We'll Meet Again

sunglasses, a style that had been fashionable six years ago but probably was dated now. Well, at least they will give me a sense of being disguised, she decided.

At one time the three-car garage had held her BMW convertible, Gary ’s Mercedes sedan, and the black van he had bought two years before he died. Molly remembered how surprised she’d been when Gary showed up with it one day. “You don’t fish, you don’t hunt, you wouldn’t be caught dead on a campground. You’ve got a big trunk in the Mercedes, easily big enough for your golf clubs. So what’s with the van?”

It had not occurred to her at the time that, for his own purposes, Gary might have wanted a vehicle that looked exactly like dozens of other vans in the area.

After Gary ’s death, his cousin had arranged for his cars to be picked up. When Molly went to prison, she had asked her parents to sell hers. As soon as her parole was granted they had celebrated by buying her a new car, a dark blue sedan she’d selected from the sales brochures they sent.

She had looked at the car the day she came home, but now she got in it for the first time, enjoying the smell of the new leather. It had been nearly six years since she had driven, and suddenly she found the feel of the ignition key in her hand to be very liberating.

The last time she had been behind the steering wheel of a car was that Sunday she had returned from Cape Cod. With her hands on the wheel now, Molly could visualize that drive. I was gripping the wheel so tightly that my hands hurt, she remembered as she backed out of the garage, then used the remote to close the door. She drove slowly down the long driveway and onto the street. Normally I’d have put the car in the garage, but I remember that night I stopped right in front of the house and just left it there. Why did I do that? she wondered, straining to remember. Was it because I had the suitcase and, that way, wouldn’t have to carry it as far?

No, it was because I was frantic to talk to Gary face to face. I was going to ask him then the same questions I’m going to ask Annamarie Scalli now. I needed to know how he felt about me, why he was away so much, why, if he wasn’t happy in our marriage, he hadn’t been honest and told me instead of letting me waste so much time and so much effort in trying to be a good wife to him.

Molly felt her lips tighten, felt the old anger and resentment surge through her body. Stop it! she told herself. Stop it right now, or turn around and go home!

Annamarie Scalli arrived at the Sea Lamp Diner at twenty after seven. She knew she was ridiculously early for her meeting with Molly Lasch, but she wanted very much to be the first to arrive. The shock of actually speaking to Molly, of having her actually track her down, had not set in until after she had agreed to the meeting.

Her sister Lucy had argued strenuously against keeping the date. “Annamarie, that woman was so upset about you that she bludgeoned her husband to death,” she had said. “What makes you think she won’t attack you? The very fact that she may be telling the truth when she says she doesn’t remember killing him tells you she’s a mental case. And you’ve always been afraid because you know too much about what was going on at the hospital. Don’t meet her!”

The sisters had argued all evening, but Annamarie had been determined to go through with it. She had reasoned that since Molly Lasch had tracked her down, it would be better to go ahead and meet with her face to face at the diner rather than to risk having her show up at her home in Yonkers, maybe even stalking her as she tried to take care of her clients.

Once inside the diner, Annamarie had headed for a corner booth at the far end of the long, narrow room. A few people were sitting at the counter, their expressions glum. Equally malcontent was the waitress, who had become annoyed when Annamarie had refused the front table at which she’d tried to place her.

The gloom of the diner only added to the feeling of foreboding and despondency that had come over Annamarie on the long drive back from Buffalo. She could feel fatigue settling into her bones. I’m sure that’s why I feel so low and depressed, she told herself without conviction, sipping the tepid coffee the waitress had slapped down in front of her.

She knew much of the problem stemmed from the argument that had raged between her and her sister. While she did love her sister dearly, Lucy was not shy about hitting her where it hurt most, and her litany of “if onlys” finally had gotten to her.

“Annamarie, if only you’d married Jack Morrow. As Mama used to say, he was one of the nicest men who ever walked in shoe leather. He was crazy about you. And he was a doctor, and a good one at that! Remember, Mrs. Monahan came in to say hello that weekend you brought him up here? Jack said he didn’t like her color. If he hadn’t persuaded her to go for those tests and that tumor hadn’t been found, she wouldn’t be alive today.”

Annamarie had continued to give the same answer she’d been giving Lucille the past six years. “Look, Lucy, give it a rest. Jack knew that I wasn’t in love with him. Maybe under other circumstances, I could’ve loved him. Maybe it would’ve worked out if things had been different, but they weren’t. The fact was, I was only in my early twenties and on my first job. I was just starting to live. I wasn’t ready for marriage. Jack understood that.”

Annamarie remembered that the week before Jack was killed, he had quarreled with Gary. She’d been on her way to Gary ’s office but was stopped in the reception room by the sound of angry voices. The secretary had whispered, “Dr. Morrow is in there with Dr. Lasch. He’s terribly upset. I haven’t been able to make out what it’s about, but I suppose it’s the usual-a procedure he wanted done for a patient has been canceled.”

I remember at the time being terrified that they might be arguing about me, Annamarie thought. I ran rather than risk having Jack confront me there; I was that sure Jack had found out.

But later, when Jack had stopped her in the corridor, he had given no indication of being angry with her. Instead, he had asked if she was going to visit her mother soon. When Annamarie told him she would be driving up the weekend after next, he said that he was going to copy a very important file he had compiled, and he asked if she please would keep the copy in her mother’s attic. He’d get it from her later.

I was so relieved he hadn’t found out about Gary and me and so tortured over what I knew about the hospital that I wasn’t even curious about what was in the file, Annamarie thought. He said he’d give it to me soon and made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone about it. But he never did give it to me, and a week later he was dead.

“Annamarie?”

Startled, Annamarie looked up. She’d been so immersed in thought that she had not seen Molly Lasch come in. One glance at the other woman and she suddenly felt heavy and unattractive. The oversized sunglasses could not hide Molly’s exquisite features. The hands that untied the belt of her coat were long and slim. When she pulled the scarf from her head, her hair was darker than Annamarie remembered, but still fine and silky.

Molly studied Annamarie as she slid into the seat opposite her. She’s not what I expected, Molly thought. She’d seen Annamarie Scalli in the hospital a few times and remembered her as being very pretty, with a provocative figure and a mass of dark hair.

There was nothing provocative about this plainly dressed woman across from her. Her hair was short now, and while her face was still pretty, it was somewhat puffy. She was heavier than Molly remembered. But her eyes were lovely, deep brown with dark lashes, although the expression Molly saw in them was one of unhappiness and fear.

She’s afraid of me, Molly thought, amazed that she might have that effect on someone.

The waitress reappeared, friendlier now. Annamarie could see that she was impressed by Molly.

“Tea with lemon, please,” Molly said.

“And more coffee for me, if it’s not too much trouble,” Annamarie added as the waitress turned away.

Molly waited until they were alone before she said, “I’m grateful you agreed to meet me. I know this is probably as awkward for you as it is for me, and I promise I won’t keep you too long, but you can help me if you’ll be honest with me.”

Annamarie nodded.

“When did your relationship with Gary begin?”

“A year before he died. My car wouldn’t start one day, and he gave me a ride home. He came in for a cup of coffee.” Annamarie looked steadily at Molly. “I knew he was getting ready to hit on me. A woman can always tell, can’t she?” She paused for a moment, looking down at her hands. “The truth is, I had a huge crush on him, and so I made it easy for him.”