Leo was outside at three sharp. He reached for the bandana to help Molly get the helmet on. “You mind?” he asked, his hand hovering.
“Go ahead.”
He undid the knot, and she shook her hair free, knowing the moment was charged. She’d refreshed her lip gloss already, the only makeup she kept in the bag she took to work. “Sorry I’m not in motorcycle gear,” she said, adjusting the helmet. “Well, the boots maybe.”
Leo tightened the straps for her, snapped her in. “You’re fine. It’s not a hog. It’s easier to get around in the city. Plus, it’s fun. We can ride through the park.”
He put his own helmet on and mounted the motorcycle. “Not quite the magic carpet from last night ...”
“Oh, it’ll do.” She got on the motorcycle behind him, the seat slightly raised so she could see over his shoulder, put her feet up on the pedals, her arms around his waist.
“You ready?”
Molly had never been on a horse or a dirt bike, even. She loved the feeling of shooting forward, ahead of the moment, only a second behind the future. She let her body join to Leo’s, riding the languid motion of sun-dappled curves through Rock Creek Park, the humidity low for a summer afternoon. She loosened her grip and leaned back, the asphalt wave rising up to greet her, the green of the park cool on her face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
1992: Washington, DC
Camille steered her lemonade-colored sedan through the DC traffic. She and Molly were picking up Leo and Henry at Dupont Circle, heading out of town early in hopes of beating traffic on the way to Rehoboth Beach. The hotel rooms were cheap, and the place would probably be scuzzy, but none of them cared. It was on Leo’s tab, and it was a chance to escape the city, to frolic in waves, to cut loose.
“This is going nowhere. Seriously. I can’t believe he’s still hanging out with me. I should break it off with him.” Molly couldn’t help but second-guess herself. There had to be a catch. She’d tried for weeks to keep her feelings about Leo in check, but every time they were together, she let herself imagine something more with him. But as soon as they were apart, her fear crept back in. How could she be worthy of someone like him? He didn’t know the first thing about her.
“You’re crazy,” Camille said. “And why does it have to go somewhere? Can’t you have fun?”
“Oh, I’m having fun. Pointless fun. He graduated from Tulane. Studied abroad. He talks like we’re going to travel the world together, how he wants to show me New Orleans, how he wants to live there someday. I’m a college dropout from the boondocks. I’m sketchy.He’s a law student at Yale. Classic summer fling. Better to dump or be dumped? That’s the question.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short. And you’re hardly sketchy.”
Molly put her head in her hands. She was trying to play it cool, but she really liked Leo. And the more she wanted something real with him, the more certain she was that she could never have it. She was leaving herself unguarded, and it felt terrible. “God, I’m a mess.”
“You really are. But look there.” Camille pointed over the steering wheel. Leo and Henry were on the corner. They’d changed into swim trunks but kept their suit jackets, shirts, and ties on. Henry was shorter, stocky, wavy brown hair. Hilarious and perfect for Camille, who was a cutup too. “Molly, Leo is a stud. Look at him. He looks like a Greek god. You can have nice things, you know. And that man isnice. Don’t self-destruct.”
Molly smiled. Half Italian, half Irish. He was too good to be true, and soon enough, one way or another, she’d lose him. It was only a matter of when. And how. “Oh, fine!” she hollered as Camille beat her hands on the steering wheel. “One more weekend, stud!”
Molly called him the night after they returned from the beach, told him over the phone that she thought he was great, really, but that they should call it. “You’ll be leaving DC at the end of summer, back to Yale.” They’d gotten their picture taken together on the beach, and Molly held the little plastic viewfinder up to her eye while she talked. They were kind of beautiful together.
“That’s weeks away. And, even then, it’s not that far. You could take the train.”
Their photo booth strip was stuck into her dresser mirror. In the pictures, in her reflection, she looked happy. Why couldn’t she let herself be happy? “We’re on different paths, different wavelengths.” It sounded unconvincing, even to her ear.
Leo laughed. “You’ve been dipping into the organics. I see you with your wavelengths, Sullivan. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Listen. Did you have fun at the beach?”
Endless fun. Sand in all the places. “Of course.”
“Did you have fun skinny-dipping in the Dumbarton pool?”
They’d gone out to dinner in Georgetown one muggy night, drank too much wine. One of the many upsides of dating Leo, Molly realized early on, was that he had money, came from money, and never hesitated to drop money to have more fun. “I have an idea,” he’d said. “Trust me?” His question hit hard. Had she ever trusted anybody? Someone from the Italian embassy had told him about it, the one place you could get past the guards and onto the closed grounds behind Dumbarton Oaks. She put her trust in him, and they stripped out of their clothes, slipped into the dimly lit pool, lightning bugs setting the lawn aglow. They floated, made out buck naked, screwed in the loggia. They’d walked off the grounds right past the guard. Leo had that way about him, like he belonged everywhere he went.
“Yes.”
“So, why break up? Everything is going great. No pressure from me, no pressure from you. Is there someone else you’d rather be with?”
She looked into the viewfinder again. “It’s not that,” she admitted.
“Then what? You want me to fight for you, is that it? Youwantpressure, Molly? I’ll give you pressure. I’ll fight for you. I’d kill for you. Is that what you want to hear?”
He had no idea what he was saying, who he was talking to. She wouldn’t wish that burden on anyone. She didn’t want anyone else to die because of her. “No,” she said. “I’d rather be the one to take the bullet.”
