Later, when she stood in Molly's guest room in her worn-out housecoat, carefully hanging up the black dress (cursed thing, she thought viciously, I ought to burn you, but even that surge of hate felt vague and patchwork and far away), Molly had come to lean in the doorway behind her. Susan didn't look, but she could hear her fidgiting nervously. After a pause, in which Susan studied the dress's cuff in more detail than strictly necessary (was it somehow scuffed and frayed already? Hardly, and again her sardonic humor felt distant, but maybe if she stared at it hard enough the threads would begin to snap and unravel of their own accord), she let it drop and sighed.
"Out with it, Margaret, whatever you've come to say." She didn't turn, just stared at jet beading and waited.
Molly sighed. "It's- Nothing, Sue, nothing. I just wanted to see... how you were holding up. To check on you."
Susan's shoulders slumped. Molly meant well, she knew, and it wasn't helping anything to treat her poorly. She turned and crossed the room, guilt clear on her face.
"I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to snap. It's just- it's hard. It's been a long day." Molly nodded understandingly, concern melting into sympathy. Susan thought she might break if one more person were sympathetic to her today, break apart or throw something or scream.
Molly reached for her hand, patting it awkwardly. "I know, Sue. And of course I'm here for you, whatever you need."
Susan pasted a smile onto her face and hoped it looked right. She couldn't be sure, grief and hours of remaining polite in the face of an overwhelming urge to scream or to sob or to somehow lash out had left her muscles aching and not a little numb, and now she didn't trust them to respond properly.
"Thank you, Molly. You're a good friend, and probably better than I deserve right now." Molly made as though to interrupt, and Susan held up a hand to forestall her. "No, really, I've been - I'm being - wretched, absolutely wretched, and after you've opened your home to me."
"Well, I couldn't let you stay in that--" Molly interrupted indignantly.
Susan smiled again, more genuinely this time. "I know. But I do appreciate it, and I want to make sure you know that. I just..." She shook her head vaguely. "I think if one more person offers me their condolences tonight I might just scream."
Molly's expression dissolved into understanding. "Of course, dear." She patted Susan's hand again, but this time it was less like she was treating Susan as if she were made of porcelein and more like normal, and her tone returned to its usual brisk efficiency. "Well, we can't have that. Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll heat something up, and we can talk about Jimmy and Priscilla and Thomas's dog."
And this, Susan reflected as Molly puttered around her tiny kitchen, setting the kettle on and heating up the shepherd's pie a well-wisher had left earlier that day, was why it was good to have friends. Molly might sometimes be too catty, and Luce had always thought her rather frivolous (Susan's breath caught at the thought, shied away, but she forced herself to finish it anyway), but she could be counted on to be there when you needed her, with a smile and a non-nonsense approach and a ridiculous anecdote about the time Janet's aunt's parrot got loose and decided to nest in Angela's curls.
I thought that would be it, but apparently I was wrong. *SHAKES FIST*
"Out with it, Margaret, whatever you've come to say." She didn't turn, just stared at jet beading and waited.
Molly sighed. "It's- Nothing, Sue, nothing. I just wanted to see... how you were holding up. To check on you."
Susan's shoulders slumped. Molly meant well, she knew, and it wasn't helping anything to treat her poorly. She turned and crossed the room, guilt clear on her face.
"I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to snap. It's just- it's hard. It's been a long day." Molly nodded understandingly, concern melting into sympathy. Susan thought she might break if one more person were sympathetic to her today, break apart or throw something or scream.
Molly reached for her hand, patting it awkwardly. "I know, Sue. And of course I'm here for you, whatever you need."
Susan pasted a smile onto her face and hoped it looked right. She couldn't be sure, grief and hours of remaining polite in the face of an overwhelming urge to scream or to sob or to somehow lash out had left her muscles aching and not a little numb, and now she didn't trust them to respond properly.
"Thank you, Molly. You're a good friend, and probably better than I deserve right now." Molly made as though to interrupt, and Susan held up a hand to forestall her. "No, really, I've been - I'm being - wretched, absolutely wretched, and after you've opened your home to me."
"Well, I couldn't let you stay in that--" Molly interrupted indignantly.
Susan smiled again, more genuinely this time. "I know. But I do appreciate it, and I want to make sure you know that. I just..." She shook her head vaguely. "I think if one more person offers me their condolences tonight I might just scream."
Molly's expression dissolved into understanding. "Of course, dear." She patted Susan's hand again, but this time it was less like she was treating Susan as if she were made of porcelein and more like normal, and her tone returned to its usual brisk efficiency. "Well, we can't have that. Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll heat something up, and we can talk about Jimmy and Priscilla and Thomas's dog."
And this, Susan reflected as Molly puttered around her tiny kitchen, setting the kettle on and heating up the shepherd's pie a well-wisher had left earlier that day, was why it was good to have friends. Molly might sometimes be too catty, and Luce had always thought her rather frivolous (Susan's breath caught at the thought, shied away, but she forced herself to finish it anyway), but she could be counted on to be there when you needed her, with a smile and a non-nonsense approach and a ridiculous anecdote about the time Janet's aunt's parrot got loose and decided to nest in Angela's curls.