?” She led the way up the third-floor stairs to her studio.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Angela said, glancing around. “You put in a skylight. I didn’t realize how gorgeous the light is up here. What a great use of this space. .”

Molly watched Angela wander over to the bookcase. “I don’t see any pictures of your family around.”

“I have them in photo albums,” Molly said.

“I know your father passed away. But your mother’s still alive, isn’t that right?”

Molly stared at her. “That’s right,” she said steadily. “Are you going to ask about my brother now?”

“What do you mean?” Angela let out a skittish little laugh. “Molly, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Aren’t you going to ask about my brother? Or did you already find out enough about him from your — detective or whoever he was?”

“Jeff said something to me about that a few months ago,” Angela replied with a hand on her hip. “And I’ll tell you what I told him. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t hire anyone to snoop into your family background, Molly. I’m not getting that much alimony. I really can’t afford to waste my money on something so silly.”

Molly’s eyes wrestled with hers. She could tell Angela was lying.

“Oh, what’s the use? You don’t believe me.” Angela brushed past her on the way to the stairs. “When you first married Jeff, I tried to reach out to you and be your friend, but you were cold and distant. . ” She stomped down the steps.

“Why in the world would I want to be friends with my husband’s ex-wife?” Molly shot back. She trailed after her down the stairs. “My God, practically every time I see you, Angela, you tell me what a lying cheating sack of shit Jeff was to you. Well, I’m sorry, but I really don’t need to hear that!” Molly paused at the top of the second floor landing. “And I don’t think your son needs to hear it, either. . ”

From the bottom of the stairs, Angela glared up at her. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly shook her head. She flounced toward the kitchen.

Molly hurried down the stairs and found Angela by the kitchen counter, the hors d’oeuvre tray in her trembling hands. Angela stared down at it. The bowl full of hummus was moving slightly. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Goddamn him!” she screamed, throwing down the tray. It hit the tiled floor with a clatter. The bowl of hummus smashed, and the thick brown goo splattered against the lower cabinet. Pieces of pita bread and vegetables scattered across the floor. “God, I’m so stupid!” she cried, bracing a hand on the countertop. She shook her head. “I thought if I gave him custody of the kids, he wouldn’t be able to raise them without me. I thought he’d beg for me to come back, and he’d finally grow up. Instead, Jeff just moved on. And the worst thing is — a part of me knew he would. On a certain level, I knew he’d find someone younger and prettier to replace me — and look after my children. Now I don’t have anything. I gave up my kids, hoping somehow. .” Angela trailed off. She dug out her handkerchief again and blew her nose.

With uncertainty, Molly moved toward the kitchen, but she stopped at the breakfast table, giving Angela a wide berth.

“God, how could I be so stupid?” Angela asked with a pathetic little laugh. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this — you of all people.” She wiped her eyes, and then shook the wadded-up handkerchief at Molly. “You know, I carry these around all the time now. I keep having these — these crying jags. They just sneak up on me sometimes. God, I think I’m losing my mind.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this.”