Closure

The lasting image of Molly going up her driveway for the final time sits with me the most. The picture frame is placed on the desk in the living room of the camp and stays there even after I leave for the winter. Like our friendship, it can only be enjoyed three months out of the year before I head back home still remembering Molly was my one true love.

Entry 1:

No one understood it. My parents, my friends, even my therapist. Shit, I didn’t have the faintest idea to why I felt like this. The best guess was: “The heart wants what the heart wants.” My therapist told me that. Soon after, I kindly stopped seeing him. No fucking way I was paying him $300 a session to tell me that crap. Part of me wanted to report him for malpractice, but why give myself another headache.

Molly was still out there somewhere and I had to find her. She was the love of my life. I need to tell her. I should have told her the day she left 10 years ago, but I didn’t. I should have pulled her back as she walked to her dad’s truck and kissed her, but I didn’t. I should have gotten her cell number so we could stay in contact, but I didn’t. So now, I write in my journal; trying to unravel any ideas on how to find her, hoping in between the words I type, with every key stroke, a light bulb will magically appear in my brain and I’ll have all the answers.

I’m a writer, so this shit helps me concentrate. I’ve published 3 novels and a collection of short stories all before the age of 35, so I got lucky. At first, I wanted to become a pilot, which I told Molly back when we first started hanging out at the spry young age of 16. But instead, I found my writing niche and after heavy persuading from Mom, I followed that career path instead. It saved us money and Mom from constant panic that I’d never come down after a takeoff. Dad’s just there for the ride. He works, pays the bills, and putters around camp. Mom’s more in control of my upbringing than he is.

Well fuck, so far none of this reminiscing is helping me, just making things worse. I guess that’s part of the process though, right? Shit has to get worse, before it gets better. Because right now I’m damn near close to rock bottom. This is a good place to stop, I’m hungry anyway.

Entry 4:

Back again. This time at the camp, sitting at the desk, looking at the fucking picture. God, we looked so young. That’s because we were. 21 was the age everyone wanted to be. I just so happen to fall in love. Not the best move I’ve made in my life. I remember the summer Molly’s dad put the camp up for sale. Mom and I were sitting on the dock, talking about life after college and how my writing was coming along. This was the beginning of the funk.

I’d constantly look at the “For Sale” sign posted on the Makers’ dock. Every time a constant reminder she was gone. I knew it was for their own good, but it still wasn’t fair. I remember finally saying; “Ma, I think I’m in love with Molly.” Now if anyone knows my mother, she isn’t the most romantic person in the world, so me confessing that to her was bold.

“Aw well I’m sorry you feel that way.”

That was the response and the end of the conversation. I knew continuing on would just make me want to jump off the dock, so I refrained. I remember texting my good friend from school about it and all he said was try finding her on social media. I tried, but she wasn’t on any platform. Not on Facebook, Twitter, or, Instagram. I would try BluePages, just to see, but there were 100s of females with the name “Molly Maker” that were in the age range of 25-33.

Maybe I should do that again just to see. That’s not creepy right? Have I become obsessed? Yes, but not to the point of hiring a PI to find her. That can’t happen; it would ruin my career and possibly have me arrested. I should go finish up the three chapters my publisher is looking for in my new novel. Got to keep everyone happy.

Entry 5:

Aw shit I forgot to check in. That is my fault. It’s been a week since last time, and by the looks of it, I was searching Molly up again on social media. Update: I didn’t find anything, but I’m not surprised. She’s smart not to have that shit. Only reason I do is to promote books, meet and greets, and seminars. Half the time my agent does all the posting for me. I’m still at camp, looking at the picture every chance I get.

Dad came up and we did some much-needed work around the camp. Shutters needed to be sanded down and painted. Windows had to be washed, and the boathouse needed a facelift. Those projects definitely helped my writers block for the novel and slightly took my mind off Molly. Well, at least for short periods of time.

Should I turn myself in to the police? Is this how mass murdering starts? I mean I feel fine. I don’t have dreams about killing anyone. My old therapist never picked up on anything, but he seemed to be as sharp as marbles so I don’t think I can take anything he said seriously. I’ll be okay, no need to get the police involved. I’m just in love is all and love does crazy shit to someone. That’s what everyone tells me, well minus my mother.

I’m thinking about going to the local ‘fancy’ restaurant tonight. I hate going out though. Once someone sees me, they ask for a picture or autograph. This isn’t a brag, just the truth. Wait, I could wear these fake glasses I have on right now to help from straining my eyes looking at the computer screen. Yes, these will do. Along with a turtleneck sweater I should be fine. These townsfolk aren’t the most observant and the tourists won’t expect me to be there. Alight I’ll go. Did I mention it’s the same restaurant my parents met Molly’s? Well, I did now. There’s always that one chance she’s there. Could just be visiting the area. Crazier shit has happened.

Crap, I probably should go get ready. Maybe I’ll see Molly tonight.

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The ride to the restaurant was a quiet one. I pulled into a parking spot at the far end, not wanting anyone to scratch my truck. I walked to the front entrance, making sure my glasses were on and turtleneck hiked up enough so I wasn’t noticed. It was a brisk evening for early September. The leaves were ever so slightly beginning to change, which meant peak season was closing in.

I took a deep breath and walked through the front door and saw the dining area filled up. I walked to the hostess podium and nodded.

“Table for one please,” I said pleasantly.

“Okay sir, it is about a 15-minute wait, is that okay?” the young hostess replied, scribbling on a laminated layout of the seating area.

“Oh no problem, I can wait.”

“Perfect and your name is?”

“Billy Duke.” I always used this fake name anytime I went to a restaurant.

“Okay Mr. Duke, we will call you over when your table is ready,” the hostess said, still hardly looking up from the piece of paper.

I thanked her as I headed toward the restaurant bar. As I walked past the restrooms, suddenly a woman came out from one of the doors and we bumped each other.

“Oh Christ, I didn’t even see you. I’m sorry,” I instantly said.

“No, it was my fault,” replied the woman.

As I turned to apologize again, I became silent. The voice sounded so familiar. Once we were facing one another, I instantly got red in the face and so did she.

“Andy?” she asked.

“Molly?” I wheezed. She was wearing a red polka dot dress, hair tied up in a ponytail and smelled like vanilla.

We stared and then suddenly we were hugging. I didn’t believe any of this at first. There was no way in hell Molly Maker was hugging me right now.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I asked, still beat red.

“I rented a cabin for a long weekend. What the hell are you doing here?” She replied.

“My family still owns camp, so I come here on occasion to eat.” Lying right off the bat was not the right move to make, but better than saying: Oh, just waiting around in-case you showed up so I could tell you I love you.

Then we just stared. Stared for what felt like 3 years. In my head I was trying to convince myself to just up and tell her how I felt.

“Molly,” I finally said. “You don’t understand how great it is to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Andy, I felt the same way. I never would have thought I’d see you again. You’re famous now. How is this happening?”

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Entry: 6

It’s late I know. Also, two entries in one day. This has to be a record. Well, I somehow found Molly tonight. And I told her how I felt. Straight up. I got choked up saying it, but we fucking did it. And you know what, she said the same thing to me. I couldn’t believe it. I was so happy, until I wasn’t.

Turns out she’s married. Has a husband and two kids. I saw them; sitting toward the back of the restaurant, patiently waiting for her to come back. They looked so happy. So excited to be there. I turned back to her, grabbed her hand, and told her she needed to go be with her family.

So, we hugged one last time and then I watched as Molly sat back down with her family. Everyone smiled, her husband grabbed her hand and said something I couldn’t make out. Probably how beautiful she looked, or how perfect she was. He was right. He is right.

Epilogue:

Famous Author Arrested

Successful crime writer and storyteller Andy DeAngelo was arrested on drug possession and driving under the influence. DeAngelo’s BAC was .09 as he was driving outside of Boston after a meet and greet. No details were given on where he was going or what drugs were in the vehicle.

When asked what happened all he said was “I’m sorry. Thank you for being you. I’m so sorry.”

More details on this story can be seen online as they are given.