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DONNIE APPROACHED OUR table and hovered uneasily at the vacant chair. He was dressed appropriately for the Maritime Club, his perfectly pressed aloha shirt tucked into black slacks. He really was quite good looking, unfortunately. I tried to bestow a distant but gracious smile on him. It probably looked like a rictus.
Pat acknowledged Donnie with the barest politeness. Pat and Donnie had never really gotten along.
“Hi, Molly.” Donnie’s tense expression made him look older. Emma watched him expectantly; Pat examined the menu.
“You know I—” Donnie paused. “Here, let me sit down. If you don’t mind.”
He pulled out a chair and seated himself. A waitress appeared with a table setting and a menu, and then spent several minutes cheerfully reciting the daily specials from memory. Then she whisked off to the kitchen, leaving behind a bleak silence.
“Molly,” Donnie said, finally. “I care about you a lot.”
“Thank you. Right back at’cha.”
What on earth was this about? Did this have something to do with the strange phone call Emma got earlier?
“You’ve been—” Donnie and Emma said in unison.
“Go ahead, Emma,” Donnie said.
“Molly,” Emma said, “you’ve been acting weird.”
I looked around the table.
“I’ve been acting weird. Okay.”
“No, seriously, Molly. You’ve been saying things that are, Pat, what would you call it?”
“Out of character,” Pat said.
“Out of character,” Emma agreed. “You’ve been coming out with some real strange stuff.”
Donnie nodded.
“Stress can disturb your sleep,” Donnie said. “And when you miss enough sleep, the health consequences can be very severe. Sleep is crucial for physical and mental health.”
It sounded like he was reciting something he’d read on an online health site.
“No shame asking for help when you need it,” Emma added.
“What do you mean, help?” I asked. “What kind of help?”
“I checked,” Donnie said. “Your university health plan covers up to ten visits a year to your HMO’s Behavioral Health program. And I have some good names in private practice too, if you want. So if you’d rather see a female—”
“Oh, I see what you’re doing.”
“We’re trying to help you,” Emma said.
“No, no. You’re not trying to help. This is more than just trying to help. Step One: Open With Affection. Step Two: Describe Specific Behaviors. Step Three: Detail the Physical Problems. Step Four: Outline Treatment Options. You’re following the intervention script! You brought me down to the Maritime Club so you could stage an intervention!”
“Molly.” Donnie looked concerned. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I still care about you and I want to see you well. I want you to know I’m here for you.
“Step five!” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Express Love and Support! Emma, Pat, how could you go along with this?”
“Cause we worried about you, babooze,” Emma said. “You kinda stressed out, ah? Just wanna make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
“And Donnie, what is this, some kind of scorched-earth policy you have? You can’t just let us go our separate ways? You have to leave me gibbering in the corner, wondering what’s real and what isn’t?”
“Molly, please. You told me you saw someone in my house who wasn’t there. Don’t you think—”
“Why are you even here, Donnie? Don’t you have places to go and people to do?”
Donnie stared down at his folded hands. He was clearly uncomfortable. So why was he going out of his way to do this? Just to get back at me?
“We just want you to get better.”
“Yeah, Molly,” Emma chimed in, “You gotta make an appointment to talk to someone.”
“I know what I saw. Sherry was there. I talked to her and she made me tea. And unlike some people at this table, I have no reason to lie.”
Emma tipped her chin up. The gesture was probably supposed to compensate for her being short, but it just made her look like a miniature Mussolini.
“If you don’t make an appointment tomorrow,” she declared, “I’m going to get you committed.”
“Step Six. Set Consequences. You guys are being ridiculously obvious. Anyway, you can’t have me committed. I have a lawyer.”
Too late, I recalled with some embarrassment it was in fact Donnie who had paid Honey Akiona’s retainer.
“Actually,” Pat said, “According to state statute, you can be involuntarily committed if you have a disorder or other disease which substantially impairs your mental health and necessitates treatment or supervision.”
The three faces around the table were looking at me with concern.
I actually had been meaning to make an appointment to talk to someone, not that I thought it was anyone else’s business. Witnessing Melanie’s death and then getting arrested for her murder was upsetting enough. Throw in a cheating, lying fiancé, and now we were talking about some real stress.
“Fine. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow. They have the guy up at the clinic, with the gigantic candy jar of pharma samples on his desk. I’ll set something up with him. Is everyone satisfied now?”
“Is he the one who gave you those samples last time?” Pat asked.
“Yes. Can we order our food now?”
“I think I’ll go.” Donnie rose from his chair.
“Of course, Donnie. You don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
“I’ll stay.” Donnie sat back down quickly and gave Pat a stiff smile. “Davison can fend for himself tonight.”
Emma reached over and rubbed Donnie’s shoulder sympathetically.
The dinner wasn’t quite as awkward as it could have been. Pat behaved himself, keeping his sarcastic comments to a minimum. Although Emma was a couple of years younger than Donnie, they had both grown up around Mahina. They spent dinner trading news (it was too bland to be proper gossip) of high school classmates and their families while I ate my baked turbot resentfully.
Donnie gave me a brief, chaste hug as he left. I didn’t want the hug to end and realizing that made me angry at myself. I watched Donnie’s charcoal-gray SUV drive out of the Maritime Club parking lot. Then I climbed into the passenger seat of Pat’s old Mercedes. Maybe Donnie really was concerned about me. A tiny spark of hope flickered, and then died. Of course he cared about me—as an acquaintance and business contact. But as far as romantic interest? He was already back with his ex-wife. And there was nothing I could do about it. I clicked the seatbelt shut and kept my eyes closed for the drive home.