by J. J. Bella
But Peter’s back was still turned towards her.
“I couldn’t keep this going any longer, feeling the way I do for you but only being able to pretend that I love you! But this whole time I didn’t know the reason why you are the way you are, that because of your wife, you couldn’t love again.”
Still, not a word.
After a time, Peter finally turned back towards Molly. Just as before, his expression was calm and impassive. But unlike a moment ago, the fire in his eyes had been squelched, and Molly realized that the reason he turned his back to her wasn’t to listen to her, or even to ignore her, but to simply gain a handle on his emotions, to not indulge in the anger that he was feeling.
Molly said nothing, waiting for him to say something, anything.
“If the truth has been revealed to the one person that I needed it to be hidden from, then there’s no reason to continue our arrangement. I expect you to move out tomorrow. You will, of course, be paid for the time you’ve worked so far.”
The words slid into Molly’s heart like ice-cold shards of glass. She stumbled backward, the backs of her feet hitting the steps leading to the front door. Her legs going weak beneath her, she sat down on the steps.
She was prepared for anger as a response to what she said, and she was prepared for rejection. But she wasn’t prepared for what Peter did, to have him simply brush her words away as though they meant nothing, and for him to end their arrangement in clear, dispassionate language, as though he were terminating a contract. Tears welled in her eyes and held there for the briefest of moments before pouring down her face.
Peter took a slow breath, his composure regained.
“It’s time to leave,” he said. “Come; you can cry in the car if you need to.”
This was an indignity that Molly couldn’t take, to have her feelings be treated like a burden that she needed to get over and done with. At that moment, she never wanted to see Peter ever again.
“I’ll call a cab,” said Molly, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Suit yourself,” said Peter.
Then, without another word, he got into his car and drove off.
Molly called an Uber, and waited on the steps for it to arrive. When the black car finally arrived, parking on the other side of the massive gate, Molly crossed the lawn and got in. As soon as the car door shut, the tears began to flow once again, and didn’t stop until they arrived at the house.
Taking a deep breath, steeling herself against seeing Peter again, she entered the home. The living room was quiet, and there was no sign of anyone. Soon, Claude came down the stairs.
“Hey, girl,” he said. “How was the fancy dinner?”
Molly said nothing, simply turning to him with an expression of tear-stained sadness.
“Ah,” said Claude, understanding. “Does that mean it’s time to go home?”
Molly nodded.
“OK. I’m gonna go see Peter about my money, and you just go ahead and get your things.”
“Is Winnie in bed?” Molly managed to ask.
“Mhmm, just put her down.”
Molly collected her things from her room, and, suitcase in hand, creaked open the door to Winnie’s room. Sure enough, she was sleeping soundly, her golden hair wreathed around her face in loose tresses. Deciding to not wake her, Molly wished her a silent goodbye and shut the door softly.
“Let’s do this, lady,” said Claude, placing a hand on Molly’s shoulder.
With that, they left in Claude’s car, Molly’s eyes on the Randall home as it disappeared behind the city’s rolling hills.
Chapter Fifteen
A week passed, and at the end of it, Molly decided that she had wept all of the tears she was going to weep. And just around that time, she received an email from Henley White, one of the firms that she had applied to. It was a small- up-and-coming firm downtown, and the manager in charge of hiring told Molly in her response that someone like her is just the sort of fresh, new talent that they’re looking for, and he’d love to have her come for an interview. Molly determined this to be just the kick she needed to get back out into the world, and happily agreed.
The next day, she showed up for the interview at the offices of Henley White, which were located on the twentieth floor of one of the taller towers in the financial district. When the doors opened, she was greeted by the sunny, cheerful space, an office that was designed with beauty in mind, with glass walls and open floor plans. Whites and pastels were the dominant colors, and Molly felt her mood perk up as soon as she entered.
After letting the receptionist know that she was here for an interview, Molly took a seat in the bright, sunshine-filled reception area. Settling into her seat, she allowed a sense of calm to wash over her, putting her in an easy, friendly mood for the interview ahead.
But the calm was to be short-lived.
Looking at the large, low, birch coffee table, her eyes settled on a magazine devoted to Silicon Valley tech gossip. And who was on the cover but Peter Randall. The photo of him was a candid one, of Peter stepping out of a local coffee shop, drink in hand, a grim-looking expression on his face. There were two small inserts in the corner, one
SILICON VALLEY SCANDAL, read the headline, TECH MOGUL PETER RANDALL CAUGHT IN ENGAGEMENT LIE IN ATTEMPT TO SECURE APP FUNDING.
Molly’s heart sank when she looked at the words. Just like she had over the last week, Molly reminded herself that this was Peter’s doing, that he was the one who insisted upon this lie, and as such the consequences he was facing now that it had been revealed were just.
But still, she couldn’t help but feel guilt for what she had done. It was a simple task- just go along with the lie, just smile and nod as Peter spoke- and she couldn’t even do that. Now he was the talk of the town, and the talk was all bad.
Part of her wanted to open the magazine and read over the lurid details, learning just how the tabloid mangled the story, putting it in a light that made it out to be as scandalous as possible. She imagined that they’d paint her as some kind of hussy who was angling after Peter’s money in one way another.
Just as she found herself reaching for the magazine, however, she checked herself, instead choosing to flip the magazine over. Her eyes then shot to the others seated in the reception area, wondering if any of them recognized her.
She was pleased with her decision. Molly knew that reliving the events of the last week was the last thing she needed to be doing right before a job interview.
“Molly Brimley?” called the receptionist. “They’re ready for you. Room forty-five.”
Molly made her way to the room, her portfolio tucked under her arm. Entering the room, she was introduced to Alan White, one of the firm’s founders, a trim, handsome man in his sixties dressed a smart, well-tailored suit, a head of white, thick hair and a pair of large-rimmed black glasses on his face.
Over the course of the next hour, they discussed her time at school and her year thus far in San Francisco, as well as touching on various interior design-related topics. Though she was nervous at first, the interview soon felt more like a friendly conversation, and she left the office feeling jubilant. Mr. White told her that he’d be in touch, and Molly felt as though he wasn’t simply saying that out of courtesy.
Sure enough, only a few hours later while Molly was having a lunchtime glass of wine with Claude at a cheerful Mission bistro, she received a call from Elena Henley, the other founder of the firm. She informed her that Mr. White was extremely impressed with her, and that they’d love to have her on board, if she was interested.
Molly happily agreed, doing her best to hide the joy that was on the verge of boiling over into happy shrieks. Mrs. Henley told her that she would be starting the following Monday, and when Moly hung up, the jubilation that she had been fighting back burst forth. Claude was thrilled to hear the news, and by the time the second round of wine was brought to the table, Molly was, for the first time in a long time, feeling positive about her future.
Chapter Sixtee
n
Weeks had passed, and Molly was slowly settling into her position at Henley White. The staff was very accommodating, and everyone from the founders down went out of their way to make Molly feel welcome. And, to her relief, as she got to know the staff, she learned that many of them were recent graduates from out-of-state schools like her; Henley White wanted the best upcoming talent, to be sure, but they also wanted to find talent that wasn’t simply from the same few schools and design programs. Not only did this bring in fresh talent, but it also gave the staff a sense of camaraderie, as they were all in the same boat of being transplants who were eager to prove themselves. Molly made friends quickly, and after only a short time, she felt as though she had been there for years.
But she still couldn’t shake her feelings. In spite of everything, she still missed both Peter and Winnie, and though she loved her new job, part of her wanted nothing more than to be with them again.
One Wednesday morning, Kelly, the receptionist, informed Molly that Mr. White wanted to speak to her, and that she should head to his office when she could. Confused why the owner would want to be speaking to her with such urgency, she went to her cubicle, dropped off her things, and started off towards Mr. White’s office.
Anxiety began to well in her stomach as she made her way to Mr. White’s office. Troubling thoughts filled her mind, and she wondered if Mr. White had come across one of the tabloids featuring her scandal with Peter, and decided that someone like her who would be involved in a scandal like that isn’t someone they’d want to be associated with their firm.
“Come in!” called Mr. White after Molly knocked.
Molly opened the door and stepped into the immaculately designed and appointed space, the view of the city stretching out in the windows beyond.
“Have a seat,” he said, looking over some papers in front of him.
Molly complied.
“I received an interesting email last night,” he said, looking up at her.
Oh no, thought Molly, this is it; he found out.
“It was from a client that we just brought on. It’s for a total first-floor redesign. Normally, we’d have one of our senior designers take the lead on this, with a newer hire like you along to learn, but this client specifically requested you.”
“Oh, really?” asked Molly, relief washing through her. “Who is it?”
“Here,” said Mr. White, turning the monitor on her desk towards Molly, who let out a sharp gasp when she saw the home.
It was Peter’s house.
She arrived the following day at around noon, her stomach bound up in knots as she approached the front doors. After she knocked, the doors opened, revealing Winnie looking up at Molly, a beaming expression on her face.
“Molly!” she said, throwing her arms around Molly's waist.
“Hey, missy!” said Molly, her heart swelling with happiness upon seeing Winnie again.
Molly walked in, Winnie dangling from her waist and telling her excitedly about everything that’d she’d been up to in the last few weeks. And as Molly entered, she saw Peter. He was sitting at one of the living room couches, a stack of papers in front of him that he was looking over. Molly froze as her eyes settled on him; she had no idea how to act.
“Hi, Molly,” he said. “Welcome back.”
“Hi,” said Molly, the word barely audible.
“Go ahead and get started. I’ll stay out of your way.”
“Sure.”
“Are you and Daddy going to be pretend-married again?” asked Winnie.
“Um, no,” said Molly. “I’m just here to help make your house look pretty.”
“Oh,” said Winnie, disappointed.
“But you can help!” said Molly.
“OK!” said Winnie, a smile returning to her face.
Not sure of what else to do, Molly set to work. She began with measurements, sketches, placing post-it notes here and there for changes she wanted to make. Once the strangeness of the situation passed, she was happy to finally be given the opportunity to give Peter’s home the makeover it desperately needed. Winnie served as Molly’s little assistant, handing her whatever she needed, and offering advice (typically suggesting anything that wasn’t white or pink be painted white and pink).
And all the while, Peter was silent. Molly watched him out of the corner of her eye, and when he was in the room he observed her carefully, saying nothing, but content to simply watch her work.
She sensed that Peter knew just how she was going to redesign, and that he wanted nothing more than to watch her work, and to be in her presence as she did it.
Chapter Seventeen
The first day of work began to draw to a close, and Molly was so engaged in her work that she hardly noticed the sun setting. She looked over at the couch where Winnie was napping then down at her phone. Her eyes went wide when she saw that it was already six; she felt as though she’d only just started. Now that she had finally halted her, stomach began rumbling; thinking back, she realized that she hadn’t even stopped for lunch.
Molly went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. With a smile, she realized that she was making herself at home, as though she had never moved out. The first floor was silent, and Molly hadn’t seen Peter in an hour or so. He seemed to be keeping busy with whatever he was doing in his office, but he came down frequently to watch Molly at work.
Molly wondered why he seemed so interested in her doing her job. She wondered if he was being a perfectionist as always, making sure that not a change was made without him noticing. Or if he was simply interested in the work being done. When Molly felt particularly indulgent, she wondered if he just wanted to be around her, and this was his way of doing it.
Whatever the reason, she was happy to do the job. She spent nearly all of her time at Peter’s home, only stopping into the office to check in with Mr. White and keep him abreast of what she was planning.
“Has the client said anything about…me, so far?” asked Molly one day around a week and a half into the job.
“What do you mean?” Mr. White asked, seated at his desk.
“I don’t know- questions, comments, concerns, I guess.”
“I did check in with him a few days ago just to confirm he was happy with the work being done, and he said that he was. Nothing else other than that, however.”
And Peter was the same way at the house. He was cordial, but offered very little in the way of small talk. Molly began to wonder if he was keeping his distance, not wanting to make things awkward for her.
The second week drew to a close, and the preliminary plans were ready.
“Peter, would you like to take a look at these?” asked Molly, spreading the plans on the kitchen counter.
“Of course,” he said, stepping to her side.
Molly felt something on her waist, a pair of small arms wrapping around it. Looking down, she smiled, seeing Winnie hugging her as Molly and Peter looked over the designs.
“Pretty!” said Winnie.
“Yes,” said Peter. “This looks great. Just what I had in mind. Go ahead and get everything ordered. Let them know I want to pay extra to have the first deliveries here tomorrow, if possible.”
Molly felt a surge of pride well in her as Peter approved her designs.
The day over, she collected her plans and prepared to leave.
“Molly, can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Peter.
But Molly wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak to him. The job was going well so far, and as much as she did have unresolved issues that she would’ve liked to discuss, she wanted more to keep things copacetic; making things awkward again and being pulled off the job was about as close to a nightmare scenario as she could imagine.
“I need to get going,” said Molly, mussing Winnie’s golden hair as she prepared to say goodbye. “If you have any more questions about the designs, please call me at the office.”
With that, Molly said goodbye to Winnie and rushed out of the door before Peter co
uld have a chance to say anything.
It pained her to act this way, but she knew that making a good impression at her new job was more important than indulging her feelings.
The next day Molly arrived to see that everything that she’d picked out had been ordered and brought to the house. She walked into a bustle of activity as the delivery men brought in everything and a moving team took out all of the old furniture, bringing it out onto the lawn and out of the way.
The old furniture completely cleared out and the new brought in, placed in the center of the room and covered in plastic sheets, a team of a dozen painters arrived to give the walls a new color, a soft white that Molly felt would better suit the place, as well as giving it the appearance of being brighter and cheerier.
The painters worked at a feverish pace, and Molly was always nearby to make sure everything was looking the way it should.
As she strolled through the living room, watching the painters do their job, Molly noticed a small, blue post-it note on one of the design documents. Curious, she looked closer and saw that it was a note written in Peter’s handwriting.
I’m sorry.
- P
Molly snatched the note from the document, looking at it more closely, then turning and scouring the room for any trace of Peter. But he wasn’t to be found. Joy poured through her; she was overwhelmed to learn that Peter still cared.
The painters finished as the afternoon arrived, and the movers were now ready to get everything into place. Cutting open boxes and pulling out various lamps, furniture, and small pieces of décor, Winnie stood near, watching as packing peanuts were dumped out onto the floor. She ran into them, playing happily as she tossed them here and there before going to work on the bubble wrap.
As Molly placed a knick-knack on a nearby shelf, a small sailing ship model, she noticed there was another note stuck on the wall, right where Peter knew she’d see it.
I miss you.
- P