Second Most Important Person, Part One (continued)

[snooter]

Back at the apartment, Andy is in the shower. Sid disappears into the bedroom, and Molly can hear them talking over the sound of the water, though she can't make out the words. She has a missed call from her mother, but she decides not to answer it. The party starts in an hour and she's nervous. She wishes they hadn't finished the champagne yesterday.

Sid and Andy emerge thirty minutes later, both damp-haired and dressed for the party. Sid is not wearing the new shirt he bought today, but one that looks like the gray shirt he wore to work yesterday, only a slightly darker shade of gray. Andy is in his usual uniform: polo shirt with a frayed collar, khaki pants. Molly changes into her new outfit and Andy applauds sarcastically when she emerges.

"Don't even tell me how much you paid for all of that," he says.

"I wasn't gonna," she says, stepping into her shoes. She wonders if Andy knows that Sid was the one who funded their shopping trip. Money seems to be a sensitive subject between the two of them. She smiles at Sid, thinking of that house that's waiting for them, the avocado tree's shadow dropping over the pool as the sun sinks.

"Remember what I said about sticking to me or Andy the whole time we're there," Sid says, pointing a finger at her. He no longer seems to be in a good mood.

Molly lets Andy ride up front with Sid on the drive to Seneca's house. The traffic is bad, and Sid curses, saying they'll be late. Andy stares out the window and doesn't say anything until they're almost there, Molly with her nose pressed to the window as she gawks at the mansions on the palm-lined streets.

"Will there be food at this thing?" Andy asks.

"No telling," Sid says. "Want to stop and pick something up?"

"God, no. You're already late."

"I texted her. She knows I'm on my way. Molly, you hungry?"

"Forget it, Sid," Andy says before she can answer. "We'll just - hope for the best."

They both go silent, and Molly's heart beats faster. She's more nervous about whatever is going on between them than about meeting celebrities. She tells herself it's nothing; Sid is just dreading his work day, and Andy knows he won't fit in with these people. He's only coming along to chaperone Molly.

Seneca's house is gated, like all the other enormous dwellings on this road. Molly puts her window down and peers in through the gate while Sid enters his access code. The house is angular and modern, lots of glass and dark wood. It's right on the beach, and Molly can hear the crash of the ocean as they pull up the driveway.

"This place is crazy," Molly says. She has to pee pretty badly; she'll be able to tell Courtney and the others that she used the same toilet Seneca Considine sits on. Thinking of this, she finds herself wishing that they were simply touring the house instead of meeting the woman herself.

"Where are the other cars?" Andy asks as they climb out. There's no thumping music, no people spilled out onto the lawn with red plastic cups. Not that kind of party.

"Maybe people got dropped off," Sid says. "None of these people drive themselves anywhere."

"Sure they do," Andy says. "They're always getting arrested for DUIs."

"Quit being such a grump," Molly says, starting to feel panicked about the way her brother is behaving. Did they manage to fight while showering together? They climb the stairs to the front door, and Molly forgets that she has to pee, distracted by a queasiness that has her worried about throwing up on Seneca's feet as soon as she answers the door. She's afraid she'll make the gossip pages as a disappointing party guest.

The person who answers the door is not Seneca, but she so closely resembles her that Molly is fooled for a moment. They must be sisters; this woman looks just slightly younger, more tan, and less pretty. She leans up onto her tip toes to hug Sid.

"Have you recovered from last night?" she asks, ignoring Andy and Molly.

"Yeah - Chrissy, this my boyfriend, Andy, and his sister, Molly," Sid says, gesturing to them with his sunglasses. "This is Seneca's sister, Chrissy."

Chrissy looks at them and nods, smiling vaguely. She's got her hand on Sid's bicep.

"Adorable," she says. "They've got freckles."

"Yeah." Sid gives Molly an apologetic look. "Can we come in?"

"Can you come in?" Chrissy walks into the house, laughing, and Sid follows, motioning for them to join him. Molly and Andy exchange a look.

"Just wait til you meet the main attraction," Andy says, whispering.

The house's rooms are huge and airy, an open kitchen dumping into a main sitting area with a boxy fireplace on the far end. Sliding glass doors are open on an enormous porch, which is covered with more seating, everything bright white and pillowy. Before they can reach the porch, a tiny woman who is stretched out on the couch sits up and regards them blearily, rubbing her eyes as if she's just woken up. It's Seneca, and she's so small in real life that Molly lifts a hand to cover her mouth when she stands. She brushes her bottom lip with her finger, trying to play the gesture off as an itch.

"Sidney," Seneca says, her irritable expression evaporating as she walks toward him. She hugs Sid around his middle; she's almost literally half the size of him.

"Where is everybody?" Sid asks. He puts his hand on top of Seneca's head and pats her there.

"Oh, you know," Seneca says. "Late."

"I brought Andy, and this is his sister, Molly," Sid says, ushering her toward them. She's smiling like someone who is still half asleep as she reaches out to shake Andy's hand.

"Nice to meet you," she says.

"We've actually met," Andy says. Seneca nods as if she didn't really hear that and moves on to Molly, gasping and clapping her hands against her cheeks.

"Oh my God," she says. She takes Molly's hands and pulls her arms out as widely as she can. "She's so cute!"

Molly laughs self consciously and looks at Sid, who rolls his eyes. When she turns back to Seneca she sort of leaps on Molly and hugs her shoulders, rocking her back and forth. Molly sneaks a look at Andy, feeling like she's just been attacked by a leprechaun. Seneca isn't even that much shorter than her, or even that much skinner, she's just sort of miniature in her proportions. Molly reaches up to pat her back, then thinks better of it, her hand frozen in mid air.

"Great to meet you," Molly says when Seneca pulls away to beam at her. "I'm a big fan of your music." That's a lie, and Molly sees Andy cover his face out of the corner of her eye, maybe to hide a laugh.

"Oh, you're sweet," Seneca says, grabbing Molly's hands again. She looks at Sid. "She's sweet."

"Yeah," Sid says. "I thought you were doing the party here?"

"I am, I am, but like I said, everyone's late. Guys! Let's have a drink. We can sit out on the porch. Archie and Tran are out there. I think. Chrissy?"

"Yeah?" Chrissy is in the kitchen, pouring a glass pitcher full of something greenish into martini glasses.

"Are those the cucumber thingies?"

"Yep. Here, everybody take one. They're super healthy for you."

They head into the kitchen, and Chrissy hands out the drinks. Sid shakes his head when he tries to offer her one.

"I'm on the clock," he says. Seneca makes an exasperated noise and tugs him forward by his wrist.

"Don't be silly," she says. "You can have one or two. We didn't make them that strong."

These words are leaving her lips just as Andy is choking on the first drink he took from his glass. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, his face turning red.

"There's alcohol in these," he says. "I didn't know." He coughs. "You said it was healthy - I kind of gulped it." His eyes are watering. "Sorry."

"I meant they're healthy except for the vodka," Chrissy says. Molly sniffs her drink and coughs. Seneca laughs.

"Vodka's not that bad for you," she says. "It really isn't."

They take their drinks out onto the porch, where Archie and Tran, who Molly for some reason expected to be small dogs, lift their hands in greeting. They're heavily styled and flamboyantly accented, their skinny jeans so tight that just looking at them makes Molly want to adjust her underwear. She doesn't dare, sitting down on a plush white sofa beside Sid, who is already halfway finished with his drink. Andy sits next to him, and Sid tugs him against his side, which Molly is happy to see, especially when Andy slides his hand over Sid's, their fingers locking together.

"It's really beautiful out here," Molly says, admiring the ocean and the sprawling infinity pool down on the level below the porch they're sitting on.

"This is my favorite bar," Tran says as Chrissy refills his drink.

"You're a shitty tipper," she says, and he gives her a smack on the ass that makes her laugh.

"Molly," Seneca says when she's seated across from them, beside Archie. She reaches over to take Molly's hand. "Has Sid told you about how he saved me?"

"Oh - sure, I mean, I read about it. And Andy told me." She doesn't want to mention Sid's version of what happened, which apparently differs a lot from Seneca's.

"It was the most terrifying moment of my life," Seneca says. "And I was in New York when the towers came down."

"Geez."

"That man wanted to kill me. I thought I was as good as dead. I don't even know where Sid came from, but suddenly he was there. He's like an angel."

They all turn to look at Sid, who seems to be working hard to remain expressionless, his jaw clicking. Andy is chewing his lip, grinning like he finds this hilarious. Molly can see Sid's fingers squeezing in around Andy's as if in warning.

"I would have died without him," Seneca says. "Right there on the floor at the club."

"Can we talk about something more cheerful, darling?" Archie says. Tran is picking at his nail beds and Chrissy and brushing sand off of the sofa cushions.

"Something cheerful." Seneca thinks for a moment, sips from her drink, then throws up one hand, her fingers spread open. "My new album."

Whenever Molly's glass empties, Chrissy is there to refill it, and soon she's the closest to drunk she's ever been, laughing at everything and talking loudly about her friend Courtney's boyfriend troubles. Andy is drinking a lot, too, wandering around the pool area as more guests begin to arrive. Sid has been stationed at the front door to make sure no shady characters get in.

"Are you going to swim?" Molly shouts over the wind as she makes her way down to Andy. She left her shoes up on the porch, not wanting to risk them on the steep staircase.

"Swim? Huh? No." Andy looks sort of stately compared to the others, his hands in the pockets of his khakis. Molly stands behind him and rests her chin on his back, staring up at the purplish evening sky.

"I have something awesome that I want to tell you," she says, thinking of the house. "But I can't."

"Well, as long as it's awesome, I won't worry about it."

"Ha, you, not worry about something? You must really be drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Andy says. "And didn't I tell you these things were boring?"

"I'm not bored!" Molly says, so loudly that she laughs and hides her face against Andy's shirt. Her brother smells like soap and sweat, and faintly of home.

"You need to eat something," Andy says. "C'mon, let's go raid the kitchen."

They ask Sid for permission to root around in the fridge, and he laughs. He's able to keep an eye on the door as he cuts slices from a roast chicken and a block of fancy-looking cheese. The party is beginning to get crowded, music playing from speakers that Molly has not been able to locate.

"They just got this stuff yesterday," Sid says. "So it's still good." He hands them each a paper towel loaded with food. Molly's eyes get wet as she accepts hers; she loves Sid so much. She wants to spoil the surprise about the house, badly, but she won't.

"You okay?" Sid asks, reaching over to jostle her shoulder.

"She called you Sidney," Molly says, making sure that Seneca is not in earshot. She's on the other side of the sitting area, near the stairs, laughing with some newcomers.

"Better not catch you calling me that," Sid says. He taps her on the chin, turns to kiss Andy's cheek, and goes back to the door.

"He shouldn't be affectionate with you while he's on the job," Molly says, her mouth full of chicken. "It makes him less scary."

"No one here is scared of him," Andy says. He's making himself a drink, vodka and ice cubes.

"They should be, though," Molly says. "He could beat them all up."

Andy doesn't respond, just throws back half the drink and makes a sort of tower out of chicken and cheese. He bites into it like it's a sandwich.

"You're drinking a lot," Molly says.

"So? I'm not driving."

She reaches for his drink and tries it. He laughs when she makes a face. It's like drinking ice cold nail polish remover.

"I'll make you something you'll like," he says, and he turns to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of pomegranate mineral water.

The crowd gets thicker and the music louder. Andy keeps his hand on Molly's back or shoulder as they move from room to room, snooping. Molly is fascinated by everything: the framed pictures of Seneca with other celebrities, the scented candles that are burning in the bathrooms, Seneca's disastrously messy bedroom. She can feel a headache coming on, so she switches from pomegranate mineral water and vodka to plain tap water. Andy keeps taking her on detours to the kitchen so he can make more drinks for himself. Sid is no longer standing at the front door.

"We should text Sid," she says, shouting to be heard while Andy takes handfuls of ice cubes from the tray in the freezer. "I haven't seen him in awhile."

"He's fine," Andy shouts back. "He's in his element."

"No - you - but you said he's not a people person? Not these people, you said."

"No, he just likes being admired by them," Andy says. "C'mon, let's go sit outside."

The ocean-scented air feels much better than the stuffy atmosphere inside the house. There are people in the pool, shrieking with laughter, and at least one of the women is completely naked. Molly won't let herself look. She goes to a quieter edge of the porch and leans her elbows on the railing, looking at the house next door.

"Do you think someone famous lives there?" she asks. Andy shrugs.

"I don't really care about famous people," he says. "When I go to the movies, I want to see the characters. I don't want to be thinking about who's playing them, and the last time they got divorced or arrested or whatever."

"You're smarter than me," Molly says, straightening up to look at him. She's still drunk. He rolls his eyes.

"Not necessarily," he says.

"Andy, you're mad," she says, patting his arm. "At Sid. Why? For this job?"

"I'm not mad about the job. He's making a lot of money. He claims to be saving some of it. I'm mad that he likes it, and that he won't admit that he does."

"I don't think he likes it that much."

"Yeah? You don't know him like I do."

Molly feels both offended and charmed by this, and the combination makes her sit down heavily on the cushioned bench that runs the length of the porch railing. Of course it's true, nobody knows Sid as well as Andy does. She's often tried to imagine what they're like when they're alone together, talking in bed or cleaning up after dinner. She knows one thing that Andy doesn't: the house, the little diamond-shaped windows on the front door, the way Sid's guard went down as soon as they came near it.

Andy drains his drink and slams the empty glass on the porch railing.

"This is the beginning of him leaving me, you see," he says.

"Oh, Andy. You're wrong." She should tell him about the house. She must. But something stops her. Sid would be so angry, but more than that, something precious would be ruined. His pure happiness about that place.

"You sound like Mom," Andy says.

"Ha!"

"Even the way he's all - the kissing me on the cheek thing. It's like he's apologizing for something."

"Yeah, he's apologizing for you having to put up with this. But it's temporary. You're his whole life."

"I was," Andy says, mumbling. "I don't know - fuck, don't listen to me. I'm just jealous."

"Let's do something more cheerful," Molly says, popping up from her seat.

"Like what?" He turns toward her, his wrist slipping against the glass. It goes sailing off the porch and lands with a thud down in the sand. Andy doesn't seem to notice this, so Molly doesn't mention it.

"We should dance," she says. "People are dancing in there." She does not expect Andy to entertain this idea at all, but he nods tiredly.

"Let me get another drink first," he says. He reaches for his glass, and looks a little heartbroken when he can't find it.

Molly considers telling him not to have another, then she thinks of what he said. You sound like Mom. Back in the house, a club remix of one of Seneca's songs comes on, and Molly pulls Andy toward the massive crowd of dancers, who've managed to make her warehouse-like living room seem small and cramped.

When they were kids, they used to go nuts for the spinkler in the backyard, laughing and shouting as they jumped through those moving spokes of water. This feels like that did, the two of them lapsing into mindless joy, bouncing with the crowd and shouting out the inane lyrics in a sing along that doesn't make a dent in the noise inside the house. Still, Molly can read Andy's lips, knows that he's either intentionally or inadvertently memorized the words, and it's so funny that she falls against him, cracking up. He grabs her hand, twirls her, and yanks her back before she can crash into one of the seemingly hundreds of damp bodies that are packed into Seneca's living room. Where did they all come from? Who are they, exactly? She finds that she doesn't care, and she can't see anything but her brother, both as he is now and as he was when he was the second biggest person in her world, when she was small enough to be lifted easily into his arms.

The music ranges from heavy metal riots to violently cheerful Japanese pop and songs that seem more like jokes than music, one featuring a guy imitating Chewbacca. Andy is ecstatic over that one. He recognizes it, sings along, and Molly's face hurts from laughing, her calves beginning to get sore from dancing.

“My shoes!” she shouts over the noise of the crowd, pulling Andy forward until she's speaking directly into his ear.

“Huh?” he shouts back.

“My shoes! I left them out on the porch!”

“Do your feet hurt?” Andy asks. “Do you want to get up on my shoulders?”

“No! But yes!”

Everyone cheers her just for being above the crowd. She raises her arms up over her head and cheers back at them, her hair slapping her shoulders in sweaty strands. Andy has a vice grip on her legs, and she holds on to the top of his head with one hand while giving high fives with the other. Everybody here is the best, everybody is so nice, raising their drinks to her. Other girls get up on other guys' shoulders, and Molly starts to feel dizzy, but she doesn't want to come down yet.

Sid appears, and Molly expects him to look up at her with the same admiration that the others are offering, but he's talking to Andy, pointing at the floor. Andy says something and backs away, stumbling. Sid steadies him, and eases Molly into his arms when she slides down Andy's back. She hugs him, giggling, wants to put her head on his shoulder and fall asleep.

“C'mon,” he says, guiding her through the crowd, toward the stairs. Molly turns to make sure Andy is following.

“Where to?” she asks.

“The V.I.P. room,” Sid says. He's sweating, too, and she wonders if he was dancing. Doubtful. He's stronger than he looks, and he looks pretty strong. She feels like she's been filled with helium as he pulls her up the stairs.

“What time is it?” she asks, because she wants to text Courtney, and she can't remember the time difference between here and home right now, but she's pretty sure it's even later there.

“Late,” Sid says. “After three.”

“Three? Three?” She was out until one o'clock in the morning once, after a football game, and she got grounded for a month.

They come to a guest bedroom with a giant bed, red and black sheets, and lamps that make Molly think of the stalagmites in a cave on a field trip that once bored her. A man and a woman are standing in the doorway of the attached bathroom, arguing, the woman holding a beer bottle like she wants him to know it could be a weapon if necessary.

“Get out,” Sid says to them, and the guy glares at him, then seems to realize that Sid is bigger than him. He scoffs and walks off, the woman following.

“Rodney!” she screams, and Molly laughs, because that name is hilarious. Sid puts her on the bed.

“Watch her,” Sid says to Andy. “I have to clear this crowd out of here.”

“What, by yourself?” Andy laughs. “Good luck.”

Sid says nothing, and closes the door hard behind him. Molly slumps down against the bedspread, which feels nice against her cheek, expensive, like everything here. She touches the hem of her eighty-eight dollar t-shirt and moans when she feels how damp it's gotten, maybe ruined. Andy pushes her hair off of her forehead.

“I'll get you some water from the bathroom,” he says. “Don't move.”

“I'm fine,” she says, though she can feel something new and evil building in her, like when she knew last year that there was no point in continuing to deny it: she had bronchitis, and was going to miss the track team trip to Salt Lake City. Andy returns and makes her sit up to drink water from what might be a toothbrush holder.

“Andy,” she says as she sinks down again, her eyes closed against the bedspread. “I want to dance more. That was so fun.”

“Tomorrow, okay?” he says. He kisses her temple. “You're - I forgot how young you are, I think.”

“No, no - you said. 'Cause I liked your apartment. You said I was young.”

“But you're smarter than me,” Andy says, which makes her laugh. “You are. You know how to be happy. I keep trying to learn how to deal with it.”

“Is Sid mad at us?”

“No.” Andy remembers, just barely, what it was like to see their parents splitting apart for good. Molly was still inside her mother when it happened. “No, everything's fine.”

That's how she falls asleep: with Andy stroking her hair, telling her everything is fine. She sleeps deeply but not well, and wakes up feeling like elephants have trampled her during the night. There's light coming in through the windows, and Andy is asleep beside her, one of the red pillows hugged against his chest. She watches the rise and fall of his breath for a few minutes, and her stomach lurches into seasickness rather suddenly. She runs for the bathroom and gets sick into the same toilet that, she would wager, Seneca Considine gets sick into.

When she no longer feels like she's stumbling across the deck of a rollicking ship, she drinks water from the tap, bringing it to her lips with her hand. Throwing up has never been such a relief before; she feels remade as she wipes her mouth on one of Seneca's towels. Out in the bedroom, Andy is still fast asleep, and the clock says it's almost ten o'clock in the morning. The house is quiet. She walks to the bedroom window and squints out at the beach, looking for the seagulls that she can hear screaming in the distance. She can't find them, and the emptiness of the beach unnerves her.

She opens the door, expecting to find some remnant of the party still raging on, despite the buzz of silence in the main living room. There's nothing, just a collection of people sleeping on the sofas. Sid is not among them, so she pads down the stairs, still barefoot, to find him. The house doesn't look as wrecked as she thought it would after such a crowded party, and she wonders if Sid has cleaned up.

Seneca is among the people on the sofas who are sleeping. She's draped across Chrissy's lap, her face completely hidden by her hair. Archie and Tran are cuddled up together on another couch, and there are a few people Molly doesn't recognize sprawled across arm chairs and piles of cushions that have been pulled onto the floor. None of them stirs, and Molly feels like a ghost, her skirt blowing in the ocean breeze that comes through the doors that are still open to the porch. On the black lacquer coffee table there's a Ouija board, an empty pack of cigarettes, and some white dust that she actually mistakes for sugar before she remembers where she is.

Sid is out on the porch, his back to the house and his hands on the railing. Molly glances at the spot where she left her shoes and sees nothing. Maybe Sid secured them somewhere for her. He turns when he sees her coming.

"You alright?" he asks, and she nods. She stands at the railing and looks down at the pool. There's a pair of cheap-looking, pink-rimmed sunglasses floating in it.

"What were they doing in there?" Molly asks, curious about the Ouija board.

"Coke," Sid says.

The sick feeling returns, but it's sharper now, something she won't get rid of as easily. She looks up at him and feels like the question is already outside of her, like he's already heard it, but she asks anyway.

"You don't do that, though?" she says. "Right?"

She sees him wishing that he could lie, a flicker of resentment for the fact that he can't. The apology in his eyes comes so fast and hard that she knows he not only does it, he did it last night, and the night before. She turns away from him, her hands curling to fists on the porch railing.

"It's not like I do it to get high," he says. "I can't do these fifteen hour shifts without it, it's impossible, I tried, and Red Bull doesn't cut it sometimes, okay? Okay?"

He reaches for her shoulder, and she steps out of his grip, her eyes clouding over so thickly that she expects to feel cotton when she reaches up to clear them.

"It's just for a few more months," he says. "It's not - I'm not addicted. I'll be able to quit."

She walks back toward the house, trying to hold in the sob that's built to a painful pinch in the center of her chest. Her hands keep opening and then curling into fists, and she's not sure what she wants to do with them: hit something, or drill her knuckles into her eyes, or tear what's happening away like scrap paper from a notebook, crumple it up and throw it away, start over.

"Molly," Sid says, hissing as they walk past the sleeping people. "Wait. Hang on. Where -"

She reaches one of the guest bathrooms before he can finish the question, shuts and locks herself inside. For a few seconds she thinks she's going to throw up again, but she's got nothing left on her stomach. She slides down to the floor with her back to the door and covers her mouth with her hands. The door buckles as Sid sits against it, on the other side. She hears him sigh.

"Fuck," he says.

"You can't do this," she says, not even sure he'll be able to hear her with her voice so small. "You'll wreck everything."

He doesn't respond, which is as good as acknowledging that this is true. But he knew it before she said so, and in every way that matters, he's already done it. For a long time they just sit there, and Molly feels as if his back is pressed to hers, no door between them. She can feel the scales of that dragon and the curve of his spine, the push of his breath. She listens for noises from the house, the partiers rousing or Andy looking for them, but there's nothing.

"We should go," Sid says after immeasurable time has passed. Molly's legs are stretched in front of her, and she's staring at her feet, which need washing, sand stuck between her toes.

"Go where?" she says, as if everything has been erased. It has: that apartment, the car. The house with the avocado tree. It's all just dust now.

"Breakfast," he says. "I bet you're starving."

Strangely, it's true. She sniffles and pulls her knees to her chest, lets out a shaky breath.

"C'mon," he says. "Andy will be worried. Is he still upstairs?"

"Yeah," she says. There's a long stretch of quiet, both of them thinking the same thing. "I'm not going to tell him," she says.

Sid doesn't say anything, and she's glad, because she's not sure what she wants to hear. She stands on trembling legs and opens the door. His eyebrows arch when he sees her face, and she's not going to let him hug her, but then she does. She clings hard to his shoulders, her face hidden against his sleeve.

"I promise it will be okay," he says. It doesn't sound the same as it did when Andy made the same promise, last night, before she fell asleep. Andy said so like he believed it was true.

They go upstairs, but when they reach the guest bedroom, Andy isn't there. Molly's panic builds slowly as they go from room to room, finding nothing. She can see Sid beginning to get worked up, too, can hear his breath start to come harder as he checks behind shower curtains and inside closets. When they can't find Andy anywhere in the house, Sid heads toward the back porch, and Molly follows.

"Sidney?" Seneca says as they pass the sofas, her Top 40 voice a witchy little scratch of a thing. Sid ignores her and jogs out onto the porch, and Molly doesn't look back. Sid reaches the porch railing first, and when he curses she knows he's relieved, not angry. She comes to stand beside him and sees Andy sitting alone on the beach, watching the sea birds scurry in the surf.

Sid gets down the stairs first, but once they hit the beach Molly bolts ahead. She's never lost a foot race to him. When she reaches Andy he turns in surprise, and she drops to her knees and hugs herself around his back.

"Hey," Andy says. He turns to look at Sid. He must have seen the white residue on the coffee table; he walked right past it. But Andy doesn't always notice things like that. He doesn't care about the personal lives of celebrities, might have averted his eyes. And in some ways he's still so innocent.

"Are you okay?" Andy asks, frowning when he sees Molly splotchy face.

"Yeah," she says. "I got sick, but I'm fine. Sid helped me."

They both look up at Sid, who seems like he doesn't know what to do next, his hands open at his sides, lips parted.

"Are you okay?" Molly asks Andy.

"I'm fine," he says. He's pallid, hungover, and she knows he's not stupid. He might not know exactly what's wrong, but he knows enough. She thinks of what he said to her in the pool. You have no idea how hard it is to be an adult. She's never really seen him as one before now.

"Did Seneca release you?" Andy asks, tipping his head back to look up at Sid.

"I released myself," Sid says. "And. Anyway. I don't think I can do this anymore."

"Me either," Andy says. They hold each other's gaze, and Molly gets up, brushing sand from her skirt.

"I'm gonna go down to the shore for a minute," she says. "Look for shells."

She knows she won't find any shells, just waterlogged plastic bags and maybe some driftwood. She startles the birds, who fly off to pick over another section of the beach, ten feet away. The ocean is violent enough to make her think of the first time she saw it. She was maybe four years old, holding Andy's hand. They were both afraid of the waves, and they would wade in until the water swirled around their ankles, then run for it when a new wave came crashing toward them. Their mother didn't take them in that year. They built sandcastles instead, and swam in the hotel pool, Molly with floaties on her arms. Years later, on a beach trip with a friend, Molly watched her friend's father walking into the water with her friend's younger brother, who clung hard, laughing when the waves broke against them. She remembers being fourteen, seeing that, thinking: so that's how it's done.

She turns back toward Sid and Andy, afraid she'll see them fighting. Sid is sitting behind Andy now, wrapped around him. They're talking, Sid's arms locked across Andy's chest, his legs clamped around Andy's sides. Sid kisses the corner of Andy's eye, and Andy leans back against him. She's afraid they'll catch her watching them, but they're too absorbed in each other to notice. They're probably only talking about where to go for breakfast, or what Sid will do for money if he really quits working for Seneca. Andy touches the stubble on Sid's cheek. Probably just telling him that he needs to shave.

The bottom of her skirt is getting wet. She'll have it dry cleaned, but it will always smell a little bit like the ocean. She's not sure this is a good thing, or that she wants it to be. There are so many new anxieties to unravel, but for a moment, looking out at the smooth stretch of the ocean beyond the waves, all she can think about is how she can't wait to fall in love. There will be disasters and disappointments, revelations that could unmake the whole thing in an instant, but that's part of what she wants. The beginning of her real life.

Sid and Andy are calling for her. If Sid quits working for Seneca, Molly will have four whole days with the two of them. She could be one reason for him to stay clean. It's not a solution, but it's something: four days. She pulls her soggy skirt from the water, wrings it out, runs back to them.

Part Two