Saints & Suspects
Page 21
Molly’s mobile rang, and though it wasn’t Nate’s chosen song, her stomach still tensed for the confrontation. She was almost relieved when she saw it was the Canavans. What could Grace want? “Hello?”
“Dearie, are you busy with work now?” Grace’s concern was audible.
Her eyes searched her flat like she’d left herself a clue. What was she supposed to be again? Right, a nursing assistant. “No, just finished with rounds.”
“Did you . . . know?”
“What?” Molly leaned back against her gray couch, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
“About Jason’s friend — what was her name? Teresa? Tessie?”
What was she talking about? “I’m sorry?”
“Oh, we just ran into Jason at a restaurant with his friend — I was so worried. That is, I’m sure your fella’s faithful and all, but you weren’t there, and she was so pretty.”
A twinge of jealousy struck her chest. Zachary might not want to date her, but she hadn’t let herself imagine the man who’d been inches from rekindling their relationship last week moving on that quickly. Molly stood to pace a circuit around the couch, working through the emotional whiplash.
“I — I was worried,” Grace concluded.
“Of course he told me. I’d have been there too if I hadn’t had work.”
“So Jason said.” She didn’t seem convinced.
“Thanks for your concern, Grace, but you needn’t worry about Jason. I’ve seen the two of them together loads. They’re practically family.”
Reassured, Grace bid her the customary Irish chorus of goodbyes, ending the call mid-“bye.” Molly lowered her mobile, staring at her photos on the exposed brick wall.
So Zachary was out with someone else. So she was pretty. So it was only days since he’d nearly kissed her — that was just his cover going to his head. It meant nothing.
Molly lifted her mobile and pulled up what was becoming her favorite search term: Phoenix apartments for rent. She already knew she had to get over Zachary. Him being over her wasn’t news. It just stung like a new wound.
The wound would heal. Someday.
Three hours later, Zach pulled up in front of the Evanses’ house, still laughing at Tessa’s last joke. When their laughter subsided, Tessa smiled at him. “It was really nice of you to do that for your sister.”
“Nice of you to play along.” Lucy had been pretty closed off — not the makings of a great date — but when Zach secretly convinced Tessa and Lucy’s date Tyrone to each sign up for duets with Lucy, it’d taken her mind off her problems long enough for some stage banter.
Until Lucy changed the lyrics of “The Boy is Mine” to something closer to “Take My Brother — Please!” and their one-upmanship ended up with Tessa’s jaw-dropping, three-octave improvisation over the third chorus.
Lucy had handled it well, clapping for Tessa, but he’d probably get it later. He got out of the car and got Tessa’s door.
“Wait a second,” Tessa said. She walked down the drive and into the garage, returning with a basketball.
What was she, crazy? Zach didn’t hate the cold, but he didn’t want an excuse to spend more time outside. Had to be below freezing.
Tessa shot off a quick pass that Zach caught handily. He didn’t check the ball back to her, tucking it under his arm instead. She couldn’t change the subject that easily. “What’s it like being the most talented person in the room?” he asked.
“I bet I don’t have to tell you.”
He shot her a skeptical look, and then shot the ball without looking at the basketball standard beside the driveway. The ball sailed through the hoop in a graceful arc. Zach struggled against a smile — but whether that smile would’ve been more satisfaction or surprise, he couldn’t say.
Tessa slow-clapped and made no move to retrieve the ball bouncing off the driveway. “I thought you were terrible at basketball.”
“My team was terrible.” He crossed the distance between them, joining Tessa walking up to the front porch.
“It’s a good thing Molly’s not a real person. She’d be right to be jealous. And keep you under lock and key.”
How did she — oh, the Canavans. He’d almost forgotten about the strangest part of the evening. “Molly’s a real person, but she’s not jealous.”
Molly had never been the jealous type, but now she probably couldn’t muster that much feeling for him. She was transferring to Phoenix. Was he wasting his time fighting for her?
“Zach?” Tessa broke into his thoughts. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Here was a beautiful, intelligent, talented — interested? — woman in front of him, and Molly was marrying Nate.
For the last eight months, he’d tried to move on. He’d looked for other girls. He’d gone on every blind date. Honestly, this was the first time it was even close to being worthwhile. And now Molly was back in his life.
Chasing Molly was stupid. Really, really stupid. Opening himself up to her again, falling in love with her again, getting burned again — bouncing back would take even longer the second time around. If he ever recovered.
And women like Tessa would slip through his burned fingers.
Was he willing to give up a not-bad prospect with Tessa, or anyone else, on the off chance he could convince Molly he was worth another shot?
One split second of a memory replayed in his mind, sitting with Molly under the cherry blossoms, her laugh rising and falling on the warm spring breeze. The day he knew he had to marry her.
What wouldn’t he give for another chance?
“Awesome meeting you, Tessa. I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too. Thanks again.” She hugged Zach before heading in the house.
If this was what he was giving up for one more chance with Molly, he couldn’t afford to lose.
Molly met Grace outside an apartment building in the Northwest Side. Molly tamped down her nerves while Grace drove them to the bridal shop and filled the time with chatter. The ride was short enough that it didn’t seem terribly odd that Molly didn’t say anything in the two miles from her cover’s address to their destination.
Only a couple blocks from Nate’s building. Of course.
Grace found a parking spot down the street. “Have you talked to Jason about changin’ the date?”
“No, I don’t think he wants to.”
Grace grumbled under her breath. “And I don’t think he knows what we’re up against. You realize you’re gettin’ married in nine weeks, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“What did he say about everythin’ we saw last week?”
Molly sighed. “He doesn’t have a preference. He’s leavin’ it all up to me.”
“Desperate lot to heap on one poor girl.” Grace switched off the car with extra torque. “Hardly fair, if you ask me.”
She hadn’t asked Grace, but Molly bit her tongue. Her objective wasn’t planning her dream wedding. She was here to befriend Grace, so she could stop Grace.
“You know, Molly.” Grace’s voice took on a gentle turn. “If this isn’t what you really want, you only need say.”
Molly peered through the falling snowflakes at the shops across the street. “Why wouldn’t this shop be what I really want?”
“I mean marryin’ Jason.”
She whipped back to Grace. Was she doubting their cover? Grace kept her gaze on her folded hands. “After the way you looked, I’ve been worried. I know you said you were grand, but . . .” She looked up with something like real maternal concern, as if Molly were her own daughter. “If you can say, in your heart, you want to marry him, I’ll drop the subject. But if you can’t — think about what you’re doin’.”
Suddenly Grace reminded Molly of her real mum. What Molly wanted in her heart? She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate that in . . . eight months.
But Molly Ryan could have no doubts. Molly filled her voice with confidence. “Grace, I would marry Jason tomorrow in
a track suit. He’s the only part I do care about.”
“All right, dearie. If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Now she needed an explanation for her melancholy last weekend.
Then it hit her: her golden opportunity. “Last Friday after we left the hotel, I realized it was my uncle’s birthday.” She watched Grace’s reaction. Nothing. “My Uncle Teague.”
Molly held her breath, counting heartbeats. One, two, three. This was a lie more bald-faced than any she’d attempted. Five beats. Molly prayed Grace didn’t know Teague’s real birthday, whenever that was. Seven beats.
Grace’s concern faded into nostalgia and sympathy. “You must’ve heard a lot about him.”
“Loads. I feel as though I know him.” Her mum hated to speak of Teague — the hurt was still fresh — but Molly took the leap and threw herself into the lie. “Growin’ up where he did, seein’ what he saw, the oppression. I’m proud to share his blood.”
“You should be.” Grace’s whisper grew fierce, and tears shone in her eyes. “If only my Donal —” She held up a hand and shook off the sentiment, steeling herself with a deep breath. “Not what we’re about today, right?”
“Suppose not.” Molly turned away to hide her disappointment. She’d been so close. Could she get away with steering the topic back to Teague and his “heroism” again?
But Grace was already out of the car. Molly joined her in the gently falling snow, and Grace pointed out the boutique across the street and halfway down the block. When Molly followed Grace’s indicating finger, the display windows’ wedding dresses barely registered in Molly’s mind. Instead she focused on someone just in front of them, someone she needed to see, but not here and not like this.
Nate. Back from California.
Her lungs seemed to fill with a sudden snowdrift. When had he arrived? How had he guessed she’d be here?
“Molly?” Grace asked. Did she have to say it so loudly? “Have you any quarters?”
Molly had to refrain from shushing her, but rushed closer so she’d have no reason to raise her voice or look behind them where Nate was.
“Sure I do.” Molly dug in her handbag.
Grace pivoted to scan the street — toward Nate.
She had to distract her. “Why’d you choose this shop?” Molly asked.
Grace launched into her explanation, and Molly peered over her shoulder. Nate passed the bridal shop and the photography shop next door and the teachers’ supply shop. Finally, he went into a storefront.
A jewelry shop.
Oh no. No, no. Not only was he twenty feet away and sure to blow her cover if he saw her, but ring shopping?
Molly looked back at Grace, who waited with one eyebrow raised. “Sorry.” Molly pulled out her wallet and the change. “Here we are.”
“You all right?” Grace asked.
“I am, I — I thought I saw someone I want to avoid.” Especially in a jewelry shop. But she needed to deflect any suspicion from Nate, on the chance Grace had seen him. “But it wasn’t her,” she finished. Molly made herself smile, and they finally crossed the street and walked into the shop. But suddenly, planning a wedding made her stomach turn more than normal.
Not the kind of challenge she’d anticipated today.
Grace opened the shop door, and Molly checked the display windows. The mannequins left plenty of room to see into the shop, straight back to the dressing area and mirrors.
All Nate had to do was walk by.
They stepped into the mint and ivory interior, and a well-dressed woman — Chella, according to her gold name badge — approached them. “May I help you?”
“We’re needin’ a weddin’ dress,” Grace supplied, gesturing to Molly. Molly nodded, numb. She had to get out of here, make sure Nate didn’t see her. How?
A vast blank — nothing came to mind. Chella showed them around the shop, and Grace worked through her notebook of dresses to try. Keeping her back to the front window and forcing herself to breathe was all Molly could do. He couldn’t see her.
“Where are your fittin’ rooms?” Molly asked at the first opportunity.
“Here.” Chella led them to a set of doors.
“Why don’t I get into the foundation garments while you collect the gowns?”
“Sounds like you’re a pro.” Chella unlocked a room, and Molly tried not to dive in.
Finally, she was safe. Until she had to step out again. Wearing a wedding dress, in plain sight of the huge front windows.
Interference. She needed someone to run interference for Nate or Grace, just to be sure. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed backup.
Zachary would know who to send. Molly grabbed her mobile from her handbag and texted him, glad they’d memorized the APCO Ten Codes as an inside joke. 10-78 was all she needed to write — request for assistance.
Chella returned to the changing room with an armload of dresses just before Zachary’s reply came: 20? Location.
Molly answered with the address of the shop and put away her mobile. Chella helped her into the foundation garments, which were less complex but just as restrictive as the last ones she’d worn. As Chella lifted the dress over Molly’s head, she realized she hadn’t said anything about her preferences. No telling what Grace had foisted upon her.
Chella tugged the skirt into place and began lacing up the back: the dress was strapless. No doubt Grace would gloat about winning Molly over on that point. Once Chella finished, they walked out onto the viewing stage in front of five angled mirrors — once again, Grace was busying herself elsewhere in the shop. Molly frowned at herself in the mirror while Chella fluffed the shimmering folds of the skirt. “This is taffeta, so the fabric’s almost iridescent.” However, instead of a rambling description as Claire had given, Chella stopped there and admired Molly’s reflection.
Molly scrutinized the dress. Iridescent off-white beads covered the bodice from the sweetheart neckline to the waistband. The bottom half of the full skirt was gathered in spots. She wasn’t sure how a bride should feel, but this made her feel more like a wedding cake.
“What do you think of the dress?” Chella ventured.
Molly narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like it.”
“Don’t worry about offending me; my job’s making you happy.”
Before they made it back to the fitting room, Grace reappeared with an armload of more thick three-ring binders — the shop’s formalwear catalogues. “That dress is nice.”
“Sure now.” Molly returned to the changing room to wrestle another gown on.
Once she was presentable again, Molly found Grace on a settee, flipping through the catalogues. She smiled. “Lovely.”
On the viewing stage, Molly surveyed the second choice, a white spaghetti-strap gown. Satin ribbon trimmed the top of the dress and empire waist; a chiffon overlay split down the skirt’s front.
A much simpler dress all around, but still not . . . right. Perhaps it was too plain? Too summery? Or too . . . bridal?
Was it that she wasn’t really getting married — and had just reaffirmed that by seeing Nate — or were the dresses themselves all wrong?
“I don’t think this one’s for you either,” Chella offered. Molly led the way back into the fitting room.
She needed to get her head in the game, Zachary would tell her. What could she draw on from their conversation about Teague? What had Grace stopped herself from saying? If only my Donal —
“Grace,” Molly called once Chella had gotten the second dress off. “My mum was askin’ about your boys — um, Donal and . . . ?”
“Pearse,” Grace returned. “They’re in Dublin. Pearse is a tradesman, and Donal’s workin’ with Fine Gael.”
Chella set aside the second dress and gathered the third one into her arms. “Who’s Feena Gail?” she whispered to Molly.
Molly couldn’t quite identify what made Chella’s pronunciation not quite right, but it was close enough. “An Irish political party, one of the largest.”
“Aw, sure look it.” Grace wasn’t a convincing liar, or she wasn’t trying. Not that Molly was surprised that Grace disagreed with her son’s politics. Fine Gael wasn’t against a united Ireland — but they were officially opposed to violence.
“Done,” Chella proclaimed. Molly looked down at what she’d gotten herself into. The shoulder straps were wide enough Molly needn’t worry about a repeat of the fiasco at Bridie’s wedding, and the fabric was white, but that was all she could assess from here. Molly stepped out onto the viewing stage.
This time, the only comment Grace could manage was an audible gasp. Molly dared to check the mirror.
It was perfect. The ruched wrap bodice tucked into a waistband with a beaded filigree. Below the curving design, glossy satin flowed to the floor.
“Do you like it?” Chella asked.
“I do,” Molly breathed. A perfect mix of formal and understated, but more than that, it made her feel . . . flawless.
“Good news,” Chella announced. “It’s on sale this week, and we only have one left of this dress in your size.”
Though Molly knew that last point was probably an attempt to push her into buying it, it was still working.
The Bureau had this in the budget, right?
“Hold on.” Chella left for a moment.
“That’s the dress.” Grace nodded to herself. “And you know it, don’t you?”
She didn’t dare say it out loud. Molly brushed the smooth fabric of the skirt.
Grace nodded again. “You know it as sure as you know your fella’s the one for you. No track suit required.”
Again, Molly didn’t reply. Falling in love with a dress was one thing, but she wasn’t so sentimental to think getting married was as sappy as fairy tales made it seem.