Sweet Home (Sweet Home 1)

“Thank you, Molly. Good luck with your new life in America.”

With a new determination, I ran to the university guest accommodation as fast as my legs would take me.

I rushed into my room and began throwing my things in my bag. I’d almost fully packed when there was light tap on my door.

“May I come in, Molly?”

It was Suzy.

I let her in and she glanced at me in panic after she’d taken in my empty room. “Are you going somewhere again? Where to now, Molly? This has to stop—”

“I’m going back,” I interrupted.

Her frown smoothed and a flicker of hope lit in her milky grey eyes. “To?”

“Alabama. Oh, no, actually…” I checked the date on the calendar on the wall. “I’m going to Pasadena, California, Rose Bowl Stadium.”

A huge smile pulled on Suzy’s crepe-thin skin. “Molly. Thank goodness. What made you change your mind?”

“An old friend made me confront just how much I miss and love Romeo. He needs me and I just left. I need to go and make it right.” I played with my hands. “It will be difficult going back there, after… after… you know, but I have to, for him.”

Suzy reached forward and gripped my hand. “Molly, I want to tell you a few things, just quickly before you depart.”

“Okay,” I replied, impatiently checking my watch.

A maternal smile tugged on her lips. “You remind me a lot of me, you know. You love philosophy, you want to be a professor, and you’ve had a difficult life.”

I took a seat on the bed, nervous at the direction in which her conversation was heading.

“My father died in the war, Molly. Did you know that?”

“No,” I responded, genuinely surprised.

“He was shot in France. I was very young when it happened, but it stayed with me, affected me, like your father’s death did you. Years passed by and I eventually got to grips with my life. When I came to Oxford—quite the accomplishment for a girl in those days—I met Richard. He was so dapper and handsome and I knew, just by our first touch, that I was madly in love with him. We married six months later. You had that with Mr. Prince. I watched you in the lecture hall and saw the immediate change, and not just in your appearance.”

I fiddled with my hands and I heard Suzy take a sobering breath. “I’ve lost five babies in my life, Molly.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. She leaned over and patted my knee. “No tears. I’m an old, tough cookie.”

I held her hand and squeezed it in support.

Suzy stared at our two hands, unseeing. “I could never carry a child full term and after the fifth miscarriage, I couldn’t even get pregnant anymore. Eventually Richard and I came to terms with our destiny and together we’ve lived a wonderful life.”

“Suzy, I—”

“Shh, child. I did not share this to gain your pity. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. You’ve endured a lot in your young life, but these things make you who you are, give you strength, and they also lead you to your destiny. You can’t always run.”

I wiped at my eyes, expelling the moisture. “I just want somewhere finally to call home. Everywhere I seem to go just brings me more sadness.”

“Molly, a home is not a place. It’s not a country or a town or a building or possession. Home is with the other half of your soul, the person who shares in your grief and helps you carry the burden of loss. Home is with the person who throughout it all never gives up on you and brings you eternal happiness. That, Molly dear, is your home sweet home, and I think we both know that you found yourself a very handsome young man who might just be that person. Don’t let go of it, Molly, even when things are tough, just don’t let go.”

I jumped up and hugged her tightly. After several seconds, she patted my back and shook herself right. “Now, now, young lady, none of this. We’re British—stiff upper lip and all that. No need for over-affection.”

I giggled and grabbed my things. When I turned around, Suzy was holding out her car keys. “Come, Molly, I’m going to show you how an old aged pensioner gets you to Heathrow Airport in record time.”

* * *

I sat in the departure lounge and anxiously took my phone from my bag. I stared at the black rectangle with a lump in my throat. I knew it would be filled with messages, messages of hurt and pain. I eventually sucked up my fear, turned on the power, and a barrage of text messages and voicemails flooded the screen.

The first instantly made me cry as Romeo’s gruff Bama accent filled my ears:

“Molly! Where are you, baby? I’m so sorry for what I said and leavin’ you like that. I’ve just heard from the nurse about my momma. My God, Mol, they said she attacked you… again! Please tell me where you are… You just left the hospital without tellin’ anyone. I can’t find you anywhere.”

It rolled straight to the next mail.

“Mol.”

His voice was broken, emotional.

“There’s a story in the paper. It’s about us… about losin’ our angel. Christ, Mol, there’s a picture of you. It’s breakin’ my heart and you’re not here. My momma has been arrested for assault; my daddy has been arrested for money launderin’. Please, call me. Tell me where you’re at. It’s all f**ked up. I’m going crazy without you. I love you. Come back to me.”

Tears dripped onto my knees.

Next.

“Molly, it’s Ally. It’s Christmas day. Romeo’s here with me and my folks. He’s not good. He’s completely heartbroken—he either doesn’t speak or gets so angry that he has to leave the house. Please. He blames himself for everything. Call him. He’s saying it’s all his fault!”

Next.

“Molls, it’s Cass. You better be back for the championship, girl, or I’m gonna track you down and kick your skinny English ass! The fans are freakin’ after the story in the paper, and Romeo can’t throw for shit in practice. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself! Fix it, girl. Get here, like, yesterday!”

I laughed lightly at Cass’s usual no-nonsense tone.

I spent the next hour listening to Romeo’s messages of heartbreak, anger, or complete desolation and my friends all trying to convince me to return. The last voicemail was left this morning. I pressed the button to listen.