We'll Meet Again

plush ivory carpeting, thought about the feel of the satin quilt against her skin, thought about her head sinking into the deep, soft pillows, thought of leaving the shades up so that she could look out into the night sky, something she often had done with her husband sleeping quietly beside her.

As she sipped the coffee, Molly reflected on the months and then years of those long prison nights. As her mind had slowly started to clear, she’d begun to formulate the questions that now almost obsessed her. Questions such as, if Gary had been able to dupe her so completely about their intimate relationship, was it possible that he was dishonest as well in other areas of his life?

She was on her way to take a shower when she stopped to look out the window. It was so simple a thing to do, yet it was something that had been denied her for five and a half years, and the freedom of it still amazed her. It was another cloudy day, and she could see patches of ice in the driveway; even so, she impulsively decided to put on her sweats and go for a run.

Run free, she thought as she began to quickly don her jogging clothes. And I am free-to go out without asking permission and without waiting for doors to be unlocked. She felt a sudden exhilaration. Ten minutes later she was jogging along the old, familiar streets that suddenly seemed unfamiliar.

Please don’t let me meet anyone I know, she prayed. Don’t let me be recognized by someone driving by. She passed Kathryn Busch’s house, a lovely old colonial that sat at the corner of Lake Avenue. She remembered that Kathryn had been on the board of the Philharmonic Society and had been very much involved in trying to develop a local chamber group.

As had Bobbitt Williams, Molly thought, picturing the face of an old schoolmate who almost had faded from memory. Bobbitt was in class at Cranden with Jenna and Fran and me, but she and I never socialized that much, and then she moved to Darien.

As Molly ran, her head seemed to clear, and people and houses and streets were coming into focus. The Browns had added a wing. The Cateses had repainted. Suddenly she realized that this was the first time she had been outside, on her own like this, since the day just over five and a half years ago when she had been handcuffed and chained and locked in the van for the drive to Niantic Prison.

The wind this morning was chilling, but invigorating-fresh, clean air that swept through her hair and filled her lungs and body, making Molly feel as though, inch by inch, her senses were coming alive.

She was breathing heavily and already beginning to ache when, after a two-mile round-trip, she ran back up her driveway. She was headed toward the kitchen door when a sudden impulse caused her to cut across the frozen lawn and walk almost the length of the house until she was facing the window of the room that had been Gary ’s study. She stopped, went up to the window, pushed aside the shrubbery, and looked in.

For a brief instant she expected to see Gary ’s handsome Wells Fargo desk still there, walls covered with mahogany paneling, bookcases filled with medical texts, the sculptures and paintings that Gary had collected with so much enthusiasm. Instead, she saw a room that was just another room in a house far too big for one person. The impersonal chintz-covered furniture and bleached oak tables looked suddenly very unattractive.

I was standing in the doorway, looking out.

It was a random thought that suddenly entered her mind and just as quickly disappeared.

Suddenly self-conscious at the possibility of being observed peering into the window of her own home, Molly retraced her steps and let herself in through the kitchen door. As she pulled off her sneakers, she realized that she had time for another cup of coffee and an English muffin before Mrs. Barry arrived.

Mrs. Barry.

Wally.

Now why would I suddenly think about him? Molly wondered, as she headed back upstairs, this time finally to take her shower.

Fran called her in the late afternoon, from her office where she was getting ready for the evening news broadcast. “Molly, a quick question,” she said. “Did you know Dr. Jack Morrow?”

Molly’s mind was wrenched back over a span of forgotten years to that morning when a phone call interrupted their breakfast. She had known immediately that it was bad news. Gary ’s face had turned a sickly gray color as he listened silently. Then, after he hung up, he spoke, almost in a whisper: “Jack Morrow was found shot to death in his office. It happened sometime last evening.”

“I hardly knew him,” Molly told Fran. “He was on staff at the hospital, and I’d met him at a few Christmas parties, that kind of thing. He and Gary were killed within two weeks of each other.”

Suddenly aware of her own words, she could imagine how that statement must sound to Fran. “Were killed.” Something that had happened to two men, but had nothing to do with any act she committed. At least no one can say that I was involved with Jack Morrow’s death, she thought. Gary and I were at a dinner party that night. She told that to Fran.

“Molly, you must know I wasn’t suggesting that you had anything to do with Dr. Morrow’s death,” Fran said. “I mention him only because I’ve uncovered an interesting bit of information. Did you know that he was in love with Annamarie Scalli?”

“No, I did not.”

“It’s becoming obvious that I have to talk to Annamarie. Do you know anyone who might know where to find her?”

“I’ve already asked Jenna to have Cal ’s people try to find her, but Jen says that Cal doesn’t want to get involved.”

There was a moment of silence before Fran responded. “You didn’t tell me you were trying to locate Annamarie, Molly.”

Molly could hear the startled tone in Fran’s voice. “Fran,” she said, “my desire to talk personally to Annamarie has nothing to do with your investigation. The five and a half years I spent in prison were directly connected to the fact that my husband was having an affair with her. It seems so odd that someone I don’t know at all could have had such a powerful impact in my life. Let’s make a deal-if I locate her, or even get a lead, I’ll tell you. Likewise, if you find her, you let me know, okay?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Fran said. “I will tell you that I’m going to call your lawyer and ask him about her. Annamarie was on the list of scheduled witnesses at your trial, and because of that, he should have had her last address in the file.”

“I spoke to Philip about that already, and he swears he doesn’t have it.”

“I’ll try him anyway, just in case. I’ve got to run.” Fran paused. “Molly, be careful.”

“Funny. Jenna said the same thing to me just the other night.”

Molly replaced the receiver and thought of what she had told Philip Matthews-that if anything happened to her, at least it would prove that someone out there had reason to be afraid of Fran’s investigation into Gary’s death.

The phone rang again. Instinctively she knew that it was her mother and father calling from Florida. They talked of the usual inconsequential things before the subject of how she was faring “alone in that house” was broached. After reassuring them that she was doing well, she asked, “What happened to everything that was in Gary ’s desk after he died?”

“The prosecutor’s office took just about everything except the furniture from Gary ’s study,” her mother said. “After the trial, whatever they returned, I put in boxes in the attic.”

The answer made Molly anxious to end the conversation and sent her up to the attic as soon as she was off the phone. There she found the neatly packed boxes her mother had told her would be on the storage shelves. She pushed aside the ones containing books and sculptures, pictures and magazines, and reached for the two labeled DESK. She knew what she was looking for: the daily reminder diary Gary always carried and the appointment book he kept in the top desk drawer.

Maybe there are some kind of notations that will give me at least some idea of what else was going on in Gary ’s life, Molly thought.

She opened the first box with a sense of dread, afraid of what she might find, yet determined to learn whatever she could.