Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

“I thought you could use a little relaxation,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“You have no idea how much,” she took the wineglass and came down to the bottom riser, almost eye-to-eye with Cole. He stood so close that she could taste the toothpaste on his breath. “Hi,” she whispered.

He kissed her, softly, on the lips. “Hi,” he said, leaning his head to hers.

They stood that way for a long moment, forehead to forehead, toes to shins—not an uncomfortable silence, but a testing of the waters.

“Thanks for doing all this,” she said, making her way to the dining room.

“I didn’t,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen only to return carrying sashimi, California rolls, and sushi arranged artistically on one tray, salad and miso soup on another. “Tsukiji’s did,” he smiled.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their wine and letting the stress of the day dissolve, until Molly couldn’t stand it anymore, she had to talk about what she’d seen. She asked him if he’d seen the fire trucks, which he had. They discussed how scared Tracey’s parents must have been, and Molly told him of her feeling that she would have known if Tracey were dead. Molly saw the stress return to Cole’s eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, carefully. “This isn’t Philly, and she’s not Amanda. We’ve been over this,” she looked away, pained. “I couldn’t help her. But maybe I can help Tracey.”

“I don’t know how you make it through each day as wrapped up as you are in all of this,” he said, his voice rising. “I can barely make it through my own stuff, and here you are gallivanting around town trying to do the police officers’ jobs.”

“I’m not trying to do their jobs,” Molly said, playing with her chopsticks. “I just feel…compelled to help find her. I know you think it’s weird, or twisted, or whatever you think, but there’s something there, Cole,” she said defensively. “There’s something that won’t let me let go of this search. It pulls on my mind whether I’m concentrating on it or not. It’s like…it’s like it’s pleading with me to figure it out.”

“I know you feel that way,” he said, dismissively, a little sarcastically. “That’s how it starts, and soon you’ll be wandering around the house unable to find any direction to your days, and wondering where you went wrong.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” They stared at each other from opposite ends of their beliefs, neither having the ability to change the other. Molly’s need to find Tracey and Cole’s need to bring her to her senses hovered in the air as if caught in the silk from a spider’s thread, fragile, yet unyielding.

The phone rang, and Molly jumped up to answer it, relieved by the distraction. Cole turned away, annoyed. She was met with an unfamiliar foreign voice. “Who’s this?” Molly said cautiously. “Edie. From store.” “Edie?” It took a moment for Molly to reconcile the voice and name with the Boyds Country Store. Edie spoke fast, her voice carried a hint of fear. “I want to talk to you. You meet me?” “Sure, Edie. I’ll come by the store tomorrow,” Molly said, thinking it odd that Edie would call her. “No. Not store. You meet me at Blue Fox. One hour.” It was not a question. The line went dead.

The restaurant was an inconspicuous little brick rambler with brown shutters, a brown roof, and a small wooden deck out front, adorned with several small wrought-iron tables and chairs. Molly walked in, still wrestling with Cole’s last comment as she’d walked out the door, You didn’t kill Amanda, Molly, but you may be killing us . It took a minute for Molly’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. The flames of small candles in shot glasses rose from the center of each small empty table and flickered with the change in air as she closed the door. An older, thin man wearing a tattered vest that looked like it had seen better days, stood behind a small bar, just feet in front of the entrance. Molly smiled at him. He grimaced, whipped a white cloth napkin off of his shoulder, and began wiping down the bar.

Molly turned at the sound of an uneven gait. A small, hunched-over woman walked through a swinging door with black letters that read, Kit hen . She wore an apron around her thick waist, and a red and white polyester dress that was made not a day earlier than the bartender’s vest. On her tiny feet she wore black shoes and white socks. Molly felt as though she had stepped back in time into some small rural establishment of years past, before electricity, before fashion. The woman stood before Molly, a scowl on her face, her head the height of Molly’s chin. Her back was bent in such a way that she could not look up at Molly without twisting her entire body to the left, which she did. Molly smiled. The woman did not smile back. “This way,” the woman directed, gruffly. Molly wondered how the business remained open with such a gloomy environment and less-than-stellar service. “Excuse me,” Molly said, politely. The woman stopped walking, and Molly almost tripped over her. She twisted her body up towards Molly again, scowling. “I’m sorry,” Molly said gently, “but I’m meeting someone here.”

The woman made a guttural sound, turned around with difficulty, scuttled back to the table next to the door, snagged another menu, and, mumbling, trudged back toward Molly, then right past her. “Come on,” she said gruffly, motioning for Molly to follow.

Molly suddenly saw the comedy in the scene and stifled a laugh. The table she was led to was one of six. The square wooden table rocked with the weight of Molly’s elbow. Headlights flashed through the front window of the restaurant. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Edie stepped in, a black hat covering her dark hair. Sunglasses and a brown knit coat completed her disguise.

“Edie, don’t you think the sunglasses are overkill?” Molly joked. Edie approached the table.

Edie glanced suddenly and suspiciously behind her. She took off her coat and sunglasses but left her hat pulled tightly down over her head. “I didn’t want to take a chance. Didn’t want no one to recognize me,” she said. “Well, there isn’t anyone here,” Molly pointed out. “I think you’ve picked the one restaurant that throws you back in time.” Edie looked at the bartender, who continued washing the glasses, but lifted his chin in a slight greeting. The old woman returned to the table. “Drinks,” she said in a monotone.

Molly ordered water with lemon and Edie ordered tea. The woman turned around without acknowledgement and hobbled away. A moment later she hobbled back out with the drinks.

Edie ran her finger around the rim of her mug, avoiding Molly’s eyes.

“Edie, what’s going on?” Molly asked.

She didn’t answer. She looked down, and then, slowly, up at Molly. “I should not tell you,” Edie said, sipping her tea and looking away. “Should not tell me what?” Molly asked, becoming annoyed at the cat and mouse game. Edie stared blankly at the table and said with no emotion, “I wrote notes. I pay girl to call you.” Molly’s jaw dropped. “Why?” Edie continued looking down, avoiding Molly’s accusatory gaze.

“Edie, I just don’t understand.” She was becoming angry. “If you know something that might help Tracey, you have to tell me! There’s a little girl’s life on the line,” Molly pleaded.

Edie’s gaze held both fear and hope. She took Molly’s hand in her own trembling one. “You no understand, Molly,” she began. “There are many people’s lives at stake here, not just Tracey.” She bowed her head and mumbled something in Korean, then released Molly’s hand. “Edie,” Molly said, frustrated. “Why are we here? Who are we hiding from?” Edie made a low growling sound. “Jin must not know I’m here,” she said, firmly. “Ever!” “Okay, okay,” Molly held her hands up in surrender. “Many years ago,” she began, her hands clenched around her mug, “a very bad thing happened, a very, very bad thing.” “Rodney’s murder?”