by Dee Holmes
Hunt recalled that Molly had said her brother lived in northern Massachusetts. Fernwood was northwest of Boston. “Thanks.”
The physician walked over to Molly. She’d drawn her knees up to her chin and locked her arms around them. Her face was pale and tear-streaked and an occasional sob broke the rhythm of her breathing.
The doctor laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a balled-up tissue. “We’d only just been reunited, and there was so much left unsaid.”
“I’m sure,” he said, patting her, then adding, “Your brother insisted on talking to you. That and your worry were the reasons I allowed it. He didn’t say it in so many words, but I had the sense he was concerned about your well-being.”
Hunt listened, his own knowledge of Wallace from police files giving him insight neither the doctor nor Molly was privy to. Wallace was probably worried that Molly would learn who he really was.
“Vern always worried about me and did things to make sure I was taken care of.”
“Well, it’s evident you have a good friend in Mr. Gresham, so I’m sure everything will be fine.”
She nodded, blowing her nose. She slowly stretched out, placing her feet on the floor. Taking a shuddering breath, she rose. Hunt could see her grit and courage return when she lifted her chin and then straightened her shoulders.
Not for a moment did he believe she’d simply accepted her brother’s death. No, he guessed she was concentrating on Vein’s concern about her while making a valiant effort to show that she could handle this.
In a voice Hunt knew took all her effort, she said, “I’m grateful for what you did.”
“I wish it could have been more,” the doctor said gravely. He pressed his lips together, his face-looking weary and old, as if fighting the battle against death would be lost almost as often as it was won.
Hunt, once again, was swamped with his own tragic memories. He’d been told something similar when Kristin died, but he hadn’t nodded and accepted the sympathetic words. He’d been furious. Mostly at himself for all the times he’d been apart from Kristin because of his job. All those special details, those boring stakeouts, those weekends he’d worked overtime because the money had been so good and he’d wanted to build Kristin the house she’d wanted. All those moments he could have had with Kristin became lost opportunities that could never be found again. Hunt shuddered. How devastating this must be for Molly. For her, Wallace’s death was more than lost opportunities. She was dealing with nineteen empty years, with no one to help her fill in the gaps or find the missing pieces.
Before leaving, the doctor handed Hunt a sample packet of pills. “This is a mild sedative. Give her two when you get home. They’ll help her sleep.”
Home. He hadn’t thought of that word since before Kristin…He cut off his thoughts, taking the packet and tucking it into his pocket. After the doctor was gone, Hunt walked over to where Molly stood staring out at the dark night.
“Come on, Molly. We should go.”
“I can’t believe all this has happened, Hunt. It’s so unfair, so cruel.”
“I know. It’s frustrating when you’re helpless.”
She faced him, her expression holding a touch of fierceness. “No, it’s not being prepared. Why didn’t Vern tell me he had a heart condition? Why would he keep something so important to himself?”
“Probably he didn’t want to spend the time he was with you talking about his health.” Or who he really was, Hunt thought.
They made their way to the elevators and rode down to the admitting area. Hunt took her arm as they walked out of the hospital and into the parking lot.
“Or maybe he didn’t know,” Molly said, picking up the discussion of Wallace’s health. “Maybe he never went to a doctor and had no idea his heart was so damaged. I mean, after all, he couldn’t tell me something he didn’t know. Right?” Her eyes searched his, obviously looking for some affirmation of her own conclusion.
“He knew,” Hunt said, unlocking the passenger side of the car. Instead of sliding in, she turned to Hunt.
“Vern knew?”
“Anderson said your brother told him he was seeing a Dr. Crombie in Fernwood.”
She was still for a moment, as if gathering all the facts together and sorting them so they made sense. Then she drew herself up and said firmly, “Well, I intend to pay him a visit and find out what Vern wouldn’t tell me.”
“What good will that do? None of his medical history matters now.”
“It matters to me. He was my brother, and what I know about the thirty-two years of his life wouldn’t fill four pages. I want to know who he was, who his friends were, what his interests were, if he had any hobbies.”
“Hobbies?” Hunt nearly choked on the word. “Listen to me, Molly. Sometimes the past isn’t as we expect it to be.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I know he was no saint.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Don’t you understand I need to know?” Her tone was desperate. “I have to know because he was all I had.”
“Oh, jeez,” Hunt muttered.
“He told me some things but not enough.” She got into the car, but when she reached for the door, Hunt stopped her.
“What things?”
“That he’s divorced and has a son, for one. I have a nephew—Brandon—out there somewhere. My only blood relative. Maybe Vern’s heart condition was hereditary. If so, his ex-wife, Francine…well, she. should know in case their son has future problems.”
“Molly, if she was married to the guy, she probably already knows.” In the back of his mind was a nagging image of a woman who had been connected to Wallace, but he couldn’t put a name to her.
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.”
Hunt didn’t need to ask her intent, he could visualize the wheels turning in Molly mind. The amazing thing about all this was that if Wallace hadn’t croaked, Molly would have sailed on believing whatever he’d told her on his occasional visits. Now what would she learn?
“All of this can wait until morning.” Hunt said, hoping to buy some time to figure out what to do next. He supposed he was going to have to tell her the truth, but when and how? He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. A quick glance in her direction indicated she agreed, since she didn’t say anything further. A few minutes later, they’d exited the parking lot and were headed toward Molly’s apartment.
As he drove, it struck Hunt that he could save Molly from what he feared would be some new mission by simply telling her what he knew about Wallace. Yet he remained silent. Truthfully, he didn’t want to see the disappointment and horror on her face. She had enough to deal with now; Wallace’s checkered past could wait. Destroying her beliefs about her brother moments after he died was unnecessarily cruel.
Then there was a more insidious thought. Hunt toyed with his underlying reason for silence; keeping himself uninvolved in her personal life and therefore her problems. That resolve was becoming more and more difficult.
As they entered Molly’s apartment, Hunt pushed away the growing softness for Molly that had wormed its way inside him in the past few hours. He focused on some clear facts. He was no longer a cop and therefore he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Vern Wallace. He liked Molly, but no way did he want any personal involvement with her. He didn’t want to get lost in her wide lavender eyes, which could set his pulse pounding and send his thoughts racing through a carnival of pleasures. He’d come to Woodbriar to give a lecture series on law enforcement. Other than that, he didn’t want to make any decision that was more complicated than whether to drink his beer from a bottle or a can.
Besides, he still loved Kristin. That was the bottom line. Stay cool, objective and uninvolved, he reminded himself. Starting right now. Thank God for his sister.
“THE POOR THING! Is she all right?” Denise asked anxiously after Hunt told her what had happened. He was in Molly’s kitche
n, leaning against the counter, the phone anchored to his ear. It was 2:00 a.m. and he’d finally convinced Molly to go to bed. Hunt was anxious to get back to his apartment and do the same. His own eyes were gritty and his head ached. He’d filled Denise in on all that had happened since he’d seen the ambulance outside Molly’s building.
“She’s gone to bed The doctor prescribed a mild sedative. Look, Denise, she needs someone to be here with her. Could you come?”
“Well, of course. I can be there by eight. I’ll ask my neighbor to keep an eye on the boys.”
“No, not in the morning. Now. I need you to come now.”
“I can’t, Hunt. I can’t leave the boys. Did you forget that Clay’s away?”
He had. “Damn.”
“Look, why don’t you stay? You’re already there, and it will be daylight in a few hours. With the sedative, she’ll probably sleep and you can, too.”
No way would he sleep. Not here. Not with this rush of feelings for Molly that had nothing to do with helping her through a grieving period. “How about this? I’ll come and stay with the kids and you come over here.”
“But that’s silly. It’s just for a few hours.”
“But…” He was losing the argument and he knew it.
“She’s just lost her brother. Good grief. You’ve already been through the worst of it with her. I don’t understand why you’re making such an issue out of a few more hours.”
Because I’m liking being around her too much and my feelings are moving into areas I don’t want them to go.
Hunt sighed. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
“Hunt? You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Sleep on the couch, and I promise I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
Hunt hung up the phone, switched off the kitchen lights and walked back into the living room. The couch was a sectional and looked comfortable enough. He could manage this for a few hours.
Before he settled in, he walked down the short hall and stopped by her open bedroom door.
The light from the hallway illuminated her where she was curled up in the middle of a double bed. She’d loosened her hair from the French braid, and it spread across the pillow like cinnamon-colored silk. She’d gotten undressed and now wore what looked to Hunt like a college dorm shirt. It climbed high on her thighs, exposing slender legs and a glimpse of red lace panties. Hunt sucked in his breath and scrambled to put a death hold on his rampaging thoughts.
He stood rigid, his body taut, his heart thumping, barely able to pull his gaze from the sleeping woman. Guilt roared through him for his carnal feelings for Molly at such an inappropriate time. He was reacting more like a voyeur than a friend. He was about to return to the living room when he heard her stir.
“Hunt,” she called, her voice husky and low. “Come on in.”
He didn’t move. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Please?”
Against his better judgment, he slowly entered the room, lifting a soft cotton quilt from where it had been tossed on a chair.
“You should be asleep,” he whispered, laying the quilt over her.
She reached for his hand. “How can I thank you for being such a good friend?”
“You already did.”
She laced their fingers together, and Hunt felt a slight tug to draw him closer. The sedative had obviously relaxed her and made her a little groggy. He’d stay for just a few minutes. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, making sure his body didn’t touch hers.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, her voice breaking. “Just a few hours ago we were eating and talking, and now…”
Hunt brushed her hair from her cheek. “Shhh. It’s going to take time to adjust. And you should call your parents. They will want to know.”
“My parents, yes. They’ve been on a cruise in Alaska. I talked to them after I found Vern. They were happy for me. I’ll call them later.” She took a shaky breath. “I have so few memories of him, Hunt. If we’d been in contact all these years, then at least I could look back on the good times. I could laugh at the funny moments and even find some wisdom in the not-so-funny ones. I could have gone to his wedding, been there when my nephew was born. We could have shared so much. Instead, all I have are a few bald facts. I don’t even know enough to decide if the facts are good or bad.” While she talked, she’d burrowed closer to Hunt, so that her cheek lay against his thigh.
Hunt cursed Vern Wallace for his miserable life and the legacy he’d left behind. It was bad enough to lose someone you loved, but then to learn he was part of the mob when you wanted to think he could have been citizen of the year…
“We can talk in the morning,” he murmured, easing back and rising to his feet. She still held his hand.
“Don’t go.”
“You need to sleep.”
“Please.”
He leaned down and brushed his mouth across her forehead. The gesture seemed natural and right under the circumstances. “I’ll be in the living room. I want you to settle down and go to sleep. You have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Her eyes were luminous in the lighted shadows. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I wish you were my boyfriend.” At Hunt’s startled reaction, she added, “From the moment I first met you, I thought you were so different. Attractive and sexy and honorable.”
“Don’t, Molly…”
“Then when we collided in the courtyard, I felt—”
Hunt pressed his fingers against her mouth. “Shhh. You shouldn’t be saying those things.”
She pushed his fingers away. “Why? They’re true.”
“And they’re dangerous,” he snapped, deciding she needed a clear reminder why. “For God’s sake, I’m not some tweedy professor who’s interested in your relationship theories. And I would hope to hell you don’t say that kind of stuff to other men. To a lot of them it would be an open invitation.”
She looked at him as if he’d encouraged rather than discouraged her. “I’ve dated a few guys, but I never wanted to say anything like that to any of them. Just to you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not interested enough to take advantage of you, isn’t it?” He’d stood and planted his hands low on his hips, glaring down at her with an anger he really didn’t feel. There was something compelling about such complete honesty. Compelling and risky.
“You’re angry with me.”
“I’m telling you that it isn’t always a good idea to blurt out what you think you feel. Especially now. You’ve had a shock and a family tragedy. I was with you, so you no doubt feel some gratitude. You’re not really thinking straight, plus I think that sedative is making you less cautious about what you’re saying.”
He backed up, inching his way to the doorway.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“I’ll be in the living room.”
“Hunt?”
“What is it, Molly?” He couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice.
“Here.” She reached behind her and then in front of her. “Take one of my pillows and the quilt. I have enough covers.”
He came forward and took them only because he didn’t want to continue this conversation any further. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for staying, for being with me at the hospital.”
“Sure. Now go to sleep.”
He returned to the living room feeling as if he’d barely escaped a potential disaster. He was sweating, he was hard and he was irritated. He flung the pillow down, stripped down to his briefs and stretched out on the couch. He draped the quilt so that it covered him from the waist down, then laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The sweet scent of her was everywhere. The pillow, the quilt, in the air.
Goddammit, Denise. This is all your fault, he muttered under his breath. If you’d done what I suggested, none of this would have happened
But beneat
h his irritation and determination to stay uninvolved with Molly was a begrudging admiration for her forthrightness. She’d stated her feelings without guile, without any purpose beyond saying what she felt. It surely wasn’t her fault that his feelings were so unruly that he couldn’t explain them if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.
He’d never been one for talking out his innermost thoughts. Spilling his guts because of some emotionladen situation had always struck him as a weakness. A man dealt with whatever was bothering him and didn’t burden the rest of society with it.
Kristin had often accused him of being too much like a clam, but the truth was, Hunt had learned early in life that what you reveal about yourself can be used against you. His father had always talked too much, bragging about his expertise in neighborhood poker games. As a result, some other player would inevitably take up the challenge and beat him, leaving Sammy Gresham to explain to Hunt’s mother why he’d lost the rent money.
There had been other times when his old man’s talking had gotten him into hot water, and it wasn’t long before Hunt got the message. Keep things to yourself and you’ll stay in control of your life. And he intended to stay in control.
He smiled into the darkness. In a little while Denise would be here and he’d be history. With that hopeful thought, he drifted off to sleep.
AN HOUR LATER, he jackknifed up, nearly falling off the couch. What had awakened him, he didn’t know, but some sixth sense told him something was wrong. He stayed still and then he heard it.
Sobbing. So soft and so muted he was amazed it could have woken him.
He felt around for his jeans and pulled them on, but didn’t bother with the zipper or the snap. He moved silently down the hall and stopped at Molly’s room. He could see her thrashing on the bed.
“No!” she shouted. “He’s my brother. I can’t leave him. Please. I don’t want a family without him.”
Hunt moved immediately to the bed, sitting down and gathering her into his arms. “Molly, sweetheart, wake up. You’re dreaming….”
Her arms went around him and she literally crawled into his lap. “Please, oh, please, make the hurt go away….”