Page 78 of The Followers

“What?” His eyes flashed. “Why would you do that?”

“I needed someone to talk to!”

“You realize that’s putting me and Ella at risk?”

“And that’s my fault?” She was shouting again, pounding her fist against the arm of the armchair. “None of this is my fault! I trusted you, I uprooted my daughter and my life to be with you. I reached out to the only friend I have in town when I was alone and terrified after discovering a horrible truth about the man I loved.”

Loved. That word—the past tense—hung heavy between them.

He collapsed against the back of his chair, defeated. “I know. I know that, Mol.”

She appreciated the acknowledgment, but what he didn’t say was sorry. He looked exhausted, worried, and defeated, but he didn’t look sorry.

She wanted him to apologize. She wanted him to get out of his chair, to kneel in front of her, to take her hands in his and beg her not to leave him. She wanted him to wallow. Then she could be the magnanimous one, the understanding one, working through her anger and betrayal before finally forgiving him.

Even when Jake had left her, she’d wanted to forgive him. She’d cycled through anger and grief over the next few weeks, but she was so lonely that she would have taken him back in a heartbeat if he’d asked.

This was another fundamental weakness in her, she realized, staring at Scott’s profile, the taut muscles of his jaw and shoulders. Her willingness to forgive something unforgivable just so she wouldn’t be alone again.

Scott looked up as if something had occurred to him. “Where are the girls?”

“They’re with Liv.” Molly’s body felt heavy, exhausted from the emotions of the past several hours. “She offered to watch them so we could talk. I can get them whenever we’re ready.”

“Are you?” he asked, glancing over at her. “Ready, I mean?”

“No,” she said. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

forty-one

Family doesn’t have to mean the people you’re related to by blood. For me, “family” means the people who have your back. One hundred percent, forever and always, no matter what.

—An Invincible Summer: A Memoir

Liv returned to the kitchen, still smiling about her brother’s last words. She found Chloe holding a ball of dough in her hand, smashing it against her fingers until both hands were sticky.

“You are such a mess, sweet girl!” She lifted Chloe up into the air, spinning her around while the little girl squealed. Then she set her down by the kitchen sink and washed her hands for the third time. After that, she placed Chloe on a stool at the kitchen counter with paper and crayons to color, while Liv started cleaning up. Ella followed her over to the kitchen sink to help.

“What do you know about your mother?” Liv asked, hardly believing her own audacity. An adult would have found that question strange, but Ella answered easily.

“Not much.”

“Does your dad talk about her?”

Ella gave a small shrug, looking far older than her years. “Not really. Until Molly found a picture of me and my mom and dad from the hospital when I was born. Then he told me some stuff.”

“What did he say?”

Ella seemed focused on drying the dish, but her voice grew smaller. “That she was pretty. And smart and funny and nice. And she loved me very, very much.”

Liv’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sure she did.”

She wanted to ask Ella how her mother had died—or at least, what she knew. And that made her wonder what was happening with Molly and Scott, how the conversation was going. She hoped that everything would work out. That Scott could calm Molly’s worries.

Because if Molly could forgive Scott, if she could get past his deception—loving him in spite of it—maybe she could get past Liv’s deception, too.

Liv handed Ella a cookie sheet. “Do you know how your parents met?”

“At a party,” Ella said, drying the cookie sheet with a dish towel. “My dad noticed her as soon as she walked in the room. Long black hair down to her waist, sparkly brown eyes, and the best laugh he’d ever heard in his life.” Ella smiled up at Liv—a full smile this time. “He said I look like her a little bit.”

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