question that I have to answer honestly. I’m ready.”
“Before you inherited the Kirk Estate, where exactly did you and Zander live?”
Molly gave him an incredulous look. “That’s your personal and private question?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“We lived in Katonah—a suburb of New York City.”
Pres nodded again. “I asked where
exactly
. Did you own a house? Do you still own a house there?”
Molly ran her tongue across her teeth. “Ah,”she said. “This is where we get to the personal and private part, huh?”
Pres just waited for her answer.
“We lived in a ridiculously small two-bedroom apartment in the basement of a two-family house. Chuck had his typewriter set up in our bedroom and he worked—or rather stared at his keyboard—all hours of the day and night. Most nights I ended up sleeping on the living-room couch.”
Pres leaned forward. “You lived there even when Chuck was alive? But I thought—” He stopped himself.
She gazed out at the yard. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she answered his unspoken question. “Right after we were married, right before Zander was born, Chuck made some really bad investments. He lost everything.” She turned to look at him. “That’s what you wanted to know, right?”
Her normally sparkling blue eyes were sharp with bitterness and her soft lips were a tight, grim line.
“You want to ask me about Chuck’s mistress too?” she asked.
Molly had shocked Pres. She could see from the look on his face that this was that last thing he’d expected her to say.
But somehow he managed to hold her gaze. And his voice sounded so gentle when he spoke. “Do you want to tell me about Chuck’s mistress?”
Silently, she shook her head no. And then she nodded yes. “In some ways it’s not really as awful as it sounds. In others, it’s worse. He was brilliant, you know? His stories were”—she shook her head—“beyond compare. I met him when I was doing an interview for my college newspaper. He wasn’t a very talkative man—in fact, he was practically silent. And that added so much mystery to him. I had this fantasy of marrying him and having him finally
talk
to me. I wanted to know what he was thinking, I wanted to get inside his head.”
She leaned her head back against the stair railing, briefly closing her eyes. Pres just waited for her to continue.
“So I married him. But he never really talked to me—not the way I wanted him to.” She took a deep breath. “And then, after he died, his agentcalled me and said Chuck’s editor needed my permission to publish a collection of letters. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so they sent me a copy of over four hundred letters
—four hundred
letters—that Chuck had written to a woman who lived in Paris. She was married to a friend of his and … I guess he must’ve loved her. He never actually slept with her, but I can’t think of her as anything but his mistress. He loved her. He wrote to her for years—starting before we were married and continuing right up until he died. Those letters contained all of his thoughts and dreams. They were what I’d wanted from him for all those years we were married. Instead, he talked to me about the laundry and what to have for dinner and which bills absolutely needed to be paid. After nearly seven years, we were still strangers. I was really nothing more than live-in domestic and nursing help. I worked two jobs just to pay the bills and he didn’t even make his own damned lunch.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean to sound so bitter and awful. The truth is, I really wouldn’t have minded so much if he’d shared even just a
little
bit of himself with me. I wanted to know hissoul, his essence, his intellect. But he gave that to someone else.”
“Molly, why did you stay with him?”
“Because I loved him.” She looked up to find Pres watching her. “At least I did at the beginning. I was only nineteen when I married him. He was so …”
“Before you inherited the Kirk Estate, where exactly did you and Zander live?”
Molly gave him an incredulous look. “That’s your personal and private question?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“We lived in Katonah—a suburb of New York City.”
Pres nodded again. “I asked where
exactly
. Did you own a house? Do you still own a house there?”
Molly ran her tongue across her teeth. “Ah,”she said. “This is where we get to the personal and private part, huh?”
Pres just waited for her answer.
“We lived in a ridiculously small two-bedroom apartment in the basement of a two-family house. Chuck had his typewriter set up in our bedroom and he worked—or rather stared at his keyboard—all hours of the day and night. Most nights I ended up sleeping on the living-room couch.”
Pres leaned forward. “You lived there even when Chuck was alive? But I thought—” He stopped himself.
She gazed out at the yard. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she answered his unspoken question. “Right after we were married, right before Zander was born, Chuck made some really bad investments. He lost everything.” She turned to look at him. “That’s what you wanted to know, right?”
Her normally sparkling blue eyes were sharp with bitterness and her soft lips were a tight, grim line.
“You want to ask me about Chuck’s mistress too?” she asked.
Molly had shocked Pres. She could see from the look on his face that this was that last thing he’d expected her to say.
But somehow he managed to hold her gaze. And his voice sounded so gentle when he spoke. “Do you want to tell me about Chuck’s mistress?”
Silently, she shook her head no. And then she nodded yes. “In some ways it’s not really as awful as it sounds. In others, it’s worse. He was brilliant, you know? His stories were”—she shook her head—“beyond compare. I met him when I was doing an interview for my college newspaper. He wasn’t a very talkative man—in fact, he was practically silent. And that added so much mystery to him. I had this fantasy of marrying him and having him finally
talk
to me. I wanted to know what he was thinking, I wanted to get inside his head.”
She leaned her head back against the stair railing, briefly closing her eyes. Pres just waited for her to continue.
“So I married him. But he never really talked to me—not the way I wanted him to.” She took a deep breath. “And then, after he died, his agentcalled me and said Chuck’s editor needed my permission to publish a collection of letters. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so they sent me a copy of over four hundred letters
—four hundred
letters—that Chuck had written to a woman who lived in Paris. She was married to a friend of his and … I guess he must’ve loved her. He never actually slept with her, but I can’t think of her as anything but his mistress. He loved her. He wrote to her for years—starting before we were married and continuing right up until he died. Those letters contained all of his thoughts and dreams. They were what I’d wanted from him for all those years we were married. Instead, he talked to me about the laundry and what to have for dinner and which bills absolutely needed to be paid. After nearly seven years, we were still strangers. I was really nothing more than live-in domestic and nursing help. I worked two jobs just to pay the bills and he didn’t even make his own damned lunch.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean to sound so bitter and awful. The truth is, I really wouldn’t have minded so much if he’d shared even just a
little
bit of himself with me. I wanted to know hissoul, his essence, his intellect. But he gave that to someone else.”
“Molly, why did you stay with him?”
“Because I loved him.” She looked up to find Pres watching her. “At least I did at the beginning. I was only nineteen when I married him. He was so …”
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