by Sherry Lewis
She couldn’t make herself say yes, but she’d really be mortified if she said no, so she bought herself another minute. “How old are your kids?”
“Brianne’s twelve. Nicky’s eight.”
“And their mother? She’s working or something? I mean…well, I mean, she’s not home. To pick up the kids. Obviously.” Molly let out a jittery laugh and told herself to stop babbling.
“She’s not around at all. We’re divorced.”
“Oh.” Molly tried not to look surprised. Or pleased. “I’m sorry.” And she was…sort of.
“Don’t be. I’m over it, and the kids will be, too, one of these days. As much as kids can get over a thing like that. So what do you say? Do you mind if I hitch a ride?”
Molly was barely coherent with people all around them. If they were alone together, she’d probably blather like an idiot. But what kind of person would she be to say no? And what reason could she possibly give if she did? Besides, it wasn’t as if she still had a thing for Beau. It was just that seeing him again had caught her off guard. Whatever she’d once felt for him was a thing of the past, and what better way to prove it to herself?
Shaking off the last, lingering bit of childish cowardice, she looked him square in the eye. “Sure. Why not?”
Thirty minutes later, Molly drove out of town and picked up speed on the highway heading south. Though Serenity was less than a hundred miles from Jackson as the crow flew, all but about ten miles of road wound its way through mountains ablaze with autumn color. The brilliant red of oak and sumac, the burnished gold of aspen, the dark green of pine… Molly had forgotten how beautiful it could be.
She watched the passing scenery and willed herself to keep her wits during the drive. As a very young girl, she’d had a tendency to stammer when she was nervous. It had been a long time since she’d worried about that, but now, feeling sixteen again, she wanted to make sure she didn’t start acting the part.
Beau leaned forward in the passenger seat and turned on the radio, adjusting the dial until he found an oldies station. When the first strains of “Hey Jude” came through the speakers, he slanted a glance at Molly. “Is this okay with you?”
“Perfect.”
He sat back again with a heavy sigh. “I really appreciate this. You have no idea how much.”
She shook her head and shifted lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. “It’s no big deal. It’s not as if I’m going out of my way or anything.”
“I suppose not, but I’m still glad we ran into each other. Kind of a bright spot in a bad day.” He leaned back in his seat. “So tell me about yourself. Where did we finally find you?”
“St. Louis. I’ve been there for the past ten years. Before that, I lived with my dad in Urbana, Illinois.”
“And what kind of business brings you back to Serenity after all this time?”
The passing lane ended and Molly slowed behind a tractor-trailer. “I told you, Homecoming.”
“You also said you had other things to take care of,” he reminded her. “Or are they none of my business?”
Molly wasn’t sure how to explain the emptiness inside her without sounding maudlin, and that wasn’t the impression she wanted to make on Beau. She settled for a partial truth. “While I’m here, I’m hoping to talk to some people who knew my mother. She died near the end of my senior year, and we left town shortly afterward. I guess I need closure, and I’m hoping I’ll get that by talking to some of her friends.”
Beau nodded. “I remember the night she died. It shook people up pretty badly. But we’ve had other Homecoming Weeks. Lots of them since we graduated from high school. Why did you wait for this one?”
“The timing was never right before.” The truck in front of them turned off the highway and Molly accelerated. “I got divorced last year, my dad died in March, and last month the graphic-design firm where I’ve been working downsized and I found myself out of a job.” She shrugged as if none of those things mattered. “The notice came when I had a little time on my hands, so here I am.”
“You’ve had a rough year,” Beau said.
Molly didn’t want sympathy. It was hard enough not to cry when she let herself think about her dad. “It hasn’t been one of my best,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “But you’ve obviously hit a few rough patches, too.”
“Just a divorce.”
“A divorce that left you with two kids to raise.”
“Yeah, but they’re great kids.”
“I’m sure they are. Still, divorce is never easy.”
“No.” He laughed without humor. “No, it’s not.”
“So where are your kids?” Molly asked, turning the conversation back to a subject that wasn’t quite so difficult. “At some day care that charges you extra when you’re late?”
Beau laughed again and shook his head. “I wish that’s where they were. No, they’re with my mother-in-law. My ex-mother-in-law, that is. Doris has been helping out with the kids since Heather left.”
Molly flicked a glance at him. “You married Heather Preston?”
“Yep.”
Well, that figured. Beau and Heather, a cheerleader, had dated all through high school, so it wasn’t a surprise to learn that they’d eventually married. It made her curious about why they’d split up, but not so curious that she’d let herself ask. “That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it? Your mother-in-law helping, I mean.”
“Yes, I guess it is.” Beau tapped his fingers on the armrest between them. “Doris has been a big help in a lot of ways, but I’m sure you can imagine how much fun it is to have your ex-wife’s mother cooking dinner in your kitchen every night, washing your boxers and making your bed.”
An image of Ethan’s mother digging around in her underwear drawer flashed through Molly’s mind and she shuddered. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Beau’s fingers stopped moving. “Doris is why I can’t be late. I’m already on her short list for deciding I can do without her help. My daughter’s not too happy with me, either. Brianne doesn’t see anything wrong with having her grandma hanging around all the time.”
His candor surprised her, but then, Beau had always been open and easy to read. “How old did you say she was?”
“Twelve.”
The same age Molly’s own child would have been if she hadn’t miscarried. But the miscarriage and the news that she’d never conceive again were painful memories she didn’t let herself dwell on. “Almost a teenager.”
“Don’t remind me,” Beau groaned. “I’m barely hanging on as it is.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re there, and you love her. What more can she ask?”
“You don’t know Brianne. She can ask more and she does. It’s hard for a girl that age to be without a mother, I guess.” He sighed softly. “You haven’t mentioned children. Does that mean you don’t have any?”
Molly shook her head and pretended that the question didn’t bother her. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, at least you knew up front that you didn’t want kids. Not that I regret having mine,” he added quickly, “but it would have been nice to know Heather was going to resent the kids before they got here.”
Molly watched the blur of trees for a few seconds before responding. Maybe she should let him assume what he wanted about her, but that teenage girl who’d been so crazy about him wouldn’t let her remain quiet. “I never said I didn’t want kids,” she corrected him after a pause that felt about a year long.
“Oh.” Beau looked at her. “I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless thing to say.”
“It’s okay,” Molly assured him. “It used to be a painful subject, but I’ve adjusted. I’ll probably have to talk about it a hundred times over the next couple of weeks, so don’t worry about it.” Still, it seemed unfair that Heather had been lucky to have two children she didn’t want, when Molly couldn’t have any.
“Well, if curiosity bothers you, better think twice about going back to Serenity,” Beau sa
id. “The town’s full of good people, but you don’t get to keep many secrets. I think some of my neighbors know more about my divorce than I do.”
Molly was counting on it. How else would she learn about her mother? The radio switched to a song she’d loved as a teenager. She guided the car over the crest of a hill and felt herself relaxing. Beau seemed nice. Easy to talk to. A little more grounded than he’d been as a kid—but who wasn’t?
“So tell me about Homecoming,” she said, changing the subject. “What can I expect?”
“All the best Serenity has to offer,” he said drolly. “Parade on Thursday. Football game on Friday. And, of course, the Homecoming Ball on Saturday. We even got special dispensation from the mayor.” He paused. “We don’t have to roll up the sidewalks at nine like usual.”
She laughed, remembering how often she and her friends had complained about Serenity’s lack of decent nightlife. “How long do we get? Until ten?”
“Ten-thirty. First time in Serenity’s history. Quite scandalous.”
She felt another layer of nervousness drop away. “I hope the police have been notified.”
“Of course. We can’t have folks running amok. Old Sam Harper would probably sue.”
Molly had forgotten how funny Beau could be. She took her eyes off the road just long enough to glance at his face. The familiar tickle of warmth began to curl right on cue. She had to make sure she didn’t let all those old feelings get stirred up again. Not such an easy prospect, considering what was happening to her after just minutes in his company. But the past was behind her and the days of mooning over Beau Julander were long gone.
At least she hoped they were.
BEAU WAS CONVINCED he’d ground his teeth to nubs by the time he finally retrieved his car from the airstrip, where Molly had dropped him, and pulled into Doris’s driveway a few minutes after six. He checked the clock on the dash and shifted into Park, as if he could turn back time if he concentrated hard enough. He’d been watching the seconds tick past for nearly two hours now, ever since he and Molly had come upon road construction forty miles outside Serenity, but so far he hadn’t regained a single minute.
If he hadn’t been so uneasy about being late, and so busy rescheduling the meeting by cell phone, he’d have enjoyed the ride more. He remembered Molly, of course. Their graduating class hadn’t been large. But she’d been too quiet to catch his eye, and he’d been too focused on Heather to give other girls more than a passing glance.
She’d certainly grown up nicely. Waves of long, dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. Something steady in her deep-brown eyes that made a guy think she could do anything. More than once during the drive he’d found himself wondering how accurate that impression was, but he’d probably never know. One thing he was sure of after three hours in her company—still waters run deep.
He climbed out of his car into the already dark evening, shivering a little in the sharp breeze and hoping the weather would hold until Homecoming was over. The living-room curtain fluttered and he knew that Doris was watching him, assessing, drawing conclusions, making judgments.
Vowing to be quick, he started up the walk. He wouldn’t let her engage him in a discussion. Wouldn’t let himself get into an argument. It would be in and out. Hello, Doris, thanks a bunch. Come on kids, let’s go. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that. But even as he rehearsed his lines, he knew their conversation would be far more involved. Heather had never done anything quick or easy, and that was just one of the lessons she’d learned at her mother’s knee.
He climbed the steps and raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open and revealed Doris. She peered at him, a deep frown pursing her lips and knitting her brows. Though she was much shorter than Heather and at least fifty pounds heavier, the similarities were strong.
“We were getting worried,” she said, pushing open the screen door to admit him. “It’s way past five.”
Beau stepped inside and the tangy scents of hot potato salad and bratwurst enveloped him. “Didn’t you get my messages? I called from my cell phone three times to let you know about the plane and the construction.”
“I got messages, yes. It’s too bad you didn’t build a little extra time into your schedule.” She closed the door and glowered up at him. “But then, maybe you got sidetracked. Things like that happen when you’re with someone else.”
“Like I said on the phone, I ran into an old friend at the car rental counter. We decided to ride together, that’s all.” He sidled toward the kitchen, where he knew Nicky would be watching television and Brianne would be doing some girl thing. “Are the kids ready?”
“They’ve been ready for nearly an hour. It started getting so late, I made enough supper for everyone.”
“That was nice of you,” Beau said, keeping his smile in place, “but I told you I’d take care of dinner.”
“Yes, you did. But it’s already after six, and by the time you get dinner on the table, it will be too late for them to eat. They need time to digest their food before they go to bed.”
“I’m sure they’ll survive if dinner’s a little late one night.”
“But will it be just one night?” Doris stopped under the arched doorway into the kitchen and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Who is this old friend you spent the day with, anyway?”
Beau would have liked to tell her that it was none of her business, but he’d opened the door on her interference by accepting her help for so long. If closing it again was difficult, he had only himself to blame. “I didn’t spend the day with anybody. Only a few hours in the rental car. It’s just someone I went to school with who’s come back for Homecoming,” he said, and slipped past her into the well-lit kitchen.
He found the kids exactly where he’d expected them to be. Nicky lay on the braided rug, shoes at his sides, eyes glued to the television. His hair had grown too long, Beau realized, and he’d changed socks since morning. The pair he had on now actually matched.
Brianne sat at the round wood table with her feet on a chair, one eye on the TV while she swiped lazily at her fingernails with a file.
Nicky glanced up when Beau entered. Brianne pretended not to see him.
Beau didn’t want his daughter’s aloofness to set the tone for the evening, so he pretended a heartiness he didn’t feel. “Hey, you two. Sorry I’m late. The magneto went out on the plane, so I had to leave it in Jackson. If that wasn’t bad enough, the road was torn up and it took forever to drive home.”
Nicky bolted to his feet and his bright blue eyes filled with an emotion Beau couldn’t read. Brianne looked up from her nails, and her expression hit Beau like a kick in the gut. He’d seen that look of bored irritation on Heather’s face too often over the years, and he didn’t like seeing it on his daughter’s.
“You’re late,” she said. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Of course I was coming. I left three messages on Gram’s phone telling you what was happening so you wouldn’t worry. Now, why don’t you two gather your things and we’ll get out of Gram’s hair?”
“Out of my hair!” Doris sniffed in disapproval and busied herself stacking Nicky’s books. “Don’t you dare make these children think I don’t want them around. It wasn’t my idea to change everything. I was perfectly content the way things were.”
Beau’s neck and shoulders tensed. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he assured Doris, but he kept his gaze on Brianne. “Do you want me to help you?”
No hint of a smile relieved his daughter’s annoyed expression. “Why can’t we stay for supper?”
“Because I already told Gram I’d feed you.”
“But it’s late and I’m hungry.”
“So we’ll stop at the Burger Shack.” He could almost feel Doris bristle as he retrieved Brianne’s backpack from the floor. He zipped it open on the table, but managed to keep himself from gathering her books. “Make sure you get everything. No coming back for forgotten homework or hair-brus
hes.”
Brianne’s forehead crunched into an exact replica of her mother’s and grandmother’s when they were ready to lodge a complaint. “Why do we have to go somewhere else to eat? Dinner is ready, and Gram made enough for all of us.”
Because Beau didn’t want bratwurst and hot potato salad. Because he was tired of feeling manipulated. There were a dozen reasons, but none that Brianne would understand. “Dinner smells great,” he said, “but it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I think we should just go home.”
“All the more reason to stay,” Doris said, looking smug. “Especially since you need to talk to Nicky about his math worksheet.”
Beau shot a glance at his son. “What about it?”
“He got a ten on it,” Brianne announced with obvious relish.
“A ten, huh?” Beau grinned down at his son and ruffled his fair hair. “Good work, kid.”
“Not good work,” Brianne said, shoving her hairbrush into her pack. “Ten out of forty isn’t good.”
“Ten out of forty?” Beau’s smile faded and Nicky’s gaze dropped to the toes of his white socks.
“He can do much better than that,” Doris put in before Beau could gather his thoughts and decide how to respond. “You should be disappointed.”
“I know he can do better.” Beau sat on a chair and tilted Nicky’s chin so the boy had to look at him, but Nicky’s eyes were so filled with misery Beau didn’t have the heart to make him feel worse.
“Kids let their homework slip if they don’t have supervision,” Doris warned. “It’s only natural.”
“They have supervision.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, Doris. It’s hard not to understand what you mean—even when I try not to.” She didn’t seem to realize that the harder she pushed, the more resistant Beau became. He’d always been that way. He stood and picked up Nicky’s backpack, struggling to swallow the words that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He and Doris might not see eye to eye, but she was still his children’s grandmother.