Molly's Mr. Wrong

by Jeannie Watt

  When Molly pulled into her driveway, Georgina was not tending to dinner—she was in Mike Culver’s yard crouched next to a flower bed. She waved and got to her feet as Molly walked to the fence that separated the properties.

  “Mike is teaching me about fall bulbs,” she said happily. “If we put them in now, we’ll have flowers next year.”

  “I’d like that.” Just as she was going to like living in the same place come spring that she was in now. Molly had never lived anywhere long enough to get too deeply into yard beautification, and in Arizona, her house had been xeriscaped in a minimalist way, as was common in the desert. No spring flowers except for yucca, which were pretty, but not in the traditional way.

  “The people who lived here before weren’t much for flowers, but I always thought that some tulips around the trees and maybe some narcissi or daffodils in front of the lilacs would be pretty.”

  “There are lilacs?” Georgina’s eyes widened.

  “Those bushes over there are lilacs,” Mike said, pointing to the hedge at the edge of their lawn. “The heavy flowering kind.”

  “I love the smell of lilacs. I haven’t smelled them since we lived in Iowa. Remember, Molly?”

  Molly remembered, but she was surprised that Georgina did; she’d been so young then. “Didn’t we have lilacs when we lived here?” she asked her sister, who gave an emphatic shake of her head in reply. “Nope. We had those big yellow bushes—”

  “Forsythia, probably,” Mike said.

  Georgina looked impressed at the off-the-cuff identification. “And those pink roses that had no scent. We didn’t have lilacs.”

  Molly smiled a little. She didn’t remember much about the flowers. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Mike leaned his arms on the top of the chain-link fencing. “I was telling Georgina that I can put together a mix of bulbs from the store and bring them home or I can get you a catalog.”

  “You probably know what grows best.” And she would pay for said mixture of bulbs, of course, but it didn’t seem like the time to make that point.

  “That’s what I thought,” Georgina said. “And I love surprises.”

  “Then I’ll fix you up.” Mike smiled at Georgina, then shifted his attention to Molly, and she saw that his eyes were the same color as Finn’s. A deep, rich hazel. More green than brown. Why had she noticed that? A trickle of annoyance went through her. “Got that drain fixed yet?”

  “I have a call in to a plumber. He’s working me in this weekend.” Mike had been right about all the locals being contracted to the construction companies. The Eagle Valley was experiencing a mini housing boom. “I called four before I got one. O’Malley’s Plumbing and Heating? He promised Saturday and said he wouldn’t charge weekend rates, since it’s a simple job.”

  Mike didn’t look as if he fully believed the guy would honor his word. “Crazy, all this rain,” he said. “We had floods a little over a year ago, then this summer was so dry that there were bad fires.”

  “I heard,” Molly said. “Some people lost homes.”

  Mike gave a nod. “My nephew Dylan’s fiancée lost her ranch house in the fire.”

  “That’s terrible.” Molly remembered Dylan. She’d liked him. He’d been a year ahead of her, quiet and studious. Invisible in a way. Like she had been, except that he could have been as popular as Finn, had he chosen to be. Somehow she didn’t think that popularity was one of her options. “Who is his fiancée?”

  “Jolie Brody.”

  Brody. Of course. Allie Brody looked just like Jolie Brody, whom she’d graduated from high school with.

  “Does she have an older sister?”

  “Three sisters.”

  “I just met an Allie Brody at the college.”

  “She’s the oldest. She’s teaching a night class at the school. Painting or something.”

  Small world...but maybe not. It was a small town, so ending up with a class next to Finn’s cousin’s fiancée’s sister wasn’t that unexpected. And the connection to Finn was a bit distant. Still, she was going to watch what she said around Allie about certain people.

  Molly frowned as a memory crept into her brain. “Wait a minute...didn’t Jolie used to...” Mike waited for her to finish and Molly, who wished she’d kept her mouth shut, searched for a tactful word. “Bother Dylan?” Torture would have been a better word, but she was being polite. The strained and somewhat adversarial relationship between wild-child Jolie and quiet Dylan had been legendary in Eagle Valley High School, now that she thought about it.

  Mike laughed. “Yes, she did. She and Dylan worked things out.”

  “I guess so.”

  Georgina was following the conversation with interest and Mike glanced over at her and laughed again. “I’ll get you that mixture of bulbs and maybe we can put them in this weekend.”

  “We?” Molly asked on a note of amusement.

  “If you needed help, that is.”

  “I think we’ll need a lot of help,” Molly said with a smile. If he wanted to help, she wasn’t going to stop him.

  They talked for a few more minutes about colors, and then Mike’s phone rang from inside his house and he excused himself.

  “I like him,” Georgina said as she and Molly walked to their back door. She shot Molly a look. “You’re going to fill in the gaps about this Dylan guy and his fiancée. Right?”

  “I don’t know a lot,” Molly said as she opened the front door. “Dylan was really quiet and hardworking and Jolie was outgoing. Kind of a live-for-today girl.”

  “Just like you?” Georgina asked with mock innocence.

  “Exactly,” Molly replied. Because she was going to be more like that. Work in progress, et cetera. “All I remember is that they somehow drifted into nemesis territory due to being partnered up in some class and her not taking it seriously enough and him being worried about his GPA.”

  “And now they’re getting married.”

  “Yes.” Molly headed for the fridge. So very romantic. She wished them well, but hearts-and-flowers romance had been stomped out of her by the lights of reality being snapped on in her own relationship, brilliantly exposing the truth that lay before her and leaving her blinking.

  She was still blinking a little. Blake had not only robbed her of most of her savings, he’d robbed her of her hard-won self-confidence. She’d fought to rebuild it little by little, but she hadn’t been able to let go of her resentment. It’d be a while before she could.

  “I thought we’d microwave lasagna tonight.” The microwave was truly their best friend with their crammed schedules—which was why having a two-hour break to eat an actual dinner between her afternoon and evening classes was gold. “I made a salad.”

  Molly drifted over to the counter and pulled a small tomato out of the mixture of greens and popped it into her mouth. She’d skipped lunch and was famished. “Sounds good.”

  Georgina pulled the aluminum tray out of the freezer. “This Dylan is hot prom guy’s cousin, right?”

  “Homecoming guy. He is.”

  “But you liked him better.”

  He didn’t screw me over, so yes. “He’s a nice guy. How were your classes today?”

  The corners of her sister’s eyes crinkled as Molly firmly redirected the conversation away from “hot prom guy.” “Excellent. How was your day?”

  “Excellent.” Molly used the hand-carved wooden tongs she and Blake had bought on a Mexican vacation to lift salad into a bowl. She’d gotten rid of most of her past, but some things stayed, for practical purposes. “They’re always excellent in the beginning. You know—when everyone has high expectations for themselves and not too much reality has set in.”

  Except for in Finn’s case. She’d slammed that reality home there.

  She’d address that tonight. She
wasn’t exactly going to apologize, but she was going to explain what she thought might be going on. Not a conversation she was looking forward to, but one they needed to have. If he showed up to class.

  * * *

  FINN DID NOT show up for class.

  Molly found her head coming up every time she heard the door to the main entrance, only a few yards down the hall from her classroom, open and close again. Finally she closed the door to her room so that she focused only on her class and not on the reasons Finn wasn’t there.

  She knew why Finn wasn’t there. But she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

  What could she do?

  Relax and enjoy teaching.

  Not having Finn there made her feel as if she owned her classroom again—which was annoying. Of course she owned her classroom, but when Finn was there...she felt as if she were being judged. It made her thoughts trip over themselves, which wasn’t conducive to great lesson delivery.

  Tonight her lecture flowed. She gave amusing sentence examples, had the class engaged for the entire fifty minutes. No stumbling about for explanations, no quick glances to a specific area of a classroom just to check whether or not one specific student was smirking a little.

  After class ended, she explained a few finer points of the essay assignment with Debra and Mr. Reed, a sweet man in his late sixties, listened to Denny’s take on higher education, then turned off the lights and locked up the room, telling herself she should feel great. Class had gone very, very well.

  But you’re tougher than this. You should be able to teach regardless of who’s sitting in the back row, history or no history.

  Molly hated it when the nagging little voice in the back of her mind pointed out things she didn’t want to hear. She’d returned to the Eagle Valley because she’d wanted a nice, stable, unsurprising life in a nice, stable community. Getting the position at the community college had been a godsend. She’d been so very happy with how well things were working out, so determined to do the best job she could teaching her new students—right up until Finn had appeared in her life again and she’d indulged in her red pen revenge.

  That wasn’t what a good teacher did, and beyond that, driving students away wouldn’t do her professional reputation any good. This job was important to her. She didn’t want to jeopardize it.

  * * *

  THE CLOCK SAID English class was halfway over and Finn felt nothing but relief at the fact that he wasn’t there.

  Liar.

  Okay, part of him felt relief that he wasn’t there and the other part thought he should have sucked it up and gone. He’d never quit anything in his life, and not going to class bordered on cowardly behavior. But what was the point, when he was going to drop the class anyway?

  The point was that Molly was going to think she’d won.

  Finn flipped through the channels a couple dozen more times, then got to his feet and grabbed his jacket so he could head to McElroy’s Bar. There probably wouldn’t be many people there on a weeknight, but Finn needed to do something other than sit in front of the TV and feel like he’d let himself down.

  The lot was almost empty when Finn parked, but he figured he’d have one beer, talk to Jim McElroy and then head home again. He enjoyed getting out, being around people, but when he pulled open the heavy wooden bar door, the usual pleasant anticipation for the evening ahead was replaced with the feeling that he was avoiding the real issue in his life. Probably because he was. He didn’t really want to go to McElroy’s. He just didn’t want to be alone with his annoying thoughts.

  Finn walked into the bar and paused just inside the door. The place was relatively empty, as he’d suspected. Wyatt Bauer was there leaning on the bar, staring at the sports news that played over Jim McElroy’s head. His eyes were glazed over and Finn wondered if the guy was even aware of what was happening on the screen, or if he was asleep with his eyes open.

  “Hey, Wyatt,” he said as he walked by. Wyatt grunted in return. He was awake.

  “Usual?” Jim asked.

  “Sure.”

  Jim poured a dark beer and set it in front of the stool Finn had settled on. “Haven’t seen you much since you got back,” he commented.

  Finn gave a casual shrug. “Readjusting.” Which was true. He hadn’t seen action overseas, but the experience had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. For instance, he knew now, more than ever, that he did not want to end up like Wyatt—a walking cautionary tale staring glassily at the television screen.

  Jim gave a casual nod, then glanced up as the door opened again.

  “Look who’s here,” a familiar voice said from behind Finn.

  “We thought you were missing in action!” an almost identical voice chimed in.

  Finn turned on his stool as the Tyrone brothers came in. “Just lying low,” he said. “You know...avoiding people such as yourselves.”

  “I assume you’re buying after insulting us,” Terry, the older of the two brothers, said as he clapped a heavy hand on Finn’s back.

  “I hadn’t really considered it.”

  “Best reconsider,” Lowell said.

  Finn signaled Jim, who nodded before turning to the taps. Terry and Lowell pulled up stools and after Jim set the drafts in front of them, they commenced catching Finn up on who had done what during the time he’d been gone. Not that long of a time really, but it seemed as if there’d been a lot of marriages and breakups and job changes while he’d been away.

  Terry glanced at his watch when Jim asked if he wanted another beer, then practically jumped off his seat. “Gotta go. I promised Janice I’d be home ten minutes ago.”

  “Trouble?” Finn asked. Terry had never been all that concerned about getting home before, but then Janice was usually there with him.

  “There have been some new developments on the home front,” Terry said with a half smile before downing the last gulp of beer and setting the mug back on the bar. “I’m going to be a dad in three months. Got to start setting a good example for my kids.”

  “Plural?”

  “Twins.”

  “Unfortunately, his newfound Mr. Mom status is screwing with my social life,” Lowell muttered. “We never go out and when we do, we have to be home at nine. How am I supposed to meet women?”

  “Go without your brother?” Finn said.

  “I need a wingman.”

  Sadly true. Lowell never did anything alone. “Do not look at me,” Finn said.

  “What? You have something better to do?”

  “Maybe I’m getting old.” He drained the last of his beer, then looked up to find the brothers staring at him. “It happens to the best of us.”

  Finn lingered after the Tyrone brothers left. He could talk to Jim.

  “So what are you doing now that you’re back?” Jim asked as he wiped the immaculate bar yet another time. He tossed the bar towel into the bin under the bar, then waited for Finn to answer.

  “Working at the store.”

  “Taking it over again?”

  “For the time being.”

  “It’s changed,” Jim said. “All those gifts and things.”

  “It used to be a lot quieter,” Finn agreed. “It’s more pleasant now in a lot of ways, and Mike’s really happy, but I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it yet.”

  “Not the place you left.”

  “Not even close.”

  Jim smiled a little. “Time marches on.”

  Finn nodded in agreement. He pulled out his wallet and found a ten.

  “Come back on Saturday,” Jim suggested as Finn headed to the door. “I have a band coming in.”

  Finn raised a hand in acknowledgment, then pushed his way out the heavy wooden door and stepped into the chilly night air, knowing full well he wouldn’t be back. A clo
ud moved over the moon as he walked to his truck, but the sky was relatively clear. The predicted rain had apparently bypassed them and he was okay with that. He had to replace one of the haystack tarps that had a rip.

  There was nothing wrong with tightening and replacing tarps on haystacks. Not one thing. But it wasn’t what he wanted to do anymore.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER SKIPPING ENGLISH, Finn told himself he had to go to math—even if it meant receiving another red-ink-bleeding paper. How else would he find out if math was another area in which he’d been fooling himself into thinking he had basic skills? Was it possible that his high school As in the subject had been the gift of teachers who were concerned with the school’s sports success?

  Recalling Mrs. Birdie’s stern face, he thought not. The woman had been out for him, calling him on every infraction of the rules, then grudgingly giving him decent marks on his work. Mrs. Birdie hadn’t been a sports fan or a Finn Culver fan. Yet he’d gotten an A in the class.

  Finn drove into the lot and, seeing Molly’s small car, parked next to it. He wasn’t certain exactly what his objective was—it was more of a go-with-his-gut moment. He walked into class a few minutes late, but congratulated himself on being there at all, and then found a seat in the back and waited to get his assessment paper back. The instructor smiled at him as she set down the paper and moved on. Annoyed that his heart was beating faster—it was only a math paper, for Pete’s sake—Finn flipped the paper over, then fought a smile as the taut muscles in his shoulders relaxed.

  The only ink on the paper was turquoise, rather than killer red, a brief note asking him to show more of his work. He could do that—although he wasn’t all that good at laying out the steps in his head on paper in a way that others could easily follow. He knew that because it had driven Mrs. Birdie nuts. And many times he tackled things in a roundabout way that made sense to him, but wasn’t the prescribed method for solving the problem. But what did it matter as long as he came up with the proper solution?