Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

All he could think about was Molly’s younger brother, Charlie , who was supposed to have committed suicide.

“What?” Molly murmured into her cell phone.

She sat on the edge of the chaise longue in her attic art studio. The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. Two levels down, on the first floor, Erin was parked in front of the TV in the family room and Chris was on the computer in Jeff’s study. Jeff had asked Molly to take her cell where the kids couldn’t hear her. So she’d come up here.

She’d been on edge most of the day. Jeff had kept asking if she wanted him to cancel his trip to Washington, D.C. But she’d insisted he go, and so he’d gone — at 11:35 this morning. She’d tried to act brave about being alone with the kids so soon after the latest cul-de-sac murders. It wouldn’t be for long. Jeff would be back the day after tomorrow — the same day she’d be seeing her doctor.

Chris had come home late and immediately barricaded himself in Jeff’s study. He’d emerged for dinner: sloppy joes, green beans, and fries in front of a Simpsons rerun in the family room. Molly kept weekday dinners without Jeff casual. During a commercial, Chris announced he was spending tomorrow night at Larry’s place. His mother would be there alone, because Larry was helping chaperone an overnight field trip to Olympia with his daughter’s class.

“I think my mom could use the company,” Chris said, gazing at the TV — and not her. “She shouldn’t have to be alone in that house. You’ll be okay with Erin, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Molly said. “If it’s okay with your dad and mom, that’s fine with me,” Molly continued. “I can drop you off in Bellevue tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can I stay with my mom, too?” Erin asked, almost kicking her TV table.

“That’s fine,” Molly said, with a pale smile.

She wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow night all by herself — with an empty, dark house next door. And while Chris’s reason for leaving her alone seemed rational enough — even sweet, in that he was looking out for his mother — there seemed more to it. Molly felt him pulling away. He’d hardly looked at her all night.

After dinner, Chris called his dad from the phone in the study. He had the door closed. Molly was watching TV with Erin, but she could hear him down the hall murmuring. He raised his voice a few times, but the words were indistinguishable. He was talking in there for twenty minutes, which was something of a record. He and his dad usually kept their phone conversations brief.

Finally, Molly heard the study door click open, and Chris lumbered into the family room with the cordless in his hand. Eyes downcast, he gave her the phone. “Dad wants to talk to you,” he muttered. Then he retreated back to the study and closed the door.

“Erin, honey, could you turn down the TV a bit,” Molly said. Then she spoke into the phone. “Hi, there. .”

“Hi, babe, we need to talk,” Jeff said. “If you can get away from the kids for a few minutes, I’ll call you back on your cell. . ”

It was raining lightly; so instead of stepping outside with her phone, Molly had retreated up to her studio. Jeff had called after only a minute or so — and he’d told her what had been bothering Chris tonight.

“What?” Molly repeated into the cell phone. She got up from the chaise longue and clutched a hand to her stomach. “So that’s why he’s been in your study all night. He’s been holed up in there, looking up articles about my brother. My God, no wonder he can’t bring himself to look at me.”

“I think his biggest concern was making sure I knew,” Jeff said gently.

“So — he just assumed I’d keep something like that from you?” Molly asked. She started pacing around the studio space. “Is that the kind of person he thinks I am?”

“Honey, look at it this way. Together, we kept him in the dark about this for well over a year. You can’t blame him for wanting to check with me to find out how much I know.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you who we can blame for this — Angela!” Molly said, exasperated. “God, she’s a piece of work. Is she so out to get me that she doesn’t give a damn about traumatizing her own son? Just the other day, I was starting to feel sorry for her. I was starting to feel she might be halfway human. And then she turns around and smashes our pumpkins. It doesn’t seem to matter that it broke poor Erin’s heart. And now, she’s pulling this shit with Chris. She’s crazy! Breaking into his locker, leaving notes. . ”

“I’ll talk to her,” Jeff said.

“She’ll just deny it,” Molly shot back. “The same way she denied smashing our pumpkins on Saturday, and then using her old key to get back in here and leave that — that weird smiley-face jack-o-lantern arrangement for me to find on the kitchen counter. I’m sorry, but I’ve had it with her. She’s certifiable, she really is.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Jeff sighed. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this. I’ll have it out with her tomorrow. The gloves are coming off, I promise. By the way, I told Chris that he and Erin are staying home tomorrow night. You shouldn’t be alone there. Besides, I don’t want them spending any time with Angela until I’ve talked to her. I don’t think she realizes how much she’s hurting her own children in her efforts to hurt us.”

Molly plopped down on the chaise longue again. “No,” she said resolutely into the phone. “I’ll have it out with her. It’s high time I handle this. You’re too nice, Jeff.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to Chris tonight and straighten things out with him. And I’ll talk to Angela tomorrow. And when you come home on Wednesday night, this will all be in the past. . ”

As she assured her husband that all their fears and troubles would soon be behind them, Molly almost believed it herself.

Almost.

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

Chris had been expecting it — and dreading it, too. He’d hoped maybe if he came up here and shut the door, she might not bother him. He really didn’t want to talk to Molly right now. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that her brother had shot all those people in that college cafeteria. One of the articles he’d read online said that Roland Charles Wright fired nineteen shots from a handgun, which meant the son of a bitch probably had to stop and reload while people around him were screaming and dying.

And this creep was his uncle.

No wonder Molly and his dad had kept it a secret.

At his desk, Chris turned his swivel chair. “Yeah, come in,” he grunted.

Molly opened the door. She had a photo album tucked under her arm. Chris had glanced through it one night when he’d been bored and alone in the house. Molly kept it on the bookcase in her art studio — along with those elephant figurines. Chris had been a lot more fascinated by the nudes in her figure-study drawing books than snapshots of Molly’s childhood.

She stepped into the room and set the photo album on his bed. “So — now you know why I don’t talk about my family much.”

He frowned at her. “You told me that your brother committed suicide.”

Molly shrugged. “Well, in a way he did. I don’t think he expected to live through that— nightmare he inflicted on so many people. Anyway, it’s easier for me to tell people he killed himself. Usually it shuts them up and keeps them from asking any more questions — at least out loud.” With a sigh, she sat down at the edge of his bed. “I’m sorry I treated you like just people. Your dad and I should have trusted you with the truth, only — well, it’s been difficult enough for you to get used to me without me dragging my family skeletons out of the closet.”