whole time how it was going to end.”
Rolling his eyes at our banter, Gaige used the universal remote to select the 2013 version of Gatsby , dim the living room lights, and, judging by the sweat beads forming on my skin, raise the temperature in the bungalow. I was about to make a snarky comment when Molly shuddered violently. She pulled the cardigan tighter around her thin shoulders.
“Could you turn up the heat another degree or two?” I asked instead, knowing Molly was too proud and too stubborn to make the request.
Gaige did as instructed, and then peeled off his pullover to compensate for the warmer climate.
A haunting melody filled the air as the movie began to play.
The three of us chatted easily about the storyline, clothes, and setting of the film. Molly, who’d apparently seen the other versions, kept up a running commentary on how this adaptation differed from the others.
“I’m so jealous,” Molly declared wistfully. On screen, champagne fountains flowed and elegant men and women danced at Jay Gatsby’s magnificent home.
“Why?” I asked. “I thought you told Cyrus you were done with this life.”
“I know, I know. Getting burned at the stake for being a witch sort of puts a damper on things. It’s just that…I love being a runner. You guys get to go live for over a month in that,” she replied, gesturing at the screen. “That’s going to be so much fun. I know I said I’m done with it, but I really wish I could go with you. I want to experience everything possible, I don’t want to be a boring island rat.”
“Have you talked to Cyrus again?” Gaige asked carefully.
“He stopped by earlier. He’s refusing to accept my resignation until I’m fully recovered,” Molly told us.
“I think that’s great advice,” I said sagely.
Molly shrugged as a chill ran through her, though this time I had a feeling it was a memory that made her shiver.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do. Yesterday I was convinced that running was my past. Now, I don’t know. I think maybe I was just upset. And I don’t feel like I’m knocking on death’s door anymore, so I guess that could be part of it.”
“What happened must have been really scary,” Gaige said.
The haunted expression still lingered in her big blue eyes. She’d been through a nightmarish ordeal, one that would have landed most any other runner on mental health leave. Suddenly, I felt very selfish for taking the Paris mission, when my roommate so obviously needed moral support.
“I’m sure Cyrus wouldn’t mind if we pushed the run back a couple of days,” I began.
“No.” Molly shook her head decisively. “Totally unnecessary. Come on, Stassi. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ll be fine. I am fine.” With the declaration, she sat up straighter and tucked her gauze wrapped hands beneath the quilt to hide them from view.
Yesterday, when she’d come bursting through the door during the meeting, I’d been terrified. The thought of losing Molly was too much. She meant too much to me. Physically, at least, she was on the mend, I noted. In a couple of days, the burns would start to fade and, thanks to the syndicate’s top-notch doctors, she wouldn’t have any scars to serve as constant reminders of the ordeal. It was the emotional scarring that worried me. How long would those wounds take to heal?
As I studied her defiant expression, I couldn’t help but wonder if Molly was putting on a show so I wouldn’t worry about her.
“I’m fine,” Molly insisted, when I didn’t avert my gaze. “Besides, you have a lead to follow up on. You shouldn’t put that off.”
“I’ve waited fifteen years,” I replied, brushing off her statement. “Another few days won’t hurt.”
“No,” Molly repeated firmly. “Look, I have my mom and dad if I need anything. And Tiger. He’s offered to stay with me while you’re gone, just until I’m totally back on my feet.”
When the screen faded on
Rolling his eyes at our banter, Gaige used the universal remote to select the 2013 version of Gatsby , dim the living room lights, and, judging by the sweat beads forming on my skin, raise the temperature in the bungalow. I was about to make a snarky comment when Molly shuddered violently. She pulled the cardigan tighter around her thin shoulders.
“Could you turn up the heat another degree or two?” I asked instead, knowing Molly was too proud and too stubborn to make the request.
Gaige did as instructed, and then peeled off his pullover to compensate for the warmer climate.
A haunting melody filled the air as the movie began to play.
The three of us chatted easily about the storyline, clothes, and setting of the film. Molly, who’d apparently seen the other versions, kept up a running commentary on how this adaptation differed from the others.
“I’m so jealous,” Molly declared wistfully. On screen, champagne fountains flowed and elegant men and women danced at Jay Gatsby’s magnificent home.
“Why?” I asked. “I thought you told Cyrus you were done with this life.”
“I know, I know. Getting burned at the stake for being a witch sort of puts a damper on things. It’s just that…I love being a runner. You guys get to go live for over a month in that,” she replied, gesturing at the screen. “That’s going to be so much fun. I know I said I’m done with it, but I really wish I could go with you. I want to experience everything possible, I don’t want to be a boring island rat.”
“Have you talked to Cyrus again?” Gaige asked carefully.
“He stopped by earlier. He’s refusing to accept my resignation until I’m fully recovered,” Molly told us.
“I think that’s great advice,” I said sagely.
Molly shrugged as a chill ran through her, though this time I had a feeling it was a memory that made her shiver.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do. Yesterday I was convinced that running was my past. Now, I don’t know. I think maybe I was just upset. And I don’t feel like I’m knocking on death’s door anymore, so I guess that could be part of it.”
“What happened must have been really scary,” Gaige said.
The haunted expression still lingered in her big blue eyes. She’d been through a nightmarish ordeal, one that would have landed most any other runner on mental health leave. Suddenly, I felt very selfish for taking the Paris mission, when my roommate so obviously needed moral support.
“I’m sure Cyrus wouldn’t mind if we pushed the run back a couple of days,” I began.
“No.” Molly shook her head decisively. “Totally unnecessary. Come on, Stassi. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ll be fine. I am fine.” With the declaration, she sat up straighter and tucked her gauze wrapped hands beneath the quilt to hide them from view.
Yesterday, when she’d come bursting through the door during the meeting, I’d been terrified. The thought of losing Molly was too much. She meant too much to me. Physically, at least, she was on the mend, I noted. In a couple of days, the burns would start to fade and, thanks to the syndicate’s top-notch doctors, she wouldn’t have any scars to serve as constant reminders of the ordeal. It was the emotional scarring that worried me. How long would those wounds take to heal?
As I studied her defiant expression, I couldn’t help but wonder if Molly was putting on a show so I wouldn’t worry about her.
“I’m fine,” Molly insisted, when I didn’t avert my gaze. “Besides, you have a lead to follow up on. You shouldn’t put that off.”
“I’ve waited fifteen years,” I replied, brushing off her statement. “Another few days won’t hurt.”
“No,” Molly repeated firmly. “Look, I have my mom and dad if I need anything. And Tiger. He’s offered to stay with me while you’re gone, just until I’m totally back on my feet.”
When the screen faded on
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