by Sherry Lewis
Nicky seemed oblivious to the hidden meaning behind the question, but Molly was sure that Brianne knew exactly what she was trying to do. The girl looked her up and down for an uncomfortably long time before she shrugged and picked up a box. “Let’s carry them. There aren’t that many.”
Relieved, Molly helped the kids load up, grabbed as many boxes as she could and followed them out the door. She couldn’t help thinking that she’d just scored a major victory, but victory in a war she wasn’t going to be around to win seemed hollow.
These weren’t her children. She barely knew them. But the thought of leaving when she’d finally started making progress with them made her sad.
Even more important, now that they’d started to respond to her, how would they react when she left?
She watched Brianne take a box that teetered dangerously on the stack Nicky was holding and told herself not to get carried away. Nicky liked her, but he was hardly attached, and one civil conversation with Brianne didn’t exactly take their relationship to a whole new level. She was just longing for a family of her own, that’s all. Wishing for things that could never be.
She shook off the slight melancholy and concentrated on recapturing her excitement, but it wasn’t easy. She was tired of being alone, tired of hiding her true feelings, tired of living in the past. What she wanted more than anything, she realized suddenly, was to have a future.
IT TOOK ANOTHER two days after his conversation with Aaron for Beau to convince himself he needed to talk to Molly—and find the time to do it. The first night he’d arrived home late after a frustrating meeting with the mayor, and Molly had already been in bed—at least, her lights were out. The second day had passed in a blur of work, soccer practices, dance lessons and arguments with bullheaded people over the best way to conduct an ice-block carving competition during WinterFest.
Now it was Friday night, and he finally had a minute to call his own. He’d sent Nicky to invite Molly to dinner, and she’d come of course, but she’d kept him at arm’s length with superficial conversation, just as she had for the past ten days.
Beau wondered if the kids could feel the difference in her. If anything, their relationship with her seemed stronger, while his seemed worse. There was something wrong with this picture.
He wasn’t even sure what he wanted. He only knew that he didn’t like this wall that had gone up between them, and he missed the time they’d once spent together laughing and talking. So he waited until the kids were in bed and asleep, then set off across the lawn to…do something. He’d figure it out when he got there.
He walked quickly, and as he drew near the cabin, he could see her through the window, sitting at the table, completely focused on something she held in her hands.
His heart turned over in his chest and he nearly lost his nerve, but he’d never been afraid of anything in his life before the divorce, and he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror if he ran scared now. Still, crossing the lawn and climbing those stairs with the memory of Heather’s ugly words ringing in his ears was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Molly apparently heard him coming. Her head shot up with his first footstep on the porch, and she was at the door and holding it open before he could reach it. She’d removed her makeup and pulled her hair up with a clip, but soft curls fell around her face and made him long to touch them. She wore a pale-blue robe that looked about a million years old over a pair of pajamas covered with cartoon ducks, but Beau was quite sure he’d never seen a woman more alluring. Only uncertainty kept his imagination from racing off to places he shouldn’t let it go.
The light inside the cabin formed a sort of halo around her, and that slow burn he’d almost given up hope of feeling again ignited deep inside him. He made himself smile. This was as easy as passing a football, he told himself. It took just a little determination, a little focus…
Smiling wasn’t so hard. But making his mouth work to form words was a little harder. “Am I interrupting something?”
She shook her head and motioned toward the table. “I’m just sorting supplies. I thought I’d take your suggestion and try re-creating some of my mom’s designs.”
She sounded normal, but he caught a glimpse of the pulse point just above her collarbone, and when he saw it jump, as if she was aware of him, too, he felt himself relaxing enough to carry on a conversation. “Well, you’ll be great at it, I’m sure.” He propped one hand against the door frame and leaned in just a little, needing to be where she was and wanting her to ask him to be. “Listen, Molly, we need to talk.”
Her worried gaze shot to his face and he hurried to set her mind at ease. “There’s nothing wrong. Not anything you’ve done, that is. But I don’t like the way things have been between us since that day at Uncle Clay’s, and I want to fix it.”
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. “I’ve already told you that I’m not angry,” she said when she’d closed the door behind him. “I know what you were trying to say. I just overreacted.”
“Yeah, well, I said the last thing you wanted to hear right then. Have you found out anything more?”
“No, but I haven’t really tried.” She turned away, kneading her forehead with her fingertips. “I just can’t figure it out, Beau. I’ve thought and thought, but none of it makes any sense. My dad was one of the gentlest people I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine him fighting with my mother so fiercely that the police would need to interfere. But I also can’t imagine him doing something so wrong that my mother would get that angry.” She turned back to face him and her eyes swam with unshed tears. “The idea that they were heading into divorce court is so preposterous it just makes me crazy. There’s more to the story. I just know it.”
He needed to do something, so he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. “Then we’ll find it, Molly. I promise you we will.”
She held herself stiffly for a moment, then relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hanging on as if he held the key to her very survival. “I’ve been going through the days, ordering jewelry supplies and pretending that I can make it all better by stringing some beads on wire. I’m an expert at putting things out of my mind and forgetting what’s too unpleasant to remember. But it’s not going to go away this time. Some days that’s what I want. Other days, I think I’ll die if I don’t remember.”
He cradled her gently, brushing his lips across the top of her head and smoothing his hands along the soft fabric of her robe. “What are you saying? That you’re choosing not to remember?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. Maybe I walked away from that accident and decided it was all too ugly to think about. Maybe I was tired of hearing my parents argue. And maybe I decided to pretend it never happened.”
“Give yourself time, Molly. You can’t undo fifteen years in a week or two.”
She put a hand on his chest. She didn’t push him away, but he could feel the agitation starting to take control of her again. “Meanwhile, I’m taking horrible advantage of you. I should at least go back to the motel.”
“Absolutely not. The cabin would just sit empty if you weren’t here. And besides, the kids like having you around, and I feel better knowing they’re not alone, even for only a couple of hours after school. So just relax and let yourself deal with this.”
“I can’t bear to think I’ll have to go through years of this. I’d rather forget about it completely.” She laughed harshly and stepped away. “And why don’t I? Obviously my dad was good at forgetting about things he didn’t want to remember. Maybe I should just go with the family tradition and avoid reality completely.”
Beau hated what this was doing to her. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he told her. “Strange things happen to people when they go through something traumatic, and they don’t always get to choose their reactions.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice sou
nded frantic. “We talked to Clay ten days ago. I’ve known for over a week that I was in the car with my mom when she died. I’ve had all this time to dig into records, ask questions and find out the rest, but every day I find some excuse not to do it. I say I want to know the truth, but I sure don’t act like it.”
Beau sat on the arm of the couch. “I think you can cut yourself a little slack, Molly. You’ve been dealt a few surprises since you’ve been here. I’m sure it’s not easy to take it all in.”
“It shouldn’t take this long.” She turned back to the table.
“I didn’t realize there was a time limit,” he said, trying to lighten the moment. When she didn’t smile, he stood again and followed her. “I don’t know how you can put a time limit on something like that. Look how long it’s taken me to come to terms with the surprise Heather dropped on me. Are you saying I should have just dealt with it eight or nine months ago? Because if that’s what you think happened, I’ve got news for you.”
Dropping into a chair, she began sorting tiny pieces of something shiny with quick, angry movements. “That’s different,” she said without looking up. “You haven’t made avoiding reality the work of a lifetime. But you know what? This isn’t getting us anywhere, so why don’t we just drop it?”
She stopped working and met his gaze, and he could see that she’d already withdrawn. But he wasn’t about to let her run him off.
He drew up a chair and straddled it, watching her intently as she kept sorting.
After a few seconds, her gaze returned to his face. “What?”
“Nothing. Just watching.”
“It’s that interesting?”
“Riveting.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to work. “You’re easily amused, aren’t you.”
“So I’ve been told.” He rocked the chair up on two legs and picked up a shiny pink stone. “This is pretty. What is it?”
“Rose quartz.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll probably make a necklace.” She reached out with an impatient hand and took the stone from him. “Maybe for Brianne, if you think she’d like it.”
Beau nodded and pretended to give that some thought. “She probably would. It would look better on her than it would on Nicky or me.”
Molly ignored his feeble attempt at humor, but when he didn’t move for several minutes, she leaned back in her seat and met his gaze. “What?” she asked.
“You look good in this cabin,” he said impulsively. “Like it was made just for you.”
The sigh she released sounded exasperated, but her lips quirked and Beau could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile there. “I thought you said your grandparents built this place.”
“I did.”
“So you’re saying I look old?”
Chuckling, he leaned over and captured her lips with his for the briefest kiss in history. Then he stood and turned the chair back around. “Yes, Molly, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He bent and kissed her again, this time taking just a little more time and putting all the things he couldn’t let himself say into the effort. She responded well enough to satisfy him, so he straightened, cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face so he could see into her eyes. “Good night, Molly.”
He heard her whispered “good night” as he stepped outside, a split second before he shut the door, but he carried the pleasure of it, and the look on her face, across the frozen lawn with him. He liked the fact Molly wasn’t afraid to look at herself, even if she sometimes didn’t like what she found. And though he still wasn’t sure what he wanted from the future, he felt better about his ability to figure it out.
All he needed was time.
BEAU CAME AWAKE suddenly the next morning and bolted upright in bed. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes and realized that the sun was already streaming into the room. He rolled over and dragged the alarm clock around so he could see it. Eight o’clock! How did that happen?
Obviously he’d stayed awake too long thinking about Molly and wondering about the future. He wasn’t thinking commitment, but the prospect of exploring possibilities made the days ahead look brighter.
He scrambled out of bed, tugged on a pair of sweatpants and raced down the stairs to put coffee on. Thankfully, Gwen had canceled the kids’ piano lessons this week so she could carve pumpkins with Riley’s family, but he still had a million things to do, starting with an early meeting to discuss the city’s Christmas decorations. At least this was one meeting he could get the kids involved in.
He felt a sharp pang of regret that Molly wouldn’t be here for the holidays. He’d love to share WinterFest with her—the snowball toss, the sleigh rides, the snowshoe races and even the snowman-building competition. But he couldn’t think about that now. He was already running so late he’d be lucky to finish everything before midnight.
Even with so much on his mind, he had a hard time not grinning as he put on the coffee. He pulled a load of clean towels from the dryer and left them sitting on the table while he dug through the fridge for breakfast makings. But his mind wasn’t on laundry and bacon.
Whistling softly, he stuffed a load of sheets into the washer, then carried his mug of coffee back to the table and set to work. He even managed to keep himself from checking out the window for Molly between folding each towel.
He finished the task in record time and carried the towels upstairs to the linen closet, which he suddenly noticed was in desperate need of reorganization. Vowing to put them away neatly next week, he stuffed everything into the empty spots and hurried downstairs again to start breakfast.
He pulled bowls and pancake mix from the cupboards, eggs from the fridge and juice from the freezer. With a quick look out the window at the cabin, he tried sending a subliminal message to Molly that it was time to wake up. He couldn’t wait to see her again.
Laughing at himself, he put the frozen juice and water in a pitcher, started to pour pancake mix into the bowl, then left the box on top of the washer while he dug through the cupboard for a measuring cup he could have sworn was there a few days earlier. When he couldn’t find it at the front of the cupboard, he stretched high to check the back, craning to see over the jumble of bowls, plastic containers, ice-cube trays and other things he couldn’t identify—but if the measuring cup was there, it was cleverly hidden.
He let out a growl of frustration and turned toward the next cupboard. His hand knocked over the pitcher, sending a shower of pale-pink water and half-melted juice concentrate to the floor before he could right it. At the same moment the washer clicked onto the spin cycle.
Cursing under his breath, Beau grabbed a dish towel and tossed it onto the floor. As he dropped to his knees and took one swipe at the mess, the washer let out an ungodly noise and began to shake as if something or someone was trapped inside. He shot to his feet again and lurched toward the machine, watching in horror as the five-pound package of pancake mix gyrated to the edge of the washer and plunged to the floor.
“No-o-o-o!” He dived after it, but the package split on contact and a cloud of pancake mix flew into the air, up his nostrils and into his eyes. He sneezed twice and swiped at his face with his shirttail. In frustration, he aimed a kick at the closest cupboard, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing shoes until the pain shot through his foot and up his leg.
“Need some help?”
He glanced over to see Molly standing near the island, watching his disaster-in-the-making. Her eyes were clear and bright, her smile warm and friendly, and relief quickly overshadowed the humiliation of being caught covered in pancake flour and juice.
“Help? No.” He scrambled to his feet and studied the mess on the floor with a wry expression. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“That’s what I thought. Obviously, I have everything under control.” Molly’s lips twitched, and Beau’s heart soared with hope that they’d put the uneasiness behind them.
As she stepped around the
counter, Beau drank in the sight of her. She wore jeans and a plain, long-sleeve white T-shirt. Her thumbs were hooked in her back pockets. “I realize you don’t need help from me, but out of curiosity, where’s your broom?”
Beau jerked his gaze back up to her face. “Broom?”
“That thing with the handle on one end and bristles on the other? I’m sure you’ve seen one.”
Her hair fell in lazy curls to her shoulders, and Beau had a sudden urge to forget about breakfast. He was having a tough time concentrating on what she was saying. Broom, he reminded himself. “I’ve seen one. I just haven’t decided whether or not to use it yet. I’m still pondering my options.”
Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter and Beau added another entry to the list of things he was learning to love about her. “I’d suggest the broom first, then maybe a mop.”
“A mop.”
“Spongy thing. Long handle. Needs water.” She glanced at the puddle on the floor. “I wish I’d gotten here sooner. I could have told you that juice doesn’t work as well.”
He gave himself over to the game and narrowed his eyes in mock disbelief as he pulled the broom from the closet. “Are you sure? It’s prettier than water. Pink.”
“That’s true,” she said, somehow still managing not to smile, “but your floor isn’t pink.”
“Not yet.”
She nodded, conceding the point, and turned away to pull the mop and bucket from the closet. “Did you want a pink floor?”
Beau swept a mound of pancake mix onto the dustpan and carried it to the garbage can. “I’m thinking about it. Brianne likes pink. It’s a perfectly good color. And it might even help me get in touch with my feminine side.”
Molly laughed, just once, before she sobered again. “It might, but that’s not really the thing to do anymore.”
“No?”
