Chapter Ten

So what if you catch me,

Where would we land?

In somebody's life

For taking his hands

It was Wednesday night, our last night together. After performing at Penn Station that afternoon, we took a carriage ride through Central Park, and then Carey treated me to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in the Village. It was a perfect evening in every way, and the night was still young. Now we sat cross-legged on a blanket, holding hands and facing each other on the roof of his apartment complex. Remnants of tonight's sunset could still be seen melting into the horizon. It was a beautiful night, and the lights from the city skyline twinkled in the distance—even a few stars were scattered in the sky. But mainly my attention was on Carey, and his on me.

"I don't want you to leave," he said.

"I know. But I have to."

"I know." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Molly."

"Sorry for what?" I was confused. "This evening was perfect—these past few days have been perfect. You," I said, leaning in to give him a quick kiss, "are perfect."

"I'm still sorry about how I left. Maybe if I had stayed, we wouldn't be here right now, sitting on the roof of a plain old apartment complex in Jersey City. We could be lying in the grass in Hope Springs, surrounded by mountains, staring up at millions of stars instead of just a handful—"

"But you didn't have a choice."

"I know."

"And besides, I'm here with you now, aren't I? So it was more difficult this way—but when have things between us ever been easy?"

He let go of my hands and scooted over so that he was sitting beside me, and wrapped his arm around my back. I let my head fall upon his shoulder, and he rested his head against mine. "I guess you're right," he said softly. "I just wish things could be easier sometimes."

"That's love, Carey. It's exciting, it's beautiful, it's life-altering… but the one thing it never is, is easy."

He lifted his head up suddenly and I lifted mine as well to meet his eyes with mine. "Love?" he asked simply. "Does that mean…?"

I was a little surprised. "Well of course I love you—I wouldn't have traveled two thousand miles if I didn't love you…" I trailed off. "I never told you that before, did I?"

He shook his head. "I love you, too," he said softly. We smiled at each other, and I nuzzled against him more closely. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you have to leave tomorrow—" he began again distraughtly.

"Carey! Stop!" He abruptly fell quiet, and I had to laugh. "I want to enjoy this. But how can I do that if you won't stop complaining?"

"Complaining!" Now was his turn to laugh. "I am shocked that you would even suggest such a thing!"

I laughed again, and then we fell silent for quite a while, until he decided to break it again. "I'm going to call you every night," he said simply. "And I'll visit you… when I have enough money…"

"I'll write you letters," I offered.

"Letters? What are these 'letters' you speak of?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. There's the generation gap."

"I'd love for you to write me letters," Carey said.

"I will, then."

"Good."

And then we fell silent again, for a long time. I desperately tried to memorize everything I was feeling at that moment, and the warmth of his body, and the smell of his freshly-laundered shirt, and the pressure of his fingers intertwined with my own. I let my breathing fall into rhythm with his, and closed my eyes, imagining that we were one. It was such a bittersweet moment. Here I was, the happiest I had been in years. I felt complete, as cliché as that must sound. But at the same time, I knew that in less than twenty-four hours I'd be gone and alone again, and I'd have to wait god-knows-how-long for our next reunion.

At least this time, I'd know that there would be another reunion. I wouldn't fall back into that bottomless pit of depression and self-loathing, where I had resided for the past few years. It would just be a matter of time before Carey and I were together again… the hardest part would be the waiting.

The silence ended again—this time it was my doing. "Carey?" I said hesitantly. The question had suddenly entered my mind, and this time there was no backing down. I needed to know. "What'll happen when you come to see me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… well, your mother…"

"I don't know… I didn't think that far. I guess she'll have to deal with it. I'm older now," he said.

We were silent again, but only for a brief moment. I still hadn't asked the real question that was driving me crazy—and had, in fact, been driving me crazy every single day after Carey left me, up until this very moment. "What did she say to you?"

There was a pause before he spoke. "You mean… what did she say to force me to go?"

"Yes," I whispered. Admittedly, I was terrified to hear his response. I didn't want it to be something too horrible, because I didn't want to hate Irene again after we just rekindled our friendship. But I didn't want it to be something too mild, either, because then I might resent Carey for not defending himself. Maybe I shouldn't have bothered to ask—just let it remain one of those mysteries of life—but it was too late now. I nervously awaited his response.

"She…" He paused again. Why is he taking so long to get the words out? This couldn't be a good sign. "She said that she didn't approve… and she called you some names that I won't repeat… and said to get out of her house. She said she would make every effort to destroy your career if I stayed with you, and that she'd never speak to me again…" he trailed off. "And, I don't know. There was a lot."

I was kind of confused. "When did you start speaking to her again?"

Another silence. Then, "I don't know. Not too long afterwards, I guess. I told her it was over between you and me and she just forgave me."

I couldn't shake the feeling that he was leaving something out. I mean, it was a perfectly reasonable explanation, although I had to admit it was a bit mild. I wasn't going to hold it against Carey, but still… it seemed like there was something he wasn't telling me. Maybe I was just paranoid. Paranoid of what?

Then he interrupted my rapid flow of thoughts. "When did you start talking to her again?"

"A few weeks ago," I said. "That's how I found out you were in New York."

"And… you didn't bring up the topic of us… did you?" he asked.

I remembered how tense our conversation had been that day, and how it felt like Carey's name was so thick in the air, ready to spill out of our mouths at any moment. "No, I didn't."

He let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I want to bring it up with her myself."

Sing to me hope as she's

Thrown on the sand

All of our work

Is rated again

And then, all at once, it hit me. I'm not sure how it happened, but at that moment, my brain suddenly put all of the pieces together in a single clarifying instant. "Oh my god," I heard myself saying from somewhere deep inside my own mind as I tried to comprehend the information I had just uncovered. "Oh my god, oh my god."

"What?" Carey asked worriedly.

I pulled away and stared at him with what must have been crazed, fiery eyes. "You never told her."

This was when he should said something, anything, to defend himself, and tell me that I was wrong, and how did I ever come to that conclusion, and he never would have lied to me like that, and if he had, he would have had the nerve to be straightforward with me now—but instead, he just clamped his mouth shut and broke my gaze. Silence. That's what I lost it.

"How could you, Carey?" I was screaming now. "How could you? I didn't speak to your mother for four years because I thought she sent you away—four years! I wept for you. I felt so fucking sorry for myself, and for you, and you left me all on your own." I saw a tear running down his cheek, and it disgusted me. "Guess what," I said, standing up. "Now I'm leaving you."