The Mommy Wish

by Pamela Browning

  “Sure,” he told Phoebe. He and Craig had discussed this possibility on the way back from the beach yesterday.

  “Goody! I’ll have to figure out what to pack. See you later, Dad. Oh, and they want me to come early enough for dinner. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, if that’s what you’d like.”

  “Oh, would I! Thanks, Dad.” Phoebe went below, humming to herself.

  Molly picked up the magazine and studied it for a moment. “Do you subscribe to this?” she asked curiously.

  “No, I found this copy in the marina office, but I used to. That was back in the old days, when I thought the way to get off the corporate treadmill was to start my own business.”

  Molly sat down and studied his face.

  “Why didn’t you do it?”

  “I had no heart for it after Heather died, because she was my number-one cheerleader. She thought I could do anything, and with her, I could. I left the corporate fast track, all right, but I fell back on something else that I knew well. Boats.”

  “How’d you pick up that knowledge?”

  “Oh, I had my ways,” he said with a twinkle.

  “Seriously, Eric,” she said.

  “I was around boats when I was growing up. My dad was from the Midwest and was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia, when he was a career officer in the navy. He taught my brother and me to sail when we were little kids, and he made sure we were good swimmers so we wouldn’t drown if we fell overboard. I picked up engine mechanics around the marina where we kept our boat. I always liked working with my hands, but I majored in business in college. It seemed like a wise choice at the time.”

  “You must have liked the field, since you bothered to get an M.B.A.”

  “My advanced degree got me a great job at Carolina Novelties, a paper-and-plastics packaging company near the coast. Unfortunately, I became disillusioned by the time I’d worked there for a few years and I didn’t have confidence in upper management after they brought in a hatchet man from out of state to get rid of good, loyal workers who had devoted their lives to making the company grow. How could I aspire to that level of management when I no longer respected it?”

  “Some people might say that you should have stayed and tried to change policy,” Molly pointed out.

  “I decided that would be impossible when dealing with managers who didn’t give a damn about the company and were only concerned with racking up huge bonuses and stock options,” he retorted. He immediately regretted his sharp tone, but Molly didn’t blink.

  “I understand,” she said with great certainty. “I’d hate working for people like that.”

  He relaxed. For a moment he’d forgotten that she would have more than a rudimentary understanding of corporate politics. “Tell me about McBryde Industries,” he said. He understood something about the company from his lengthy talks with Emmett, but he wanted to hear Molly’s slant on things.

  She leaned back and clasped her hands around her knees. “Grandpa started the company, as he probably told you. It was strictly a hands-on operation until a few years ago when he retired.”

  “Did the company change then?” At Carolina Novelties, morale had started on a steep and steady downward slide after old Mr. Thaxter, the grandson of the company’s founder, died.

  “Not much. Of course, my grandfather installed his relatives at every level of the company, and he made sure they all had a good grounding in business. My cousin David, a Harvard graduate, is president now. His sister Lynn has responsibility for the sales department. I’m in Accounting, Grandpa’s youngest brother is in charge of research, my boss, Frank, is the son of one of Grandpa’s neighbors in Lake Forest and so on.”

  “A real empire,” Eric said.

  “Yes, it is. When we were growing up, we all realized that there would be jobs waiting for us when we graduated from college. Not that we all availed ourselves of them.” She laughed lightly. “My brother insisted on studying Irish folklore. My sister became a crackerjack photographer and presently teaches courses in the Australian Outback. I’m the only one of us who stepped up to the plate at McBryde Industries.” Her smile faded. “I wonder if that was such a good idea,” she added, looking more serious.

  “Come on, Molly. You have a great job,” he said.

  She gazed off into the distance, duly chastened. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I do. Only sometimes when I’m exhausted at night from attending too many meetings, or when I’m sitting in a stuffy airplane waiting to take off on another business trip, I think how fantastic it would have been to pursue music as a career.”

  This surprised him. “Is that what you planned to do?”

  When she spoke, her tone carried a hint of wistfulness. “I wanted to please Grandpa. My brother had already turned down a position at McBryde, and my grandfather was so hurt. I thought I should make it up to him. So—” she shrugged “—I was a dutiful granddaughter. I put away my harp and I buckled down.”

  He was touched by her sense of obligation. “You seem so regretful,” he said.

  “Since I’ve been here in Greensea Springs, I’ve realized that everyone doesn’t live at the frenetic pace that I do. The locals have time for recreational pursuits, enjoying nature, being with friends, putting family first. It’s made me think that—Oh, but I shouldn’t be talking about it.” She stood abruptly.

  He rose to his feet also, uncomfortable with the shadow that flitted across her features. Even so, he understood what she was feeling. Similar thoughts had set him upon his present career path—or lack of it—a few years back.

  All of a sudden he wanted to take advantage of Phoebe’s overnight absence to be alone with Molly. Impulsively, he said, “Molly, let’s go to dinner tonight. It would be good for us to get off the boat.”

  She hesitated, as if she couldn’t make up her mind. Then, to his immense relief, she looked him straight in the eye.

  “I’d like that,” she said. She frowned. “I’ve already signed up to participate in open mike night at the Blossom Cabaret again tonight. That means we should go to dinner early. Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Six o’ clock?”

  “Six o’clock is good. That will give me a chance to walk Phoebe over to the Farrells’ house and come back for you. We could eat at that restaurant in the big old two-story house on the corner of Vendue Lane, near the grocery store.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said. “And now I’d better see if Phoebe needs any help.” She smiled at him before she headed down the ladder.

  WHEN SHE WAS PACKING for this jaunt, Molly had included one dress. A simple sundress, it was constructed of a gauzy material in shades from peach to coral to russet; the skirt was short but full and swirled around her thighs when she walked. She wore it with no bra, because the top fit snugly enough to provide ample support, and when the light was behind her, the outline of her legs was barely visible. It was one of her favorite dresses for warm weather, and it had a matching fringed shawl for cool evenings.

  When she was ready, she stood in front of the narrow mirror in her stateroom and studied her reflection. She’d braided the two strands of hair on either side of her face and drawn them together in the back, where she’d clipped them with one of Phoebe’s barrettes. Her earrings were simple, three pearls and a small diamond; they’d belonged to her mother. Her only other jewelry was a watch.

  Eric, recently returned from taking Phoebe to the Farrells’, was waiting on deck when she emerged from her stateroom, carrying her harp in its case. “Give that to me,” he said, reaching down for it.

  She did, and after he’d set it aside, he gave her a helping hand. She was grateful, since she was wearing flimsy sandals that made it hard for her feet to get a grip on the ladder.

  “You look great,” he said, and there was no mistaking his admiration.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling suddenly formal. They stood staring at each other for several moments. Molly took in his neatly pressed chinos,
the way his white shirt contrasted with his dark tan. He smiled tentatively, and she smiled back.

  “It seems odd to go somewhere together without Phoebe,” she said, mostly to fill the silence.

  “Yes, Molly, but maybe we should do it more often,” he replied.

  Maybe we should, she thought, but she didn’t say the words. Past experience had made her cautious about letting men think that she was more interested than she was.

  THE PLUMOSA HOTEL WAS SHROUDED in shadows behind its curtains of Spanish moss. As she and Eric walked past on their way to the restaurant, she saw that he was studying the glassed-in pool enclosure.

  “When I was exploring here last week, I peeked in and saw the pool,” she said.

  “No one swims there these days?”

  “Only on special occasions.”

  Someone was moving about inside the enclosure, and an electric light went on for a moment. Eric gave a long, low whistle. “Are those pictures on the wall?”

  “They’re frescoes,” Molly told him. “A plaque says that the woman who painted them lived at the hotel.”

  “Someday I’d like to see them,” he said.

  “They’re amazing,” she told him, warming to this subject. “They show tourists at the hotel doing the things that tourists did in those days—riding bicycles through the park, swimming in the pools, drinking the water from the spring.”

  Eric made a face. “The tourists of yore must have been hardy souls.”

  Molly laughed. “Phoebe says the sulfur smell seems friendly.”

  “Phoebe would,” he replied, and they both laughed.

  Molly took care to keep a reasonable distance between them as they walked, though, if she wasn’t mistaken, Eric kept trying to close it. The restaurant was only a block from the hotel, and when they entered they were seated right away. Their table was one of several occupying a wide veranda on the second floor of the old house, the former home of a lumber baron who had made a fortune by logging the pine forests that had formerly grown nearby. From where they sat, they could look out over the town, the marina, and the chain of barrier islands beyond.

  After they ordered, Eric slid back his chair. “Let’s walk to the end of the veranda,” he said.

  Her arm brushed his as he stood aside for her to pass, and she quickly pulled away. She wondered if he was aware of the sexual undercurrents passing between them, if he was trying to ignore them as she was. It was harder than she’d expected it to be.

  The side of the porch that afforded the best view was narrow, and Eric positioned himself in the middle. She had a choice of standing on his left or his right, but both places left her little room. She remained slightly behind him, but he appropriated her elbow and drew her close. She felt the warmth of his body radiating through her clothes, smelled the soapy scent of his skin. She tried to concentrate on his words and to resist the urge to lean against him, to rest her head, ever so briefly, on his broad shoulder.

  “I would have liked to see this town in its heyday,” Eric said. “It must have been something.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, normal. She took that as a sign that he couldn’t tell that her heart was hammering or her palms were damp.

  “It’s still an amazing place,” Molly said.

  “My daughter’s crazy about Greensea Springs,” Eric said.

  “Anyone would fall in love with a town like this one,” she said.

  “Including you?”

  “I’m charmed by it,” she admitted. “Greensea Springs is different from any other place I’ve been.”

  Eric nodded in agreement. “It’s unique,” he said, and as they walked back to the table, she noticed him regarding her thoughtfully.

  Eric seemed in a mood to talk. “This would be a good town for raising children,” he said. He leaned toward her, his expression earnest. “I know your feelings on the subject of Phoebe’s longing for a real home,” he said. “Maybe I should explain why I haven’t paid much attention to her in that regard.” He paused. “Until now.”

  His last two words caused Molly to look up sharply from the wine list.

  His gaze held hers. “I’ve been thinking that I’m tired of running, Molly.”

  “From what?”

  “My own demons. When Phoebe was a baby, I left most child-care issues to Heather. I had no idea if Cocoa Krispies was a cereal or a candy bar. I had no idea how to buy a four-year-old a pair of shoes. I was overwhelmed.”

  He paused, seemingly lost in his own reverie, then appeared to make a conscious effort to pull himself back into the present. “After Heather died, I enrolled Phoebe in day care. I did some serious soul-searching—and you know what I thought?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “That no day-care provider could take care of her as well as I could, never mind that I had a lot to learn. That going to work every day was less productive than staying home with my daughter, because I couldn’t concentrate on my work when I was concerned that Phoebe might be catching colds from other kids or not getting enough one-on-one attention. I quit my job, and I don’t mind telling you, people thought I was out of my mind to give it up.”

  “Sometimes,” Molly said, “it’s a good idea to take a chance. Not that I’ve always believed this,” she hastened to add. “I’ve only figured it out recently.”

  “Maybe taking chances is something we’re more prepared to do once we’ve reached a certain level of maturity. Or perhaps we can only afford to do so after we’ve figured out that life has done its worst to us and that anything else coming our way would have to be better than what’s gone before.”

  “Both of those observations are true, I think,” Molly said.

  “Even I wondered what I would do with myself after I quit my job. I ended up selling the house and lived on that money for a while. Phoebe and I rented a small apartment near the docks in the tiny town of Angler’s Spit, and every day we walked down to the docks to watch the boaters. Soon someone needed an engine repaired right away, and the mechanic who did those things was out of town. I repaired that boat engine with Phoebe playing beside me.

  “I found more work, then my apartment lease ran out, and I moved up the coast to North Carolina. It was time to enroll Phoebe in kindergarten, and she loved it. While she was there, I tore engines apart, fixed them, put them back together. When she slept at night, I studied for my captain’s license. Working with my hands put me in a totally different frame of mind, helped me stop wallowing in my grief.”

  “Didn’t you miss putting on a tie every morning?”

  “Not at all. Then Phoebe and I moved onto a boat, safeguarding it for a fellow who moved away. Phoebe learned to swim like a fish, so I wasn’t worried about her being around water. I started home schooling her when I began ferrying boats for yachtsmen who didn’t have time to move their own boats from one place to another. By then I didn’t want a house because it was just the two of us, and going back to that lifestyle would remind me of what I didn’t have. I couldn’t afford a mortgage. Still, I’ve been saving my money. Soon I’ll have enough for a down payment, and then Phoebe will get her house and a real vacuum cleaner, and Cookie will come back to live with us.”

  “That day can’t happen too soon for Phoebe,” Molly said with conviction.

  “I know. The way we’ve been living hasn’t been easy on her in some ways. In other ways, she’s gained a lot. How many children get to spend so much time every day with a parent? How many can name all the constellations, or so many myths from around the world, or are allowed to finish their schoolwork in the morning and play all afternoon?”

  “She’s a lucky little girl. I think she realizes that.” Molly concentrated on her salad, spreading dressing on the greens.

  “So,” he said, “I took chances. Maybe I made some bad decisions, but they made sense at the time.”

  “You don’t need to justify anything to me, Eric.”

  “I want to,” he said slowly.

  For some reason she felt embarrassed
, maybe because she’d been too critical in the past. Fortunately, the main course arrived, signaling a chance to move on to other topics. As they chatted during dinner, Molly learned to her surprise that the two of them were interested in some of the same things. Eric’s favorite TV news channel was Fox News, and so was hers. He didn’t like to talk politics, and neither did she. He had read many of the same books, had a good basic knowledge of folk music, had been part of a student exchange program in high school that sent him to live in Switzerland for a year. He never ate brussels sprouts, claimed they gave him hives. Whether they did or not, Molly couldn’t tell. She suspected he said that so he wouldn’t have to eat them. When she voiced her suspicion he only laughed and said she had beautiful green eyes.

  By the time dessert arrived, they had circled around to more serious topics.

  “I guess what I’ve learned from all the things that have happened to me,” Eric said, “is that life’s changes are the only thing that’s predictable.”

  At first Molly started to laugh, but suddenly understood that he wasn’t joking. “You are so right,” she said, and as their eyes caught and held, she recognized the depths of which Eric Norvald was capable.

  She responded in kind, her finger tracing a water ring on the tablecloth. “It’s odd when bad things happen to us,” she said. “People always tell us, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll turn out all right.’ The fact is that it doesn’t. It simply turns out. It’s up to us to make the best of it.”

  He smiled at her. As their waiter hurried by, he signaled for the check before resuming the conversation. “That’s what my life is about these days, Molly, but I wouldn’t have expected that philosophy from you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You have the manner and look of someone for whom it always turns out right.”

  “Hey, don’t you know me better than that? Haven’t I told you enough about myself to let the air out of that theory?”

  “Yep, maybe you have,” he said. He tucked cash into the leatherette folder for the check and stood. “We’d better get going. I don’t want you to be late for your performance.”

  Molly had to think for a moment to figure out what he meant. Then, halfway inclined to skip the Blossom Cabaret and spend the rest of the evening with Eric, she realized that she must have been totally engaged in their discussion to have forgotten something she’d been anticipating with pleasure all week long.