by Leigh Riker
“I wish...” he began with a sigh but didn’t go on.
Molly laid a light but shaky hand over his mouth and tried to smile. In that moment she felt like begging.
Please, don’t go. Stay this time.
* * *
ONCE SHE GOT home from the zoning commission meeting, Ann couldn’t sit still. She hadn’t felt like being part of a celebration tonight, even for Molly. She was too worried about Ernie.
Holding a small package, she took another deep breath, then rang Jeff’s front doorbell again. No one had answered the first time, and for a moment she considered turning around and leaving. She’d already lost her nerve. What was it Jeff had said?
You’re the most frightened woman I’ve ever met.
Add crazy to that, she thought now. And it was after ten o’clock, much too late to pay a visit, but the time wasn’t what she meant. Why had she come here after baring her soul to Jeff? And knowing he wouldn’t want her here?
When the door opened, she was already turning to go.
“Well, well.” He loomed in the doorway of the one-story frame house he shared with Ernie. “Did you walk all the way over?”
Ann winced at the gibe. She had taken a cab. “No, but...how is Ernie?”
“I just put him to bed.” Jeff opened the door wider. “That’s why I didn’t answer earlier.” His steady gaze met hers. “Come on in. I assume you’re here to see him. Better hurry before he falls asleep again.”
“Is his fever down?”
“Halfway. He doesn’t ache as much, so he’s resting better.”
Keeping up the small talk, he led her through a neat but modest living room and down a short hall to the room at the end. On the way Ann glanced into a larger room on the opposite side where a king-size bed proclaimed it the master bedroom—Jeff’s room. Her face heated at the thought of him lying there with someone.
With her package tucked under one arm, Ann stepped into Ernie’s room. He was under a light blanket, his face barely visible in his makeshift nest. The fever flagged his cheeks, and his eyes, without their usual spark, opened slowly, his lids heavy. Her heart turned over.
“Hey, Ernie.”
He sounded drowsy. “Miss Ann! You came to see me? This is where I live.”
“Yes, sweetheart,” she said, “I know.”
Ernie drifted off to sleep while she was thinking what to say next.
Jeff shifted beside her. She turned, startled to find him so close, and held out the package. “I brought this for him. It’s nothing big—but when he’s feeling more like himself, it might help to pass the time.”
“Thanks.” He paused. “Anything else we can do for you?”
Ann knew she deserved that cool tone.
“No, I should have called first. Or dropped by tomorrow.”
She headed for the living room as if the house was on fire. Jeff followed right behind her.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Run off again the way you did the other night. Like some criminal in a stolen car, bailing out and forcing me to chase her all over Liberty.”
Ann’s shoulders slumped. Humiliation ran through her like water down a hill.
“Fine. You’ve caught me. What can I say?” She hadn’t forgotten their date at the inn, how good it had felt to be with him until she’d told him the truth about herself. “You know what I did—the people I hurt, not only that boy, physically, but my parents and Molly, who must have been so ashamed—” The rest came on a sob that rose in her chest out of nowhere. “I saw exactly what you think of me, so you don’t need to rub it in—”
Blinded by tears, she aimed for the door.
Before Ann could grasp the knob, Jeff slapped his palm against the wood panel just above her head. With his other hand, he turned her to face him. “You saw what, exactly?”
“Disgust. Revulsion.” And horror.
His eyes widened. “Is that what you think it was?”
“And shock,” she said. “I’ve seen it before.”
She couldn’t seem to get hold of herself. She should have stayed in her apartment, in the careful world she had fashioned for herself where no one could hurt her, where she would never harm anyone else.
He studied her face. And then shocked her.
“I didn’t feel revulsion or disgust. You want to know what I felt?” His eyes searched hers. “Shock, yes—a natural reaction—but I saw a young girl—just eighteen then—involved in a horrific accident she can’t ever forget. How could you forget, Ann? I saw a woman who still blames herself for crippling another human being.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “You think I’ve never answered a call like that? When I was with Cincinnati P.D. it happened more times than I care to think about. Prom weekends were the worst. I’ve seen plenty of lives destroyed. I’ve seen sights you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares—”
“But this was mine! My accident, my fault.”
Jeff stared at the carpet between them, as if searching for the right words. He lifted his eyes to hers again.
“You know, I have a theory. In my experience—which has been considerable, as I said—an accident rarely happens, if ever, for one reason.” He hesitated again before going on. “So maybe it’s raining one night and the road is unfamiliar, dark and narrow with winding curves. Let’s say somebody whose license is practically new, whose experience is limited, who’s had one drink too many—makes a bad choice to drive someone else’s car. You with me so far?”
She nodded, her eyes still on his.
“Then let’s throw something else in here. Maybe the tires on that car have lost their tread. Or the windshield wiper blades do little except to smear the glass. Sound familiar? Or,” he said, “the brake pads are worn.” His voice gentled. “Two, three, even four things come together at the same instant. A confluence of factors,” he said.
Ann could hear her own breathing. She looked away and felt the too-rapid thump of her heart through her whole body.
“But if I could undo it,” she murmured. “If I could go back and not hurt—”
“You can’t. You’re responsible—in the end.” After another moment he said, “You think I haven’t wished the same about my marriage? I didn’t want Ernie to grow up without his mom. But I made that decision.” He waited until Ann’s gaze met his again. “So did your boyfriend that night when he got into that fight—which isn’t uncommon at parties like that. He was—we all are—responsible for the consequences of our actions.”
Jeff wasn’t like the other men she’d known. He wasn’t like anyone else.
“But you’ve never made a mistake like I did.”
“Ann. You think I’m a saint?” he asked.
“I know you’re not.” She half smiled. “You told Ernie to hit Benjamin Crandall. And so he did.”
He raised an eyebrow. “True, and I shouldn’t have. I’ve talked to him about that. It won’t happen again.” Jeff paused, then said, “You want to know where I messed up? It wasn’t only Kay who killed our marriage. I was at fault, too. It always takes more than one. At the time I was trying to prove myself with Cincinnati P.D., working extra time, bringing the job home with me.” He shook his head before going on. “You think I’m a good dad? I never saw Ernie take his first step. Never heard him say his first word or his first sentence. Half the time I didn’t see him on any given day. I arrived home late, he was asleep. He got up early, I was either gone or trying to catch up on rest, dead to the world—and I almost lost him.” He finished, “To be honest, I wasn’t the best husband or father in those days by a long shot.”
“But if you could, would you go back to your marriage? Try to work it out?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve made big changes in my life and I hope Kay has, too.”
Ann had to ask. “Do you hear from her...from Kay?”
/> “Not much. She has Ernie every other Christmas, a good chunk of time in the summer. I hope that doesn’t confuse him, but sometimes I wonder. For instance, that fight with the Crandall kid. Maybe Ernie’s damaged and I don’t see it.”
She half smiled. Spending so much time at Little Darlings had given her a perspective on children at least. “Maybe he’s a normal four-year-old boy who loves his father—and listened to him.”
“Yeah,” Jeff said, “that’s the better theory, isn’t it?” He hesitated. “Ann, what I’m saying is to take what happened years ago as the turning point. Use it. Accept it, then follow a different path in life for yourself.”
She wanted to thank him for his understanding, but she didn’t know how. It wasn’t as if she could forgive herself, not yet, maybe not ever, but maybe she’d also had long enough to punish herself.
“Which brings me to us,” Jeff finally said, startling her anew.
Us. The word went through her like a siren song, like a gift she didn’t deserve. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to even consider a real relationship. She barely knew how to start.
Ann took a first step and watched Jeff’s eyes darken. When he didn’t back away but kept staring at her with that open, welcoming look—or was it another challenge, a dare?—she moved closer yet.
He began to smile, and chancing it, Ann looped her arms around his neck. She drew his head down until their lips were almost touching. It was she who closed the last distance between them.
After a few lovely moments, he said, “Why don’t we do this right?”
“What?” she murmured.
“The courtship thing. Sounds old-fashioned, doesn’t it, but why not? Dating. Seeing each other. Whatever.”
Ann didn’t need to answer. She guessed he already knew. She initiated the second kiss, then a third. When at last she began to pull away, her heart still pounding, Jeff traced a shivery line with his finger along her throat.
“No good?” he asked, his eyes still warm, his tone teasing.
“Way too good,” she answered.
Way too good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MOLLY’S PULSE POUNDED like a drum. Was this a good idea or not?
The morning after the zoning commission meeting and her dinner with Brig, she drove back into the city. In the two years since her husband’s death, she had been there no more than twice. Now, as if it had a mind of its own, her car was rolling onto her former street in Hyde Park, to the house she and Andrew had shared on a big corner lot with twin maple trees in the front yard.
And there it was, to her surprise, looking smaller than she remembered. Molly pulled over at the curb. She’d panicked last night at the very thought of coming here, and had been relieved when Brig hadn’t pushed her. This was something she should have done long ago, something she needed to do on her own.
Revisit the memories.
She found herself smiling. The old Tudor had been a wreck when she and Andrew had first seen it. The chimney had leaned like the Tower of Pisa, with chunks of mortar missing here and there. The first thing they’d done after falling in love with the crumbling wreck—and its vastly reduced price—had been to fix and repoint that chimney.
Molly had been twenty-five then, Andrew twenty-nine, and they had had practically no money. Pop had lent them part of the down payment.
She studied the front facade. In this house her marriage had flourished—until her miscarriage. She would never forget how their relationship had tumbled downhill after that, and then on that last morning...
Her smile faded. She and Andrew had argued the entire time they were getting ready for work. They’d even snarled at each other as they got into their cars...and one half of their couple had never come home.
Molly felt a chill run down her spine. The last thing she’d said to him had been in anger. Maybe we should get a divorce.
Did Andrew know she hadn’t meant that? Yet at the time, she had.
Lost in memory, Molly gazed at the house. A red tricycle lay abandoned on the front walk. A collapsible stroller leaned against the first porch step. Obviously children lived here now, other people’s children. The house didn’t belong to her.
But, oh, that first night... She blinked at the memory.
After the closing on their home, the fire Andrew had made without first opening the flue, the smoke that threatened to drive them out and ruin their romantic evening, until they’d flung open all the windows, then collapsed on the living room floor, laughing at their naiveté as first-time owners, and made love on the carpet in the one place in the world that was theirs...and always would be.
Molly straightened in her seat. Now this house belonged to other people in another marriage with another family. Her past was finally the past.
She wouldn’t need to come here again.
* * *
ON THAT SAME day, his last in Liberty, Brig studied the young woman across from him in Thomas Walker’s living room. As he’d told Molly, her credentials were impeccable, but she was no Susan Denton. She hadn’t smiled or said much since he’d opened the front door. The first sight of this nanny candidate had sent Thomas to his room with clear sorrow in his eyes. That this woman and Laila would be staying next door if Brig hired her hadn’t seemed to register with Thomas.
As for Molly, Brig hadn’t seen her since she’d left this morning. Obviously she didn’t want to be part of this interview.
Laila sat kicking her legs in her swing, the music playing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” The hems of her miniature jeans stopped above her ankles. She would need new clothes again soon. Remembering his shopping trip with Molly in Indiana, Brig wondered who would buy them when he wasn’t around. This woman—Patti—perhaps. But she looked so young.
“She’s small for her age,” Patti said at last, studying the baby.
“Laila was born in a war zone. In an impoverished country. She’ll catch up,” he said, then tried a smile. “She’s small but mighty.”
When Patti didn’t respond, Brig went on. “You can check with her pediatrician,” he said. “Laila is doing everything any other baby her age does. She’s eating solid food now—cereal and fruit. She’s up-to-date on all her inoculations,” he added, as if to prove Patti needn’t fear catching some dire disease. “Maybe you’d like to hold her.”
He wanted to see if the baby took to her. However this went, he still had to leave tomorrow. Yet he couldn’t hire someone who wasn’t good for Laila. Brig watched her lift Laila from the swing. The baby’s legs locked, and she flailed her arms as if she were falling. Then she let out a howl of protest.
“Most babies love me,” Patti said, shifting her hold to make Laila feel more secure. “I wonder if she’s as nervous as I am right now. I’m sorry, Mr. Collier—but I really want this job. I live in town with my parents, but I’d like to be more independent. I’ve had lots of experience as a babysitter and a nanny, too. Last year I worked for a professor and his wife in Cincinnati taking care of their three boys. The baby was about Laila’s age. We did fine.”
That was the most Brig had heard her say, and he felt himself relax a bit. “Your credentials are very impressive. I’m on edge myself,” he admitted. “It’s critical that I find the right person for Laila, and I don’t have much time left in which to do it.”
She actually smiled then. “The right person’s very important. And the right kind of care.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Have you heard? In the orphanages in some foreign countries, the children are left in their cribs all the time.”
His mouth tightened. “As you can see, Laila isn’t.”
Patti jiggled her gently and looked into Laila’s eyes. “There now, you’re fine. Pretty girl. We’ll have lots of fun together.”
Brig handed Laila a toy. The brightly colored ball with a noisemaker
inside was Laila’s current favorite. She had learned to grasp and shake it, the activity providing endless fun for her.
In another minute Laila was gurgling with delight. Brig could tell she liked Patti. Thank God, this was going better now for everyone. But just to make sure... “Laila has been feeding on demand from the beginning,” he said. “Over time she has established her own schedule, not without effort on everybody’s part, I admit, but we let her take the lead for now.”
“We? I didn’t realize there was a Mrs. Collier.”
Molly came far too easily to mind. Together, they had made a pretty good team, too, just like his unit. “There isn’t. Other people have been helping out. But with my situation changing—”
“I can start tomorrow if you’d like.”
Brig let out a breath. “That would be...great. Exactly what we need.”
“I’ll take really good care of her,” Patti assured him.
He took the baby from Patti and walked Patti to the door. In the end she’d passed every test. She had all the warmth and interest of Susan Denton. All he needed was to check her references, let her tour his parents’ house, then buy supplies before he left. And yet...
“I’ll give you a call,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”
* * *
THAT EVENING MOLLY wandered into the kitchen and stopped. Brig stood at the sink with the baby draped across his shoulder, Laila looking boneless but secure, the image of the two of them reflected in the darkened window glass. He was washing something with one hand while protectively cupping the baby’s head with the other. The contrast between tall, muscular Brig and tiny, delicate Laila made her want to weep. In that moment his tenderness made him more of a man to Molly than any military mission ever could.
She would miss them both. A serious understatement if ever there was one.
But if Laila stayed next door with a nanny, at least Molly could see her now and then. And Pop could offer to take her for walks in the stroller she and Brig had bought at the rummage sale.
