With a healthy portion of roast and red potatoes, green beans seasoned with fatback, and homemade rolls, Molly dug in with gusto. She was starving and ignored the fat floating in the gravy. She would pay for it later, but right now, this was the best thing Molly had eaten, ever. If Brad ate like this every day, no wonder he worked out. Molly would need to run for miles to get this meal out of her system, but it was well worth it.
She complimented Tammy between bites, “This is fantastic, Tammy. Thank you very much.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Tammy said, beaming.
Leslie somehow ended up sitting beside Molly, despite the latter’s valiant effort to keep that from happening. She leaned over and touched Molly’s arm with the familiarity of an old friend.
“Save room for desert. Tammy’s cherry cobbler is to die for.”
Randy moaned, his plate cleaned. “Oh my God, and cherry cobbler, too? I have to run tomorrow, no excuses. I refuse to have love handles.”
Leslie leaned forward to look around Molly at Randy. “You can run with me, if you don’t mind running at sunrise.”
Molly could smell the shampoo in Leslie’s hair, her perfume, the fabric softener in her shirt. It was intoxicating. She slid her chair back abruptly. “Thank you, Tammy. I don’t think I can eat another bite.” She stood up. “I need to check my email.” Randy slid his chair back to join her. Molly put a hand on his shoulder. “The rest of you relax and enjoy desert. Please, excuse me.”
Molly left the dining room, crossed through the archway, and sat down in the parlor. This proved to be not far enough away from Leslie. She was sitting with her back to Molly, but in her direct line of sight. No matter how hard Molly tried to concentrate on the computer screen, her eyes kept lifting to the attractive psychologist. Molly moved around the table to Randy’s computer, as if his could do something her laptop could not. Her back was now to the parlor, but she could not stop listening to Leslie’s laughter and the sweet hint of southern drawl under all that education. Smart, funny, damn good-looking, Leslie was everything Molly liked in a woman, but her psychoanalysis had been intrusive and unsettling.
Molly tried to read the emails on the screen in front of her. There was one from Rainey, verifying receipt of the files and a warning to be careful. She scrolled through several from Davis, informing her of messages she could return later. Leslie laughed and drew Molly’s attention. Molly chastised herself for her inability to concentrate. This was not the first time an attractive, though somewhat maddening, woman was in the room. Molly had no trouble before, blocking out what she did not have time for. Randy was right, if she wanted sex, it was a mere phone call or text message away. Any number of women would gladly play the role of one-night-stand with Molly Kincaid. She removed any residual Stephanie memories with a string of them last fall.
In addition to being the first and only real love of Molly’s life, discounting puppy love affairs in high school and her early years at Duke, Stephanie was also the only person with whom sex meant more than a release of tension, or something to be done simply because it was offered and Molly was bored. This attraction to Leslie was rare, a feeling of being pulled toward something hot that she should not touch, but could not stop herself. Molly was always the one in control. She chose with whom and when her sexual encounters would occur. It rarely required more than a grin and a few moments of pouring on the charm to coax a woman into her bed. Randy said Molly had mad skills or was very adept at picking out gorgeous willing women. Molly never told him that in this instance, looking like Jodie Foster had its benefits. Quite a few women secretly wished to bed Ms. Foster, and since that was unlikely to happen, Molly had no problem stepping in for Jodie to fulfill a woman’s fantasy. The difference with Leslie seemed to be that she did not appear interested in Molly, attracted to her car, yes, but not her. Molly smiled at the revelation. The inattentive were much more stimulating and the chase was usually rewarding, if only for a night.
The last woman Molly took to bed was a complete stranger she met in a hotel bar in Atlanta. She was challenging and feigned disinterest for hours, sitting at the bar, while Molly shared drinks with a colleague at a nearby table. Molly caught the sexy redhead eyeing her and the chase was on, ending in Molly’s suite. That was the week before Christmas, a long dry spell for Molly. She was stressed and her body craved its usual remedy. Pheromones do what they do and Molly assured herself that this was all just a chemical reaction, from lack of sex and sleep. By the time Molly finished the self-examination, she was convinced, on another day under different circumstances, she would probably give Leslie no more than a passing glance. Now that she understood the situation, she could deal with it. Problem solved.
Tammy called to her from the other room, “Molly, would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please. I’ll be right there.”
Molly looked through the rest of the emails and saw one that arrived while she was at Pop’s this morning. It was from the same address as the others telling her to stay out of Dobbs County, but this time the message was ominous.
“Your next.”
From the grammatical error, Molly could have reasoned that Stick wrote it. It appeared at about his IQ level, but he was in Pop’s with her at the time the email was sent. Molly forwarded it to Rainey, with a note.
“You were right. He is agitated.”
She closed the email program and logged off. There was no need to alarm the rest of the household. The language in the emails did not constitute a legal threat. Any lawyer could argue ambiguous meaning. Molly would have. Taking a deep breath, she put on a smile, and joined the others in the dining room. This time she stood in the opposite corner from Leslie, and refused a seat when offered, complaining of sitting all day.
Tammy asked, “Are you all okay with catfish? The guests that were going to stay here requested it and I’d like to cook it while it’s fresh.”
Molly blanched. She ate so much catfish as a kid, she refused to eat it again, but how could she explain that without mentioning why she had to eat so much of it? Molly ate what she could catch, and blue cats were abundant in the Neuse. She caught many a fish on a cane pole, with nothing more than a line, a heavy washer for a weight, and a hook laced with whatever she could dig out of people’s trash. It was a banner day when the old man at the little store would give her outdated hotdogs. Catfish love hotdogs, well, anything really. She caught one of her biggest with a tightly balled piece of moldy bread. She decided to say nothing and make the best of whatever else Tammy cooked for side dishes.
“Do you still go fishing, Molly?” Brad asked, turning in his chair to look at her. “Joe had a picture of you with a giant catfish on his wall at home.”
“Not as much as I’d like to,” Molly answered.
The truth was she had not been fishing in years. The last time she wet a hook was in Alaska, fly-fishing for salmon, only because a date turned into a weekend. A whim inspired a spontaneous jet-ride across the country, with a very uninhibited woman from Kodiak that promised to show her the real natural wonders of the frozen tundra. Molly smiled into her coffee cup. Maybe she should give the wild woman a call. Although she never went out with Kodiak woman again, the adventure had been memorable. Her pilot still talked about the ride going and coming, and wanted to know if there would be a repeat performance. He was available to her nearly twenty-four hours a day, kept his comments between the two of them, and her travel companions confidential, so she let him chide her a little bit. Still, she made sure her mile high escapades were a little less public after that, installing a retractable soundproof divider between the cabin and the cockpit.
Brad saw the smile and assumed she was thinking about fishing. “I remember you bringing a live bass to show and tell in a plastic bucket. It smelled to high heaven by the time school let out.”
Molly chuckled. “No matter how much we blew on that water, we couldn’t keep him alive.”
“You tried to get me to do mouth to mouth on it,” Brad said, la
ughing loudly.
“That’s right, you two knew each other in grade school,” Leslie said. “Surely you have some great Brad stories for us, Molly.”
Before Molly could answer, Brad inserted, “I’ve got some great Molly stories.”
Randy, who had been quietly sipping his coffee and watching Molly, said, “Oh, do tell.”
“Well, for starters, this lump on my nose is from her breaking it in fourth grade, just because I tried to kiss her.”
Leslie winked at Molly, which Molly wished she would not do. Leslie was laughing when she said, “Knew pretty early on where you stood on that issue, did you?”
“I warned him,” Molly answered, summoning a smile.
“She did, but the boys bet me I couldn’t do it. None of them had the guts to try. I wore that broken nose like a badge of honor. I nearly kissed Molly Harris.” Brad enjoyed that trip down memory lane so much he wanted to tell more. “She finished her school work so fast, some of us would give her our milk money so she’d give us the answers. I bet you made quite a haul that year we learned long division.”
Molly did not say she used the money for food, when supplies ran low and the fish were not biting in the dead of winter. She forced a laugh and said, “Millions.”
“What’s it like to be you?” Tammy asked Molly out of the blue, a little star struck it seemed. “I Googled you, I hope you don’t mind. My word, but you live a charmed life.”
“Maybe I should look at redesigning my website. Make it look more like work. There’s nothing charming about the hours we put in.”
Tammy was excited to share what she had discovered. “Oh, I can see how seriously you take your work. That’s not what I was talking about. All those pictures of you in sequined gowns and silk suits, and those beautiful women. Which one is your girlfriend? Wait don’t tell me. It’s that incredible gorgeous blonde in the black dress you were dancing with.”
“Oh, I know the answer to this one,” Randy said, raising his hand like a kid in school. Proving once again that he had no flair for the subtle, he told the room, “The black dress belongs to an old flame. Our Ms. Kincaid is single and available, if anyone wants to know.”
Tammy was equally unpracticed in the art of subtlety. “It’s amazing to me how two beautiful women like Leslie and you could both be single. What, aren’t any good lesbians left out there?”
Molly did not have to answer. Leslie did. “Unlike some people, a few of us don’t happen to need to mate for life at the first opportunity.” She leaned across the table and patted Tammy on the hand. “I’m happy. Stop worrying about me.”
Randy was grinning from ear to ear at Molly. She glared at him over her coffee cup, daring him to pursue what she knew he was thinking.
Brad saved Randy from endangering himself by saying, “Leslie nearly ran over me with her car, when I asked her to the prom.”
Leslie smiled broadly, wagging a finger at Brad. “You wouldn’t get out of my window or take no for an answer.”
“Did the boys bet you on that one too?” Molly teased.
“No, by then they were all trying to get her to go out with them. The cheerleader trophy-girl, you know. I thought she was just playing hard to get. Turns out she was getting her own.” Brad belly laughed and slapped the table.
Leslie blushed, but took it in stride, replying, “Oh, you’re just jealous because I was dating the prettiest girl in school and no one knew it.”
“I was doing the quarterback and no one knew that either,” Randy blurted out.
“I wasn’t doing anyone and everybody knew it,” Tammy said.
The room burst into laughter, just as the two young Dawsons entered. Molly saw Brad look at his watch. He pushed back from the table and stood up, walking to put a hand on the shoulder of each son.
“How was practice?”
BJ’s face lit up. “You should have seen the one Nick hit today. He made it all the way to second.”
It pleased both his dad and his younger brother that he was exalting Nick’s success. It pleased Molly too. She imagined BJ was that older, better at everything brother, but he was loyal to his sibling, a sign of good parenting.
“Good job, Nick,” Brad said to the beaming youngster. “So, spring break starts tomorrow. What’s on the agenda?”
Nick hopped up and down. “I want to go fishing.”
Brad laughed. “Okay, we’ll see if that can happen.” He turned to BJ. “And what is it you want to do?”
BJ was too cool to be excited. “Just hang out, play ball, you know, nothing.”
“That sounds doable, too. Just make time to get that math caught up over the break. Books before ball, right?”
“Yeah, dad. I know.”
BJ was the typical budding teenager, but glowing in the attention. His parents loved him and supported him, pushing him to be his best. Molly envied the bond Brad obviously had with his family. A loving wife, a happy home, two great kids, Brad was living the American dream, and doing it well. She was proud of her old friend and the man he had become.
Brad looked at his watch again. “Well, I promised to take the last half of a guy’s shift tonight, so I need to get moving.” He turned to Molly. “I left my contact information on the table in there. Just call me if anything comes up.” His eyes showed his concern for all of them.
“I think I’m going to take the files up to bed and get some reading done,” Molly said, letting him know things were probably quiet for the evening. She added with an exhaled breath, “It’s been a long day.”
Brad hugged his boys to his side and led them toward the back door. Tammy stood and followed her family for their goodbye ritual, when Dad became Officer and was about to hit the streets. It was something Molly was sure happened in homes over the world, when it was time for loved ones to assume their role in the law enforcement community, placing the family life they knew on the line. Leslie stood and went into the parlor, interrupting Molly’s thoughts.
Molly watched as Leslie retrieved the pad with the notes on Joey. She continued to examine her, as Leslie reviewed the information, noticing how she pursed her lips to one side when concentrating. Randy coughed, two little fake coughs to get Molly’s attention.
She looked down to see him mouth the words, “You’re toast.”
Molly gave him a quick one-finger salute and sipped her coffee. She watched Leslie approach over the rim of the cup, only pulling it away from her mouth when it was obvious she would have to speak to her.
“This should help you,” Leslie said, handing over the pad. “I’ve attached my card. If you go to my site, you’ll find a lot more information, but this should get you started.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will helpful.”
“Just call me if you have a question or you need me to go with you to see Joey. With school on break, I have some free time available. I spend most of my days evaluating students for the school system.”
Molly was trying to keep this as professional as possible, but her heart or something a little further down did flutter when Leslie’s fingers brushed hers in the pad exchange. She could smell Leslie’s perfume again and undoubtedly was being inundated with pheromones. The little voice, which also told Molly excessive speed was worth the ticket, was screaming, “Come on, show her the dimple, give her wink, anything — no risk, no reward.” Molly ignored the voice and let her flight response take hold.
She brushed past Leslie to put her coffee cup on the table. “I’ll contact you after I’ve had time to review your notes. Thank you, again.” Molly turned to Randy. “Would you tell Tammy thank you for dinner? I’m going to go up to my room and read for a while. I’m exhausted. See you in the morning, eight-ish.”
Molly was blocking Leslie’s view of Randy’s face, which he took advantage of, mouthing “Rabbit,” at her before saying sweetly, “See you at breakfast. Sweet dreams.”
“Well, if you don’t need me, I think I’ll go home too,” Leslie said, moving toward the kitchen. “Randy, if you w
ant to run tomorrow, send me a text by six. I’ll run by here and pick you up. I just live a few blocks away and this is on my usual route.”
Randy stood and put his chair under the table. “Come on by, I’ll be ready. Maybe I can convince sleepy-head here to join us.”
“Oh, you run too?” Leslie asked Molly.
Molly kept moving away, not wanting to be sucked into another conversation with Leslie. “Mostly on a treadmill,” she said, going to pick up her laptop from the parlor table.
Leslie called after her, “Feel free to join us. I don’t think the fresh air will hurt you.”
“No, but you might,” Molly thought. “Maybe” was all she managed saying aloud.
She crossed through the dining room, pausing at the base of the stairs to say, “Good night,” and then climbed the steps to her room. She heard the last exchange between Randy and Leslie before their voices faded in the distance.
“She has a lot on her mind, doesn’t she?”
Randy’s response was short, but accurate. “You have no idea.”
#
No one had any idea what was going on in Molly’s head, not even Molly. It was too much at once and she had to break it down into pieces to manage it. She slipped into jade silk men’s style pajamas, which Molly never wore, preferring a tee shirt and old cotton shorts. Randy, of course, would not know this, so he had found the drawer where she kept her lingerie and brought what he thought she would need. The thought of Randy going through that particular drawer made her a bit nervous about what might come out of his mouth in the future.
One of her lovers, Anne, the one that hung in there the longest — dating and sleeping together off and on for three years — had enjoyed buying Molly things at Victoria’s Secret. Molly played along and dutifully modeled them, but in the end, the sexy lingerie went in the back of the drawer and Anne out of sight with it. Molly liked Anne, enjoyed her company when they spent time together, not to mention she was drop dead gorgeous and a successful lawyer in her own right. She was not after Molly’s money, or the lifestyle Molly led. Anne wanted Molly, all of her, and it just was not going to happen. Molly explained it ad nauseam, but Anne did not give up trying. Finally, Molly’s emotional distance and refusal to take part in a monogamous relationship took its toll. There was no scene with tears and raised voices. Molly would not have taken part anyway. Anne just simply stopped calling and mailed any personal items Molly left at her house to the law firm, with a note that said, “Detrimentum tuum,” your loss. When Molly ran into her occasionally, Anne was cordial, but not quite over the hurt, so Molly stayed clear.
Molly: House on Fire Page 15
