Molly stopped what she was doing and wrapped an arm around her sister, leaning her head until it touched Lily’s.
Lily’s hands stilled over the sandwiches. “What’s that for?”
“I love you.”
Lily chuckled. “You used to say that when you were about to ask for cookies before dinner.”
Inadvertently, Molly had opened the door to something she’d been trying to put off. She said, “Well, I didn’t intend it to be a softening tool—but actually, I do need a favor.”
Lily set the plates with sandwiches on the table. “What?”
As they sat down, Molly said, “I got a job at the hospital.”
“That’s great! Now maybe you’ll start living like a normal person.”
Her sister echoing her own thoughts of this morning took her off guard. Would she ever feel normal again? From her overreaction at finding out the man she’d run down wasn’t a born and bred Hoosier, signs pointed to no.
“It is great. Part time, but enough hours to provide benefits.” Molly paused. “But it brings up another problem—I need someone to watch Nicholas.”
Lily pressed her lips together. “So since you preceded this with ‘I love you,’ I suppose you want that someone to be me?”
Molly fiddled with the crust on her bread. “Could you? I don’t know anyone else. He’s so young, I can’t leave him with just anyone.”
Lily sighed. “Gosh, Mol. I could help out sometimes, as a backup maybe. But I really can’t commit to all of the time. I’ve gotten orders and contracts for my pottery. Things are just getting off the ground; it takes a lot of time.”
Molly sat in silence for a moment. Lily was home every day, her only child was in high school, driving himself wherever he needed to go; it had never occurred to Molly that she wouldn’t say yes.
“It’s only four days at a time with five days in between. Maybe you could do it for the first few months, until he’s a little bigger.” Even as she said it, she felt guilty. Although only four years older, Lily had acted as Molly’s mother as they had grown up; she’d already given more than anyone should have to. But Molly squashed that guilt. There were circumstances here that were far beyond the ordinary.
Lily shook her head slowly. “I wish I could. But,” she hesitated, “right after Clay and I got married, we made the decision not to have a baby. There were lots of reasons, but one of the big ones was because I was beginning to have some success with my pottery. He made the sacrifice for me. I can hardly stop working to take care of your baby.”
Molly sat for a second, then said, “But it’d just be for awhile. I have to go back to work—money’s getting tight.”
“I’ll help you find someone.” Lily leaned across the table and took Molly’s hand.
Molly said, “I’ll pay you.” She had to have Nicholas someplace she could feel safe leaving him. And this seemed the only option, at least until he was older—and the threat of his father appearing diminished even further.
Lily shook her head. “I just can’t.” After a second she said, “I understand your reservations about a stranger, but sooner or later you have to take that step. I have friends who might recommend somebody.” She looked Molly in the eye. “If money’s tight, why not look to the father? He should be made to be financially responsible. You owe it to Nicholas.”
Molly pulled her hand away and didn’t say anything. A cold ball of dread formed in her stomach.
Lily pressed on, “I assume the father isn’t destitute.”
“I’ve already told you, the father isn’t in the picture. He doesn’t know, and he’s not going to know.”
“Be realistic, Molly! There’s no reason for you to shoulder the financial responsibility alone. Even if you don’t want him to have contact with the baby, you can surely work out something for support.” A look of dawning understanding crossed Lily’s face. “Do you think he would try for custody?”
“Probably.” Custody or kidnapping, what difference did it make? The end result would be the same.
“Is he married?” There was a brittle tone to Lily’s voice that Molly hadn’t heard from her sister since they were children and someone brought up their mother.
Molly wanted to shout, Afraid I’m following in her footsteps? But she needed Lily’s help, not her animosity. So she took a deep breath and said, “I really don’t know.”
Lily’s eyes widened.
“Let’s get this out there once and for all,” Molly said, matching her sister’s angry tone. “I don’t know anything about him. He might be married. He might be destitute. He might be a goddamn millionaire. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t check his credentials. I don’t even know where he lives. And I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“Oh my God.” There was true horror in Lily’s voice. It was as if all of her fears had materialized right before her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not married and I have this baby. What difference does it make who fathered him? If he was a millionaire, would that have made it more acceptable to you?”
There was a sharp bitterness in Lily’s eyes that Molly couldn’t recall ever seeing. “Love.” She paused and shook her head. “If you’d loved him it would have made a difference. This . . . this just sounds—”
“Like Mom?” Molly finished for her. “Is that what you’re so worked up over?” She stood. “For God’s sake, Lily, I’m an adult, not a child that you can frown upon because I’m not performing up to snuff. You and Dad, you’re just alike; everything’s all right as long as Molly doesn’t disappoint!
“For your information, it wasn’t like Mom at all. No one got hurt—I didn’t leave a husband and three kids behind.” Molly left her lunch untouched and walked over to gather up Nicholas.
Lily said, “Mol—”
The shrill ring of the telephone cut off her words. She reached for it and snatched it up.
“Hello.” The sharpness lingered in her tone, telling Molly that Lily was as angry as she was. Then she lowered her voice. “Hi, Dad.”
Molly kept moving, pretending not to be in the least interested.
Lily said, “Yes, I’ve seen her . . . She’s fine . . . Well, she’s right here. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Molly was ready to refuse to talk to him—only because she was so angry right now. But, if Dad was ready to talk, maybe she should take the opportunity.
Her decision became unnecessary when Lily said, “All right. Bye.”
So that’s the way he wants to play it. Punish me with silence. By the time Lily had disconnected, Molly had Nicholas and was heading toward the door.
“Molly, please. Dad called because he’s worried about you.”
“If he’s so damn worried, maybe he should call me!”
Things were not working out as she’d imagined. She came here because she needed help, needed her family. First her dad had pulled the rug out from under her; she’d never known him to be so narrow-minded and judgmental. And Lily had some stick up her butt that Molly felt responsible for putting there, but apparently had no power to remove. She would have been as well off had she gone someplace where she didn’t know anyone.
Lily said in a half-exasperated plea, half-big sister order, “Come back and eat lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.” She realized she sounded like a pouting child, but that’s just the way this family was treating her—like a child. “Thanks for watching the baby.” She pulled the door closed behind her.
Chapter 7
Looking through her cabinets, Molly regretted her hasty decisions of the day. If she’d taken Lily’s advice and gone shopping, she would have food in the fridge. If she’d eaten lunch before she left Lily’s, she wouldn’t be starving at four-thirty in the afternoon. And, if she hadn’t stormed out like an angry child, she could call Lily and see if she was going to the store.
But as things stood, until Nicholas woke up from his nap, she was hungry and stranded in a house with two saltines and a peanut but
ter jar scraped so clean there wasn’t enough to cover even one of those crackers.
On the counter lay a coupon that had been stuck in her door earlier this week. Papa’s Pizza 212 N. Ralston Avenue Free delivery 555-8890. It was four blocks from her house—but delivery removed any obstacle of distance or naptime. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Papa’s. What’s your pleasure?” It was a flat teenage voice that sounded like it truly pained him to spit out the restaurant’s greeting.
“I’d like a small, thin crust with everything except onions—” she paused, “—what the heck, make it everything.” There wasn’t anyone she’d offend with her onion breath. Nicholas might mind, but he was too young to make a big deal out of it.
“Delivery or pick up?” There was a loud clatter in the background, followed by a “dammit!” The boy on the phone chortled under his adolescent breath.
“Delivery.” She gave him her phone number and address.
“Small, thin crust, everything. Delivered. That’ll be ninety minutes.”
“Ninety minutes! You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is that your regular delivery time?”
“No.”
She waited for him to explain.
He didn’t.
“What’s taking so long? It’s only five o’clock.”
“Friday night football game. Everybody gets pizza.”
Molly heard Nicholas begin to cry in the other room.
“Forget the delivery,” she said. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Thirty minutes.” The phone went dead.
“Thank you for your order,” she said mockingly to the phone. “Please call Papa’s again soon.” She had always attributed rudeness in Boston teenagers to living in the city, where anonymity hid them from recrimination . . . where nobody knows your name. She had to chuckle at her own play on the “Cheers” theme. However, rudeness was apparently a worldwide epidemic.
She changed and fed Nicholas. As she was putting him in his pumpkin seat, she had second thoughts. If the pizza place was that busy, she probably wouldn’t be able to park very close. It’d be easier to walk the four blocks.
Wrestling the folded stroller Lily had bought as a gift for Nicholas out of the front closet, Molly gave it a wary eye. It looked complicated. There were levers and pouches and clips and buttons and a cup holder. Surely in there somewhere was a place to put a baby. After she tried a couple of different buttons, the stroller finally sprang into a functional form. When she laid Nicholas inside it, he was dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the thing.
Wrapping them both against the chill and locking the door behind her, Molly set out with a rumbling stomach to retrieve her pizza. Step two in beginning a normal life—a public appearance at a busy pizza parlor. She was on a roll now, baby.
As she walked, she sifted through her feelings. It surprised her that she was actually looking forward to seeing people for the first time in a month. The familiarity of her surroundings had stirred her curiosity about those she used to know. Some of these folks were practically institutions in Glens Crossing. Did old Mr. Grissom still think aliens were messing with his cows? Had anyone ever figured out that Mrs. White was sneaking cigars behind her barn? (Molly had seen it first hand while riding her bike past the Whites’ farm when she was thirteen; ruining forever the southern belle image that Alma Lynn White liked to foster. But her secret was safe with Molly; to expose the woman seemed just too mean.)
Molly walked past Brian Mitchell’s real estate office and felt a flash of guilt. When she’d been looking to rent a house, she had consciously avoided Brian. It was easier to work with someone she didn’t know. Even though a stranger still asked all of the same questions, Molly felt less deceitful answering them. She’d known Brian all of her life—everybody knew Brian.
Another of her Glens Crossing questions surfaced in her mind; she wondered if he was still the most handsome man in town. Since he was several years older than she, he’d always seemed like a legend . . . handsome, athletic, so unbelievably cool that, when she was growing up, she’d always found herself tongue-tied when he was around. She, like every other girl in town, had had a major crush on him.
A flash of a new face entered her mind. If Dean Coletta hung around, Brian’s place as “most handsome” was sure to be challenged. But Coletta wasn’t hanging around. He was just here snooping, for one reason or another.
That thought brought back the question: Did he pose a danger to Nicholas? Reason told her no. He was making himself too well known to have kidnapping in mind. Panic had released its icy grasp. She knew Coletta was here; even if he had some secret link to Nicholas’s father, there would be no sneak attack.
Even with a thousand unanswered questions on her mind, strolling along peaceful streets and enjoying the fresh stillness of early autumn dusk, it was easier than she’d imagined to push aside wayward fears, to pretend she was that normal person she was trying so hard to portray.
As she approached the pizza place, her decision to walk proved to be the right one; there wasn’t a parking place for a block and a half in any direction. When she opened the door, she realized there wasn’t any way that she was going to maneuver the bulky stroller through the crush of people. She backed out and picked Nicholas up to carry him in. She only gave the briefest thought to thievery as she left the stroller on the sidewalk. In this town, nobody would steal from a baby.
After squeezing through the crowd that was waiting to be seated, Molly stopped at the end of the long line at the pick-up window. It quickly became clear that Nicholas, dressed as he was for the brisk outdoors, was going to overheat long before they got their pizza. As she took off his hat and attempted to unwind a layer of blanket, her purse fell off her shoulder and knocked the hat out of her hand. She shifted Nicholas a bit so she could stoop and pick up the hat without dropping her purse, but a man appeared next to her and beat her to it.
“Here.” He held the tiny knit cap out to her. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
When Molly looked into his face, the warmth of familiarity spread over her. “Brian Mitchell. How are you?”
He tilted his head slightly, then recognition shone in his eyes and he smiled. “Little Molly Boudreau? I heard you were back in town.”
Nicholas started to fuss. She gave him a little jiggle. “Oh, I bet you did.”
His gaze cut to the baby. “We’re all not so provincial around here. Why, a couple of us actually subscribe to the New Yorker and Rolling Stone.” He leaned closer, smiling as he looked closely at the baby’s face. “What’s his name?”
She was grateful for his straightforwardness. “Nicholas.”
A waitress bumped against Brian’s back as she squeezed through with a tray of drinks, making Molly aware that they were blocking the way. She took a small step closer to the person ahead of her in line and asked, “Would you mind holding my purse for just a second so I can get him unwrapped? He’s going to roast before we can pick up the pizza.”
“I’ve got a better idea. I have a table. Why don’t you join us? We can tell the waitress to bring your pizza to our table and you can eat with us.”
She glanced back at the line. It wasn’t moving very quickly.
“Come on,” he urged, turning his golden boy smile on her once again.
She fumbled for an excuse. “The baby—”
“They’ve got one of those sling baby seats. I’ll go get it.” He was already walking away. He called over his shoulder. “Our table’s back here.”
It was easy to see why he was so successful in his real estate business. With very little obvious effort, he’d made her feel welcome and had effectively taken away her ability to argue—all with such charm and ease that she didn’t feel like she’d been railroaded.
It might actually be nice to share a meal with someone. She didn’t know Brian’s wife, Kate, very well. But if the woman had such good taste in men, she couldn’t be all bad. The guy even
knew about baby seats. “All right, Nicholas, your first dinner out is about to begin.”
She followed Brian toward the back of the dining room. As she did, she studied the place, mostly so she didn’t have to study the people and notice if they were staring at her or not. Papa, whose real name was Harold Jorgensen and who was Swedish to the roots of his blond hair, had remodeled the place. The old plaster had been scraped from the walls, exposing the rough, red brick. Wall sconces kept the lighting from being harsh and the stamped-tin ceiling had been painted dark brown, she supposed to reduce the feeling that it was so high. Unlike some of the changes that had happened in Glens Crossing during her absence, she approved of Papa’s updating.
When she caught up with Brian, he was sliding the baby chair up to a table with a man sitting with his back to her. Guess dinner wasn’t with Kate after all.
Before she could even wonder if she knew their dining partner, he stood and pulled a chair out for her.
Her stomach fell to her feet. Apparently she should have clarified who “us” was. But she could hardly bolt and run at this point.
Clay sat at the kitchen table as Lily made a salad for dinner. He’d been listening patiently to her without saying much for the past fifteen minutes.
After Molly had left, Lily’s mood had grown more sour by the hour. She’d been tempted to follow Molly home and get everything out in the open. But she knew Molly had a stubborn streak even wider than their father’s. Nothing good was going to come out of talking to her anymore today.
Which didn’t set at all well with Lily. She hated turmoil; she always felt responsible for getting things ironed out—especially when the turmoil had to do with family. Boiling conflict sat like an undigested meal in her stomach. The need for resolution gnawed at her relentlessly until it became a reality. Too bad conflict never seemed to eat at her sister the same way. Molly seemed to be able to close that area of her mind, until the time came when she was ready to settle the problem.
Promises to Keep Page 10
