Page 35 of The Followers

She wished more people would realize she wasn’t just blabbing about the mundane details of her life. That live video she’d started after getting the call about Chloe’s broken arm—the snark-site commenters had nearly eaten her alive for that one. But they couldn’t understand how it had felt, getting that phone call, not having anyone else to turn to for support. She didn’t have a husband; her mom lived a thousand miles away, and she’d just wanted someone—anyone—to be there for her.

She could brush away all that criticism because the people closest to her, her real friends, supported her. Scott, from the beginning of their relationship, had supported her. Or at least, she thought he had—but this fight had made her doubt that connection.

“If this is how you feel about my work,” she said, “then we need to rethink this thing between us.”

She walked past him, not looking at his face. If she did, she would crumple. Being married to the wrong person was much worse than being alone, she knew this. So she kept her mind carefully blank—don’t think, don’t talk, and for heaven’s sake, don’t cry—as she packed her things, loaded the car, then went to wake Chloe so they could drive back to Denver.

Scott met her in the hallway, blocking the way with his broad shoulders. “Hang on.”

Her chin wobbled treacherously. She didn’t look up at him. “I need to get Chloe.”

“Molly, please stop.” His hands landed gently on her shoulders, anchoring her. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

She shook her head, her vision blurred with tears.

“I watched you on that river-rafting trip, how you talked to every single person in the group, got to know them. You taught everyone a song during a stretch of river when people usually get bored. You held hands with that woman who got scared after the first set of rapids. By the end of the day, you’d given everyone on the raft a funny nickname.”

Molly barely remembered any of this—it was just what she did.

Scott’s voice turned warmer, softer. “After so many years on our own, me and Ella, I got used to being isolated. I guess it made me feel safe, like I couldn’t lose anyone if I didn’t let them in.” He paused. “But when I met you, this gorgeous, vibrant, outgoing woman—I fell hard, Mol. I couldn’t help it. I’ve never met anyone as... as connected as you are. You make the world a better place just by existing.”

Her face was a mess of tears, her nose running, and her throat thick with emotion. His arms came around her, and she melted against him.

“Molly girl,” he whispered, “I would never ask you to stop sharing yourself with the world. But can you be patient with me? I’m not as good at it as you are.”

They had figured it out that day, after a long discussion. Molly promised not to post anything about Scott or Ella without asking beforehand, and Scott promised to support Molly’s work. They each promised to be honest with the other. Relationships with real people, Molly had always believed, took priority over anything she did online.

Now, as Scott turned his bike back toward home, the girls trailing after him like ducklings, a wave of guilt rushed over Molly. She should have come clean right away, as soon as he asked about the safe. Now if she brought it up, he would know she had lied to him.

Which didn’t mean she needed to keep lying. The more you lie, the easier it gets. And a relationship based on lies isn’t a real relationship at all. Molly knew that firsthand, and she wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

As soon as they were alone later that evening, she told him, “I need to talk to you about something.”

The girls had gone off to their rooms to play. Scott was out in the backyard, throwing a tennis ball for Hoopi, who obediently returned it to his feet each time. Bitsy, who couldn’t retrieve worth a darn, simply ran back and forth, wagging her plumy yellow tail.

Scott paused, tennis ball in hand, Hoopi poised to chase after it. “What’s up?”

“I think we should sit down.”

His smile faded. “Okay.”

He followed her to the bench near the fire pit, where they sat together, holding hands. The setting sun cast a purple-red glow across the lawn. Dragonflies zipped past, humming through the evening air.

“You’re making me nervous,” Scott said. “What’s going on?”

Her stomach twisted—lying always made her feel sick—and she promised herself she would be completely honest with him from now on. “Remember when you asked if I opened your safe?”

His hand, holding hers, tensed. “Yes.”

“Well, I did open it. I found the key in your cigar box.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I guess I just...” She swallowed. “I was worried there was a gun in there, and I thought I should know if we had a gun in the house.”

He turned to face her, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t identify. “But you didn’t go through it, did you?”

“I did, actually. I found two birth certificates. One for Ella, and one for a Gabriela Casillas.”

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