Marrying Molly

by Linda Hope Lee

  Steve turned the butterfly over in his hands. “Okay, but I’d like to talk to the artist. I have some ideas for special designs.”

  Ned’s bushy white brows drew together, and Steve worried that perhaps he’d gone too far.

  But then Ned said, “People that make ‘em belong to a group living on the old Dyson spread.”

  ”Are they a cult? I heard there might be one around here.”

  “Maybe. Something like that.” Ned scratched his buzz cut. “Not sure I’d go out there. They’re a private bunch. Don’t like visitors.”

  “That doesn’t seem a good way to run a business.”

  Ned shrugged. “I ain’t no judge a that. You kin leave a message with me, if you want. They come in ‘bout once a week, usually on Thursday.”

  Steve tilted his head, as though considering the suggestion. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll buy this one today and see if it fits my purpose. Then, if I need to contact them, I’ll let you know.”

  “Suit yerself.”

  After purchasing the seed packets and the butterfly ornament, Steve left the store. A plan had been forming in his mind. He’d stake out the nursery on Thursday and hope to see someone from the group delivering more ornaments. If he got lucky, Angie would be the one who came.

  Thursday was three days away. He filled the time with his business, although keeping his mind on computer programs proved difficult. Two of Harwell’s referrals were interested in his product and services, and of those two, one was ready to move ahead in the near future. The officials of the other company hadn’t come to a decision.

  Molly’s absence in his life had left a painful ache in his heart, and calling her, if for no other reason than to hear her sweet voice, tempted him. Once, he went as far as punching in her number on his cell phone. Then, reminding himself how greatly she had disappointed him, he cancelled the call.

  ****

  On Thursday morning, Steve headed for Sky Nursery. Instead of parking in the store’s lot, he parked at an adjacent strip mall that included a gas station, a feed store, and an espresso stand. The stand had wooden picnic tables shaded by umbrellas. He bought a coffee and sat at a table facing the nursery, waiting for it to open. Anticipation kept his nerves thrumming. Would Angie be the one who’d come? Or would anyone from the group show up?

  Ten o’clock arrived. The windows lighted, and Ned unlocked the door. Cars and trucks began to fill the parking lot. Doors slammed and voices rang out as customers went up and down the steps to the building’s front door. The nursery did a brisk business, but Steve saw no one he could identify. No Angie sightings. No one delivering metal sculptures.

  At lunchtime, while still keeping an eye on the nursery, he wandered over to the grocery and bought a ham and cheese sandwich. The afternoon crept by. Despite stretching and short walks around the lot, his muscles cramped from so much sitting.

  He was about to give up when a black SUV carrying a driver and a passenger drove into the nursery’s lot and slid into a parking space.

  The driver’s door opened, and a middle-aged woman with a gray ponytail stepped out. Her denim jeans hugged ample hips, and her blue T-shirt stretched across a sizable chest. She strode to the back of the SUV, opened the hatch, and took out an oblong wooden box.

  An object from the box fell to the ground. Bright copper on a long pole gleamed in the sunlight. A yard ornament.

  Steve’s blood surged through his veins. Payoff time. Finally.

  The woman snatched up the ornament, stuffed it back in the box, and then carried the box up the steps to the nursery’s front door.

  Steve strained to see the SUV’s passenger, but sunlight glinting off the hood obscured the person’s face. He was ready to head over there for a closer look when the SUV’s door opened, and the mysterious person stepped out.

  A woman. Considerably younger than the driver, she appeared to be in her twenties. Like her companion, she wore jeans and a blue T-shirt.

  As she rounded the nose of the car, she raised her left hand to brush back strands of her dark hair. On her wrist was a tattoo. Even from a distance, he could make out the wings of a butterfly, the points of a star.

  Steve caught his breath and stared. For a moment, he thought he was having another Angie-sighting. He’d had so many over the past five years his mind wouldn’t accept that this was not one more disappointment.

  He gave himself a mental shake. This was no false Angie-sighting. The woman was Angie. And, she was headed his way. Had she seen and recognized him? Now what? He stiffened his shoulders for a confrontation.

  Instead of approaching him, she angled off toward the espresso stand’s order window. She passed within ten feet of him and never looked his way.

  Covertly, he watched her place her order. When the cup arrived, she took a couple sips, nodded at the barista, and placed some money into the woman’s outstretched hand. Still without glancing Steve’s way, she started back to the SUV.

  Steve continued to sit there, as though glued to the wooden bench. What was wrong with him? Wasn’t this the moment he’d waited five years for? Now that the time had finally arrived, he wasn’t going to act? In a couple moments, she’d be back in the SUV, her companion would exit the store, and then his opportunity would be over.

  He jumped up and sprinted across the parking lot. “Hello, there.”

  She kept walking.

  “Hello.”

  No reaction, no response.

  “Angie.”

  She stopped short, stood as still as a rock for a couple heartbeats, and then slowly turned. Recognition flickered in her eyes, like a beacon shining through a fog.

  “Were you talking to me?” She pressed her fingers to her chest.

  “Yes, you’re Angie. Angie Griffin Roper.”

  Eyes narrowing, she lifted her chin. “No, you’re mistaken.”

  He pointed to her left hand curled around her coffee cup, with the butterfly tattoo on her wrist in full view. The insect’s wings were red and blue, and a tiny gold star hovered above the tip of one wing.

  “You’re Angie. I know you by your tat, if nothing else. And I’m Steve. Your husband?”

  Her shoulders sagged and a sigh escaped her lips. “Okay, what do you want?”

  Steve’s jaw dropped. After all this time, this was not the attitude he expected to face. “What do I want?” he said when he recovered. “Well, for starters, I want to know why you left. I want to know if you’re okay. I want to know—”

  The nursery’s screen door banged. Steve’s gaze left Angie and followed the sound.

  Angie wheeled around.

  The woman who’d driven the van had emerged from the store and was crossing the porch. Her gaze zeroed in on Steve and Angie. “Miriam,” the woman called across the parking lot.

  Miriam? For a moment, Steve thought she was addressing someone other than Angie. Then she lumbered down the steps and made a straight line for the two of them.

  “Please go.” Angie hissed the words.

  Steve leaned his head closer. “What’s going on? Why can’t you talk to me?”

  Shoulders stiff, she shot a glance at the woman then turned back. “Tonight,” she whispered. “The Dyson place on Old Canyon Road…seven o’clock.”

  The woman reached them. She propped her hands on her hips and glared at Steve. “What’s the trouble here?”

  “No trouble.” Steve kept his tone firm as he met the woman’s steely gaze. “I saw this lady drop some change on her way back from the espresso stand.” He pointed to the nearby building. “I picked it up and chased her down to return it.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Angie. “Is that so, Miriam?”

  “Why, yes, Sister Joan.” Angie lowered her eyelids.

  Sister Joan tilted her head and studied Steve.

  Afraid anything he might say would only turn up the heat, he clamped his jaw shut.

  “Come along, then.” Sister Joan grabbed Angie’s elbow and steered her toward the
van. “Brother Michael will wonder what’s keeping us.”

  Steve stared after them, clenching and unclenching his fists, fighting the urge to follow and wrest Angie from the other woman’s clutches. Had Angie not told him to meet her later at the Dyson place, he would’ve done exactly that.

  Before disappearing inside the SUV, while Sister Joan’s back was turned, Angie glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze met Steve’s only briefly before she climbed into her seat and Sister Joan slammed the door shut.

  The vehicle wheeled from the parking lot, stirring up clouds of dust and spitting gravel from under the tires. At the end of the block, the vehicle swerved around the corner and was gone.

  ****

  Back in his hotel room, Steve sat at the round table, studying the photo of Angie that he’d carried for the past five years. She was the same woman he’d seen today, and yet not the same. Photo-Angie was younger, of course, and, although her eyes were sad, innocence radiated from them, too, and softness shone in the smile on her lips.

  The Angie he’d seen today had cold eyes and a tense mouth, with lips that hadn’t smiled once. Yet, the butterfly and star tattoo proved she was the same person.

  “I finally found you,” he whispered to the woman in the photo. “You might call yourself ‘Miriam,’ but you are still ‘Angie’ to me. Why would you give up the privileged life I gave you to join a cult?” He tapped the photo with his forefinger. “You’d better give me some answers tonight, Angie.”

  Setting aside the photo, he rose and strode to the window. As he gazed out at the buildings and the mountain backdrop, his thoughts turned to Molly, and his chest tightened. Should he call her and tell her of these latest events? Did he owe her that? Did he owe her anything? He set his jaw. No, he didn’t. Not when she’d betrayed his trust. He’d come close to proposing to her that night. What a mistake that would have been.

  Yet, the longing to hear her voice continued to hold him prisoner. He paced in front of the window then pulled his cell phone from his belt and made the call to the Rolling R.

  ****

  “One, two, three.” Molly counted the bags of walnuts in the cupboard, and then noted the number on her clipboard checklist. She was in the bakery’s kitchen, taking inventory of food supplies and making a shopping list for tomorrow’s trip to the grocery supplier.

  Across the room, Lupe poured flour into the large mixing vat, while Doreen measured out the carob chips and dried mixed fruit for Sara’s latest cupcake recipe. Lupe was teaching Doreen to speak Spanish. “La cucina,” she said with a sweeping gesture at the room.

  “La cucina?” Doreen repeated, a puzzled frown on her round face.

  “Si. Kitchen. Estamos en la cucina. We are in the kitchen.”

  “Ah. Lo entiendo. I understand.”

  The phone in Molly’s office rang. Laying her clipboard on the counter, she ran into the office. She picked up the receiver and heard the dial tone. Whoever the person was had hung up. Usually, a caller waited to leave a voice mail message. She checked voice mail, but no message was recorded.

  A tingle crept down her spine. For some strange reason, she had the feeling the caller was Steve. She’d thought about him almost constantly since that horrible night at her house when he discovered her deception.

  She stared at the phone. Should she call him? If she got him on the line and he hadn’t been the one, she’d feel stupid. Yet, there might be a way to determine whether or not he had made the call.

  Picking up the phone, she punched in the code to learn the number of the last received call. “Anonymous,” the recorded voice reported.

  Molly hung up the phone. Okay, so much for that. Just as well. If he wanted to talk to her, he could keep calling.

  Or, he could come and see her in person.

  ****

  At six forty-five that evening, Steve exited the freeway onto Old Canyon Road. He hoped he’d allowed enough time to find the Dyson place. Angie had said seven o’clock, and he didn’t want to be late. If he were, she might assume he wasn’t coming and not wait.

  Old Canyon Road was narrower than the highway but well paved. Traffic this time of night was light; he passed only a couple vehicles headed in the opposite direction. Farmland stretched on either side of the road, punctuated by stands of weeping willows, aspen, and fir. Mailboxes on posts, as well as gates and arches, marked each property.

  An overhead arch announced Dyson’s Double D Ranch. He drove through the arch onto a road that disappeared over a rise in the distance. What now? He didn’t have a plan; he’d been intent on finding the place, period. If the Double D was anything like the Rolling R, he could wander around for hours and never find Angie.

  He set his jaw. That was not going to happen. He’d waited five years for this. Even if he had to stay all night, he wouldn’t leave without seeing her.

  Spying a section of land thick with trees and underbrush, he headed in that direction. If she were meeting him on the sly, as he figured she would be, the trees would provide a good cover.

  When he reached the woods, he pulled to the left side of the road, cut the engine, and stepped from the car. The air was dry, with no breeze, and still hot from the day’s sunshine. Listening, he tilted his head. In the distance, faint sounds of voices drifted through the air. Not talking or singing, but more like chanting. The back of his neck prickled. Maybe the cult was having some kind of service. Maybe Angie would have to participate and not be able to meet him. Maybe she’d decided to not meet him, anyway.

  He thought about sneaking up to the camp, but decided not to. He didn’t want to get caught. Who knew what they’d do to a trespassing stranger?

  Leaving the car where it sat, he paced the road, his boots crunching on the dry gravel. He stopped now and then to scan the woods. What if she didn’t show? Would he make good his vow to camp out all night?

  She would show up. She had to.

  The chanting ceased, but the silence was just as nerve-wracking. The sinking sun sent long shadows across the road. Steve wiped sweat from his forehead. Where was she? He set his lips in a tight line and stared into the silent woods.

  The underbrush nearby crackled and snapped. He stood rigid, arms hanging at his sides, feet planted solidly on the road. He focused on the spot where he heard the sounds and held his breath.

  The bushes parted, and a large, black and brown dog plunged into view. The animal had a drooping jowl and pointed ears, like a cross between a Rottweiler and a Doberman.

  A leash extended from the dog’s collar.

  At the other end of the leash stood Angie.

  Dressed in the same blue T-shirt and jeans she’d worn earlier, she advanced to the edge of the woods, leaning forward as the dog strained at the leash and barked at Steve.

  “Noble, quiet!” Angie tugged on the leash.

  The dog issued a low growl then clamped its jaw shut.

  Now that they were face-to-face at last, Steve’s stomach churned. He’d no idea how this would all play out.

  “Hey, Angie,” he said, with a casual wave.

  “My name is Miriam.”

  Her defiant tone grated. Yet, in as calm a voice as he could manage, he said, “Okay…Miriam. And you do know who I am?”

  “Yes, of course. You’re Steve.”

  He stared at her somber expression, trying to find some indication of the old Angie. But this woman, with her cold eyes and tense mouth, was a stranger. “Are you okay?” he asked, intent on keeping their conversation alive. “Are you in good health?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t need my help?”

  She gave a slight laugh. “No, of course not.”

  To honor her parents’ memory, he forced himself to push on. “Angie…uh, Miriam, I need to know why you left.”

  A frown wrinkled her forehead, and she gazed down at her hand holding Noble’s leash.

  She remained silent so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer.

  Finally, still without looking a
t him, she said, “I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be.”

  He wanted to say, “What does that mean?” but bit back the words, as well as the anger that bubbled up from his churning stomach. “Can you tell me more?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t be the wife you wanted. I don’t belong in your world.”

  “And you do belong here?” He waved at the surroundings.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Is this a cult?”

  Eyes narrowing, she stuck out her chin. “No, we’re not a cult. We’re a community. People living together with common interests and goals.”

  Steve shifted from one foot to the other. Dry leaves crackled under his feet.

  The dog growled low and deep in its throat.

  “Noble, hush.” Angie held up a finger.

  Steve slowly shook his head. “I don’t think your parents would approve of your new lifestyle.”

  “I’m not living my life for them. Or for you. I’m living my life for me.”

  Another bubble of anger escaped and charged to the surface. His voice rose a notch. “But I promised them I’d watch out for you, take care of you after they were gone.”

  “That was between you and them. That has nothing to do with me.” She shook her head. “No one asked me if I wanted to be taken care of.”

  “You agreed to marry me. I didn’t force you, did I?”

  Angie pressed her lips together. “No, but I didn’t know what I was doing then.”

  His stomach tightened, and he said through gritted teeth, “Did you know what you were doing when you left without any word? Do you realize how worried I was? I did everything possible to find you.”

  She lowered her gaze, fingering the leash. “I was afraid to face you, afraid to tell you I wanted out of the marriage. So, I left.”

  Steve fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her and shaking her. How could she be so casual about what she’d done, when her leaving had torn apart his world?

  “I suppose you want a divorce now.” She looked up from under her lashes.

  Unable to hold back, he gave a harsh laugh. “I’ve already divorced you. But I had to wait five years, Angie. Five years of my life.”