Emma pushed him away and stormed into the kitchen.

  “No congratulate me, bradda. Molly, you explain.”

  I was glad we didn’t have a door between the dining room and the kitchen. Because if there had been a door, Emma would have slammed it.

  “Emma thought she had a shot at that award,” I said quietly.”

  Donnie’s face fell.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Eh, no need whisper, you two,” Emma called from inside the kitchen. “I may be washed-up useless deadwood, but I’m not deaf.”

  “She shouldn’t take it personally,” Donnie whispered even more quietly.

  “What was that?” Emma yelled. “No secrets, ah?”

  “It’s hard not to take it personally,” I replied. “It was up to each dean to pick the nominee for their campus. So she can’t even blame some faceless committee on Oahu. Emma’s own dean backed Bee’s research and not Emma’s. And get this, Bee claims she didn’t even apply. Gunderson thought Bee’s research was so impressive he put in the application for her.”

  “That’s right.” Emma burst back into the room, holding my sixteen-ounce Chicken Boy coffee mug. She pulled out the chair next to Donnie and plunked down into it. “That’s who chose the ‘most promising or impactful life science research at the university.’ A frickin’ medieval studies professor with holes in his sweater and his glasses on his forehead who couldn’t tell Gregor Mendel from Josef Mengele.”

  “Emma, Gunderson wears an aloha shirt like everyone else. Where does the sweater with the holes in it come from?”

  Emma took a long drink instead of answering me.

  “You’re just throwing around random humanities professor stereotypes, aren’t you?” I asked. “Is that wine?”

  “It’s water. Ha! Just kidding. It’s gin.”

  “Straight gin?” Donnie asked.

  “Nah. I put ice in it.” Emma moved the mug back and forth, so we could hear the ice clink. “Come on. I’m not an animal.”

  “By the way, Emma, it wasn’t Gunderson who didn’t know the difference between Mendel and Mengele. It was Linda from the Student Retention Office. Don’t you remember? You emailed the whole campus about it.”

  Donnie glanced at his watch.

  “Do you have to get back?” I asked.

  “Pretty soon. Francesca’s sleeping so nicely. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “Not that I don’t respect Bee,” Emma said. “I mean, right now I hate her guts of course, but she’s doing a heck of a job promoting herself and picking a sexy research topic. How can mapping plant genomes compete against inventing a magic muscle pill? Man. I guess I knew this was coming. But it still hurts.”

  Francesca whimpered in her sleep. Donnie stood up carefully.

  “I’ll change her and put her in her crib,” he said.

  “Thanks!” I called after him.

  Emma took another swig from the mug.

  “Just between you and me, Molly? I think it’s shibai.”

  “What is?”

  “This whole thing. Gunderson promoting her research. Her acting like it’s a big surprise, like who, little old me? There’s gotta be some kind of gaming the system going on.”

  “You really think so? Or are you just saying all this because you’re mad and you hate Bee’s guts?”

  “Nah, Molly. I’ve been looking into the research and where it’s at now. Number one, Bee’s results are really preliminary. She doesn’t even have any in vivo studies published yet. Number two, no one’s been able to get close to where the press release says Bee is. What are the chances someone at Mahina State is suddenly gonna crack the code when researchers at the top universities and the big pharma companies haven’t been able to?”

  “To be fair, the big pharma companies can’t develop every possible drug. The approval process takes so long that they need to bring out profitable drugs that people take for their entire lives. Like cholesterol drugs. If Bee’s muscle treatment is just going to be used by hardcore bodybuilders and people with rare diseases, it won’t bring in enough money to cover their initial investment.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the big expert on the pharmaceutical industry?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I do know something about—”

  “I guess anyone can be an expert these days, ah?” Emma interrupted. “Like Geoffrey Gunderson, sitting in front of his fireplace, sucking on his pipe and deciding whose life science research is the most impactful.”

  “You gave him a fireplace and a pipe now?”

  Emma rattled the ice in her mug, frowned at it, and took another gulp.

  “Anyway,” I said, “the pharma example is from one of the cases I use in my Intro to Business Management class.”

  “Fine, blah blah blah business reasons. Still doesn’t explain how come someone at another university hasn’t done it yet.”

  “Good point. So, you say you examined the research. Do you have any evidence that Bee faked her results?”

  Donnie came back out, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

  “Faked results? That escalated quickly.” He came over and gave me a kiss. “Francesca’s changed and asleep. I’m going back. See you tonight. Bye, Emma.”

  “Laters.” Emma watched him leave and then turned to me. “Molly, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure I’m right. There’s no way Bee’s research is as far along as she says.”

  “Do you mean, the more you stew about it the more you want to do something to get back at Bee? Emma, if you want to blame someone, blame Gunderson. He put in the application for her, and then he picked her application to forward to the system.”

  Emma set her cup down harder than necessary and pointed at me.

  “Exactly. Favoritism. Predetermined outcome. The whole thing stinks.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it? Out of all the campuses in the system, we got the award. When was the last time Mahina got the system life sciences award?”

  “Let’s see. The last time we got it was…never.”

  “So, it sounds like Gunderson made a smart—”

  “That’s it,” Emma declared. “I’m gonna blow the whistle.”

  I reached over and slid the mug away from Emma. Too late. It was almost empty.

  “Emma. Blow the whistle on what, exactly?”

  “Are you saying I should keep my mouth shut?” Emma challenged me.

  “No, I’m saying don’t go accusing people unless you have actual evidence. It’s one thing to sit around and spin wild stories, but…look, what if you’re wrong, and Bee’s discovered something that works? It would alleviate suffering and might even bring the university some income. Imagine, we could travel to conferences. Get the air conditioning working. Finally fix that leaky toxic waste storage shed next to your building, or whatever that thing is. Emma, this could be good.”

  Emma grabbed back the Chicken Boy mug and glared at me.

  “Molly, you are not being a good friend right now.”

  “What do you want me to say? If you have evidence of fraud you should report it. Otherwise, let Bee do her thing and bring our university money and glory.”

  Emma stared into her mug.

  “It’s not right, Molly. That’s all I’m saying. It’s not right.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A ringing sound interrupted us. I looked at Emma, and she looked at me.

  “That’s not my ringtone,” I said.

  Emma shrugged. “Mine either. Don’t you have a landline?”

  “Oh, that’s right. We do. No one ever calls it, though.” I pushed the chair back and sprinted to the computer desk in the corner of the living room.

  The handset Caller ID flashed a 310-prefix number that I didn’t recognize at first.

  “Probably a junk call. Hello?” I expected to hear a recorded voice imploring me to call for important information about my car’s extended warranty. Like anyone would sell an extended warranty on a 1959 Thunderbird.

  “Is this Molly?”

  There was no mistaking the bracing Brooklyn accent.

  “Tiffany! Ohhh, wow!” I tried to disguise the panic in my voice as enthusiasm. Stephen’s mother, I mouthed to Emma. She grimaced. Not because she had anything against Stephen’s mother, but because she knows how adept I am at negotiating delicate, emotionally-fraught situations.

  “Tiffany, how are you? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask how you’re doing. Not good, of course, how could you be? What am I saying? Poor Stephen. I can’t imagine…”

  Emma shook her head and took the mug back into the kitchen.

  “Oh Molly, it’s awful,” Stephen’s mother said. “Just awful. You must be absolutely devastated!”

  Stephen’s parents had been convinced that Stephen and I were going to get married. Even after our breakup, which they seemed to believe was a temporary bump in the road.

  “Och, Molly!” Stephen’s father, Angus Park, was on the phone now. “How are ye holdin’ up?”

  Stephen’s father sounded even more Scottish than the last time I’d talked to him. This despite his having lived in Los Angeles for decades.

  “Angus, I am so sorry. I can’t even imagine. Is there anything at all I can do?”

  “Well we’d love to see you,” Stephen’s mother said.

  “Yes, of course, me too. But I don’t think I’ll have the chance to travel to California anytime soon—”

  “Oh, Molly, I’m not talking about coming out to California,” Stephen’s mother said. “We’re here,”

  “You’re here? You mean you’re here in Mahina?”

  Emma was on her way back from the kitchen. She nearly dropped her drink but managed to set it on the table just in time.

  “Aye,” said Stephen’s father. “An I don’t mind telling ye, it’s no what we expected.”

  “It’s like the third world here, is what he means,” Stephen’s mother added. “I guess you’re not supposed to say that now. I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just the kind of thing Stephen would have liked, isn’t it, Angus? But the hotel is pretty primitive.”

  “Where are you staying?” I asked. “I can recommend a place if you like.”

  “It’s called the Lehua Inn.” Stephen’s mother pronounced it “Le-hwa.”

  “Oh. Sorry, that’s pretty much our nicest hotel.”

  “Can we come now? Give us your address and we’ll punch it into the GPS. We’d invite you to meet us here, but they won’t let us check in yet. You’re not near the lava, are you?”

  “No, we’re nowhere near the lava flow. But really, you don’t have to—”

  “Oh, what am I thinking? I have your address right here.”

  “You do?”

  “Stephen had you as his local emergency contact. Okay, we’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  I replaced the phone and came back over to sit with Emma.

  “Stephen’s parents are coming here,” I said.

  “Yeah, I heard the whole thing.”

  “And he had me as his local emergency contact. Why me?”

  She slid her mug over and I took a big gulp. Which I quickly regretted.

  “Warm gin?” I sputtered.

  “The ice was diluting it too much. Molly, Stephen’s parents like you a lot, ah? It’s weird. How come they like you so much?”

  “My delightful personality and sterling moral character. What a ridiculous question.”

  “Nah, for real though.”

  “I think they liked the way I’d clean up Stephen’s messes. And the fact that I’m the daughter of a prominent OB-GYN. Also, I’m not underage.”

  “Bee’s not underage.”

  “Bee’s not his girlfriend.”

  “When you put it that way, I guess you do look pretty good on paper. Do they know you’re married and have a kid?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been in touch with them. Who knows what Stephen told them?”

  “I bet he let them believe what they wanted to believe. What if they think you’re the bereaved fiancée? Someone should let them know, Molly.”

  “You’re right. Someone should. I wish it didn’t have to be me.”

  I heard Francesca fussing in the bedroom and went back to see what she wanted. I had just brought her back out and gotten her latched on when the phone rang again. Emma brought the handset over to me.

  “Molly.” It was Stephen’s mother again. “We’re trying to find your house, but the GPS has us next to a big graveyard.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” I harbored a wild hope that this would put them off. “I am right next to the cemetery. When the hedge is trimmed, you can see it from our back lanai. It’s huge. Gravestones as far as the eye can—”

  “Oh, never mind. Angus, this is it. Number twenty-five. We’re here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few seconds later came the knock on the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Emma said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. I owe you.” I stood slowly, carefully keeping the baby in position. She clamped down so hard that I was convinced if I let go of her, she’d still be latched on like a circus acrobat.

  “Please tell them I’ll be right out,” I said. “You’re sure you can handle it?”

  “You leave it to me, Molly.”

  I sank into the big glider chair in the master bedroom. It would be a while before the baby went to sleep. She was wide awake and hungry. Through the bedroom door I heard Emma let Stephen’s parents in. I couldn’t make out any words, just the rumble of conversation. Emma’s tone and inflection seemed perfectly normal. You wouldn’t know she’d been drinking straight gin for the last hour. I don’t know how she does it. If it were me, I’d be dragging myself around on my elbows by now.

  Finally, Francesca drifted off to sleep. I detached her, placed her in her crib, checked the mirror to make sure everything was dry and in its proper place, and went out to face the music. At least Emma would have filled them in by now. I wouldn’t have to break the news about my getting married and having a baby.

  Emma, Tiffany, and Angus were sitting around the coffee table in the living room. Emma had not only made coffee, she had placed all three mugs on coasters and set out a bowl of almonds.

  “The university’s poormouthing,” Stephen’s mother was telling Emma. “They’re giving us this big story about how they get less money from the state every year and they’re not allowed to raise their tuition. They’re trying to make us think they don’t have any money to pay…Molly!”

  Stephen’s parents looked younger than I remembered them. Angus’s hair had thickened and blackened with time, and Tiffany had a lovely new nose, long and slender to fit her face. Her former nose had been a sweet-sixteen gift from her parents. It had had the sharp-tipped, ski-jump shape that now looked dated.

  Stephen’s parents stood to greet me. We took turns hugging Los Angeles-style, with air kisses instead of actual lip-to-cheek contact. Emma stayed seated and sipped her coffee.

  “Tiffany,” I said, “you look beautiful.” I knew she’d be pleased that I’d noticed her remodeled nose. Stephen’s parents were proud of the work their clinic did, and always eager to show it off.

  “It’s the new nose. I’m glad you like it, Molly. You have such good taste. Well of course you do, that’s why you picked our Stephen, right Angus? You know, some people call this an aquiline nose, but that’s wrong. I notice you didn’t make that mistake.”

  “Aye,” Angus agreed. “Aquiline means ye’ve a conk like an eagle, wi’a wee bend in it.”

  Angus’s hair wasn’t the only thing that had gotten thicker over the years. And why not? Americans adore a Scottish accent. The clients of Park Beverly Hills Cosmetic Center were surely no exception.

  “There’s no one shape that’s right for everyone,” Tiffany said.

  “So true,” I agreed.

  I wasn’t sure where to take the conversation from there, but a wail from the bedroom decided it for me.

  “What on earth was that?” Tiffany exclaimed. “It sounds like a baby crying.”

  I widened my eyes at Emma. She grimaced and shrugged. With all of her chatting and coffee-pouring and almond-setting-out, my whole married-with-a-baby situation apparently hadn’t come up.

  “Emma,” I said, “would you mind bringing everyone up to date? I’ll be right back.”

  I turned and hurried down the hallway before Emma had a chance to wiggle out of it.

  When I came back out to the living room, the mood had changed. Stephen’s parents looked stricken. Emma had done her job and delivered the news. This was my problem now.

  “Molly.” Tiffany’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “You’re married?”

  “I told the lad, didn’t I, tae fish or cut bait,” Angus said. “It’s nae Molly’s fault, Tiff.”

  I held the baby tight to me and shook my head. No, it most certainly is not my fault.

  “At her age, she canna wait forever,” Angus added.

  “But Stephen wanted children,” Tiffany objected.

  “Yeah. He wanted to date them,” Emma muttered.

  I frowned and shook my head at Emma. Fortunately, Stephen’s parents hadn’t heard her.

  Stephen’s mother marched up to me, grasped my shoulders, and looked me and the baby up and down.

  “No one told us you were a mother, Molly. Why didn’t anyone tell us?”

  Francesca cooed and batted her chubby arms at Stephen’s mother. Don’t rub it in, I wanted to tell the baby.

  “I don’t know. I guess Stephen...hm.” I was going to say, I guess Stephen didn’t keep you up to date. But that would sound like I was blaming their dead son.

  I guess Stephen has been too busy to tell you about it? No, that would be worse. It would sound like I was still blaming Stephen for not telling them, only being sarcastic about it.

  Maybe he did, and you just forgot.

  Nope, that wouldn’t work. I gave Stephen’s mother a shrug and a weak smile.

  Tiffany released me and sat back down.

  “Angus and I have always appreciated what you did for Stephen,” she said. “Nothing changes that.”

 

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