by Cara Colter
The waiting was playing with her game plan. She was not going to be able to contain herself when she finally saw him. She was surely going to explode with joy. Everyone was going to know.
And she didn’t care.
But by lunch he still had not come. Molly tried his cell phone number. She got the recording.
She listened to his voice, greedily, hung up because she could not think of a message to leave that could begin to say how she was feeling.
Eventually she and Miss Viv joined the rest of the office in getting ready for the open house. The flowers on Tish’s desk had only been the first of many arrangements that arrived: from friends of Second Chances, neighboring businesses, well-known New York business people and personalities.
The caterers arrived and began setting up food, wine and cheese trays, while Brianna went into a tizzy of last minute arranging and “staging,” as she called it.
At three, people began to trickle in the door. Invited guests, curious people from the neighborhood, the press. Information packets had been prepared for all of them: what Second Chances did, complete with photographs. Though no mention of a donation was ever made, each packet contained a discreet cream envelope addressed to Second Chances.
Molly felt as though she was in a dream as that first trickle of people turned into a flood. She was there, and not there. She was answering questions. She was engaged with people. She was laughing. She was enjoying the sense of triumph of a job well done. She was sipping the champagne that had been uncorked, nibbling on the incredible variety of cheeses and fresh fruits.
But she was aware she was not there at all.
Watching the door. Waiting.
Where was he? Where was Houston? This was his doing, the success of this gathering—and there was no doubt it was a success—was a tribute to his talent, his hard work, his dedication, his leadership. How could he not be here to reap the rewards of this, to see that basket on Tish’s desk filling up with those creamy white envelopes?
Finally Miss Viv asked for everyone’s attention. She thanked them all for coming, and invited them to watch a special presentation with her.
The lights were lowered, the voices quieted.
A screen came down from the ceiling.
Music began to play.
The office designer who had been in Molly’s office closet the first day stood beside Molly. “Wait until you see this,” she said. “Mr. Whitford always does the most incredible presentations.” Then she cocked her head. “Hey, he’s changed the music. That’s interesting. It was Pachelbel before.”
But it wasn’t Pachelbel now. It was a guitar, and a single voice, soulful, almost sorrowful, filling the room, as black and white pictures began to fill the screen, one melting into the next one.
“You told me,” the music said, “that I would know heaven.”
But the pictures weren’t of heaven. They were of dark streets and broken windows, playgrounds made of asphalt, boarded over businesses. They were of the places, that Molly had found out yesterday, where he had grown up.
The places that had shaped that amazingly strong, wonderful man.
The voice sang on, “You promised me a land free from want…”
And the pictures showed those who had newly arrived, the faces of immigrants, wise eyes, unsmiling faces, ragged clothes.
“I expected something different than what I got, Oh, Lord, where is my heaven, where is my heaven?”
The pictures were breathtaking in their composition: a young man crying over the body of a friend in his arms, a little boy kicking a can, shoulders humped over, dejection in every line of him, a woman sitting on steps with a baby, her eyes fierce and afraid as she looked into the camera.
Then the pictures began to change, in perfect sync with the tempo of the music changing, the lyrics suspended, a single guitar picking away at the melody, but faster now, the sadness leaving it.
The pictures showed each of the stores, Peggy laughing over a rack of clothes at Now and Zen, the ultra-sophisticated storefront of Wow and Then, a crowded day at Now and Again. Then it showed this office before the makeover, walls coming down, transformation.
And that voice singing, full of hope and power now, singing, If we just come together, if I see you as my brother, Lord, there is my heaven, there is my heaven.
Now there was a photograph of the green space that Molly recognized as her garden project, the only color in a block of black and white, the children at the daycare, the Bookworms bus.
Emotion was sweeping the room. Brianna was dabbing at her eyes with a hankie. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, “he’s outdone himself this time.”
Something in Molly registered that. This time. Brushed it away like a pesky fly that was spoiling an otherwise perfect moment. Except it wasn’t perfect. Because he wasn’t here.
“Where is Houston?” Molly whispered to Brianna. She needed him to be here, she needed to be sharing this with him.
“Oh,” Brianna said, “he never comes to the final day.”
“Excuse me? What final day? He’s the boss here.” We are going to be building a future together.
And hopefully not just at work.
But Brianna was clapping now, keeping time. Every one was clapping, keeping time as that voice sang out, rich and powerful, full of promise, “There is my heaven.”
A final picture went across the screen.
It was that little girl, the princess, kissing Houston on the cheek.
And Molly thought, as that picture froze in its frame, there is my heaven.
Over the thunder of applause, she turned to ask Brianna what she meant, about the final day. About Houston never coming to the final day.
Other thoughts were crowding her memory. She realized he had a relationship with all those workers who had come in, with Brianna. He hadn’t just met them when he took over, hadn’t just hired contractors and designers and computer geeks.
He’d known them all before.
He never came to the final day. He’s outdone himself this time.
Houston Whitford had done all this before. That’s why he’d been brought in to Second Chances. Because he’d done it all before. And done it well.
The applause finally died down. Miss Viv stood at the front of the room, beaming, dabbing at her eyes.
As she spoke, Molly felt herself growing colder and colder.
“First of all, I must thank Houston Whitford for donating his time, his expertise and his company, Precision Solutions, to all of us here. I know his team does not come cheaply. His donation probably rates in the tens of thousands of dollars.”
The cold feeling increased. He’d been donating all the renovations? He’d let her believe he was taking the money from Prom Dreams?
No, he’d never said that. He’d probably never told Molly an out-and-out lie. The more subtle kinds of lies. The lies of omission.
“Houston’s not here today,” Miss Viv said. “With any luck he’s back to his real job. Personally I wish Precision Solutions was consulting with the president of the United States about getting this country back on track.”
A ripple of appreciative laughter, only Molly wasn’t laughing. There. It was confirmed. He was not an employee, not the new head of Second Chances. He had never planned to stay, he had known all along they were not building a future of any kind together.
The only one, apparently, who had not known that was her.
Little Molly Pushover. Whose record of being betrayed by every single person she had ever loved was holding.
Miss Viv was talking about the holidays she had just gone on, and how it had made her rethink her priorities. She had decided to retire. Then Miss Viv was thanking everyone for their years of support, hoping they would all show the same support and love to the new boss as they had shown to her.
“I’d like to introduce you now to our new leader,” Miss Viv said, “the person I trust to do this job more than anyone in the world.”
So, he was here after all.
Molly allowed relief to sweep over her. She must have misunderstood. He was leaving Precision Solutions to head up Second Chances. Molly could feel herself holding her breath, waiting to see him, dying to see him.
So relieved because as the afternoon had worn on and he had not shown up, a feeling of despair had settled over her. She had known exactly what he had felt like at that Christmas concert when his mother had not come.
He would not make someone else feel like that. Not that he cared about. He wouldn’t. She thought of the look of fierce protectiveness on his face last night. He would never be the one to hurt her. He had almost died to keep her safe!
But now he was here. Somewhere. She craned her neck, waiting for Miss Viv to call his name. After the crowds had thinned, she would laugh with him about her misunderstanding. Kick closed that office door, and see what happened next.
But Miss Viv didn’t call his name.
Her eyes searched the people gathered around her, until she finally found Molly. She smiled and held out her hand.
“Molly, come up here.”
Molly tried to shrink away. Oh, no, she did not want to be part of introducing the new boss. She thought her feelings would be too naked in her face, she felt as if there was no place for her to hide.
But Miss Viv did not notice Molly trying to shrink away. She gestured her forward even more enthusiastically. She thought Molly not coming was because of the press of the crowds, and gave up trying to get her to the front.
The crowd opened for her. Somebody pushed her from behind.
Molly had no choice but to go up there.
“I’d like to introduce you to the new head of Second Chances,” Miss Viv said gleefully. “Molly Michaels.”
Molly stood there, stunned. There was no happiness at all. Just a growing sense of self-scorn. Until the very last minute, she had believed in him, believed the best in him. Just like always.
No doubt she’d be getting another postcard from some far off exotic place soon. To rub her face in her own lack of discernment.
Her own Pollyanna need to believe.
She had been lied to by the man she thought she had seen more truly than anyone else. He wasn’t the boss and he wasn’t going to be part of her future here.
Or anywhere else.
“I don’t know that I’m qualified,” Molly managed to say through stiff lips, in an undertone to Miss Viv.
“Oh, but you are, dear. That’s one of the things our darling Houston was here to do. To find out if you were ready to take over for me.”
Our darling Houston.
Molly had been falling in love, and he’d been conducting a two week job interview?
The front door opened, and a delivery man walked in, barely able to see over his arms loaded with long, white boxes. “Where should I put—” He stopped, uncomfortably aware he was the center of attention. “The dresses?”
“What dresses?” Tish asked.
“I hate to break up the party, but I got a truckload of prom dresses out there, lady, and I’m double parked.”
Miss Viv put a hand to her heart. “Oh,” she said, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. “My Houston.”
And again, Molly felt no joy at all. Her Houston. Darling Houston. Houston Whitford was Miss Viv’s Houston.
They had a relationship that preexisted his coming here. He had never thought to mention that in two weeks, either. Nor had Miss Viv mentioned it when she had first introduced him.
Molly had been lied to, not just by him, but by the woman she loved more than any other in the world?
Somehow Molly managed to get through the gradual wind-down of the festivities. She begged off looking at the dresses that had arrived. Someone else could do it. Prom Dreams seemed like a project suited to a desperate romantic, which she wasn’t going to be anymore.
And she meant that, this time. That moment in the garden when Molly had thought she knew who she really was wavered like the mirage that it was.
Though there were still people there, Molly tried to get out the door unnoticed.
Miss Viv broke away from the crowd and came to her. “Wait just a sec. Houston left something for you.”
She came back moments later with a long, narrow box, pressed it into Molly’s unwilling hands.
“Are you all right?”
She was not ready to discuss the magnitude of how not all right she was. “Just tired,” she said.
“Are you going to open it?”
Molly shook her head. “At home.” The fact that it was light as a feather should have warned her what was in it.
She opened the box in the safety of her apartment with trepidation rather than enjoyment.
There was the feather boa she had worn on that day when they had danced at Now and Zen. Baldy’s feathers. One of those fancy dresses, a diamond ring, flowers, somehow she could have handled a gift like that. Expensive. Impersonal somehow. A thanks for the memories brush off.
But this?
Molly allowed the tears to come. What she should have remembered when she was nourishing the ridiculous fantasy of him as the lone gunslinger who saved the town, was how that story always ended.
With the hero who had saved the town riding away as alone as the day he had first ridden in.
An hour ago watching Houston’s face flash across the screen, that child kissing his cheek, Molly had thought, there is my heaven.
How was it that heaven could be so close to hell?
CHAPTER TEN
HOUSTON awoke with the dream of her kiss on his lips. If he closed his eyes again, he could conjure it.
It had been a month since he had felt her lips under his own, since he had known he had to say goodbye to her. Why were the memories of the short time they had shared becoming more vivid instead of fading?
Probably because of the choice he had made. He might have chosen to walk away from Molly—for her own good—but he had also chosen not to walk away from her lesson.
Every day he tried to do one thing that would make her proud of him, if she knew, one thing that somehow made him live up to the belief he had seen shining in her eyes.
He had sent a truckload of brand-new shoes to Sunshine and Lollipops. He had arranged scholarships for some of those girls who had written the earnest letters in defense of Prom Dreams.
Yesterday, he had rented an apartment for his father. It was just down the block from the garden project that would never become a parking lot. After he had rented the apartment, he had wandered down there, and looked at the flowers and the vegetables growing in cheery defiance of the concrete all around them, and he had known this would be a good place for his father to come to.
Then Houston had seen Mary Bedford working alone, weeding around delicate new spinach tops. He had gone to her, and been humbled by her delight in seeing him. He had told her his father would soon be new to the neighborhood. He had not told her anything that would bring out the drowning kitten kind of sympathy—for his father would hate that—but he had asked her if she could make him welcome here.
His phone rang beside the bed.
“Houston, it’s Miss Viv.”
“What can I do for you, Miss Viv?” Please, nothing that will test my resolve. Don’t ask me to be near her.
“It’s about Molly.”
He closed his eyes, steeling himself to say no to whatever the request was.
“I have a terrible feeling she’s involved herself in an Internet affair. You know how dangerous those can be, don’t you?”
“What? Molly? That doesn’t sound like Molly.” Even though his heart felt as if it was going to pound out of his chest, he forced himself to be calm. “What would make you think that?”
“After I came back from my holiday, Molly just wasn’t herself. She didn’t seem interested in work. She wouldn’t accept the position as head of Second Chances and seemed angry at me, though she wouldn’t say why. She lost weight. She had big circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted, as if she may have been crying, private
ly.”
Not an Internet affair, he thought, sick, a cad.
“But then, about a week ago, everything changed. She started smiling again. I didn’t feel as if she was angry with me. In fact, Houston, she became radiant. Absolutely radiant. I know a woman in love when I see one.”
In love? With someone other than him? This new form of torture he had not anticipated.
“Then, just out of the blue, she announced she was going on holidays. I just know she’s met someone on the Internet! And fallen in love with them. Houston, she’s foolish that way.”
I know.
“Did she say she’d met someone?” he asked, amazed by how reasonable he made his voice sound.
“She didn’t have to! She said she’s done experiencing her dreams through a picture on her living room wall! She said she was going to California for a while.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Miss Viv wailed. “But I need to know she’s safe.”
That’s funny. So did he.
“I’ll look after it,” he said.
“But how?” This said doubtfully. “California is a big place, Houston!”
He thought of the picture on Molly’s living room wall. “It’s not that big,” he said.
Molly sighed with absolute contentment, and looked over the incredible view. The sun was setting over the Napa Valley. It was as beautiful as she had ever dreamed it could be.
Of course, maybe that was because she was in love.
Finally.
With herself.
Molly sat on a stone patio, high up on a terraced hillside that overlooked the famous vineyards of the Napa Valley in California. The setting sun gilded the grapevines in gold, and the air was as mild as an embrace. She was alone, wearing casual slacks and a T-shirt from a winery she had visited earlier in the day.
She had the feather boa wrapped around her neck.
In front of her was a wineglass of the finest crystal, a precious bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon this Valley was so famous for producing.
