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"Then we don't have a chance," she whispered.
"What are you trying to say?"
She was bleeding inside and she wanted the pain to stop. Her throat had squeezed so tightly shut she could no longer speak.
He regarded her with a flat, cold stare. "I'm not throwing the game."
At first she didn't understand what he meant. But as she took in the bleak expression on his face, she felt sick inside.
His voice was hard and furious, and she remembered that he hid all his stronger emotions behind anger. "I've played hard all my life, but I've always played clean, no matter how much temptation I faced. I've been offered money. I've been offered drugs and women. But I don't throw games. Not for anybody. Not even for you."
"I didn't mean…"
His eyes flicked over her with contempt. Then he stalked out of the room.
She was only dimly aware of the passage of time as she sat on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped in her lap. She heard voices in the hallway when Molly took the twins home and then she heard her return a short time later. Pooh scratched at the door, but went away when she didn't open it. She sat in the room and tried to put the pieces of herself back together.
At ten o'clock, she heard water running in Molly's bathroom. She listlessly pulled off her own clothes, then slipped into her oldest bathrobe, finding comfort in its soft, worn fabric. There was a knock at her door.
"Are you all right, Phoebe?"
Under other circumstances, she would have been pleased that Molly had thought to inquire about her wel-fare, but now she merely felt empty. "I've got a headache. I'll see you tomorrow before you leave for school."
She wandered over to the window and pushed back the curtains to look down into the woods that ran behind the house. Tears clouded her eyes.
"Phoebe?"
She hadn't heard Molly come in, and she didn't want her here. Sooner or later she would have to tell her sister they were leaving Chicago, but she couldn't do it tonight. "The door was closed."
"I know. But—Are you sure you're all right." The light in the room went on.
She continued to face the window because she didn't want Molly to see that she'd been crying. She heard the soft padding of Pooh's paws on the carpet. "It's just a headache."
"You and Dan had a fight, didn't you?"
"Dan and I are always fighting."
"You tease each other, but you don't really fight."
"This wasn't teasing, Molly. This was the real thing."
There was a long pause. "I'm sorry."
"I don't know why you would be. You hate my guts, remember?" She knew it wasn't fair to take out her unhappiness on Molly, but she was past caring. Pooh nudged at her ankles, almost as if she were reprimanding her.
"I don't hate you, Phoebe."
Fresh tears clouded her eyes. "I need to be alone, okay?"
"You're crying."
"Just a temporary weakness. I'll get over it."
"Don't cry. Dan would feel bad if he knew he'd made you so sad."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"I think you're in love with him."
