Lily took the diaper bag and helped Molly out of her jacket. “In here?” she asked, motioning to the living room.
“I have to warm his bottle.” Molly headed toward the kitchen, patting Nicholas’s bottom—not that he noticed the comfort. His little body was rigid with fury. He’d lapsed into the breath-holding stage of his crying, which was broken occasionally by a healthy wail until the bottle was warmed and the nipple plugged into his mouth.
Molly sat in a kitchen chair. The quiet that descended on the room was only interrupted by the little hiccupping breaths the baby took as he calmed. The silence wrapped around Molly and all of her intentions, making her pause with second thoughts.
It seemed wrong to foster a lie, but if she was going to succeed in keeping Nicholas safe, there didn’t seem any way around it. If she told her sister the truth, she’d have to tell her dad; it just wasn’t in her to force Lily into lying to their father, too.
If her family knew the truth, chances were it would inadvertently slip at some point. This was a small town—everybody would soon know. And just maybe the slip wouldn’t be completely inadvertent. Her dad had always taken a great deal of public pride in her; exposure of the truth could quickly change Molly the Fallen Woman, who filled him with disappointment, to Molly the Self-sacrificing Saint.
No. Until she had her plan completely figured out, she was going to stick to the story that Nicholas was hers—which, in a way he was. His mother had entrusted him to her, and now his mother was dead. He had no one else. Ridiculous justifications for her actions, but her immediate choices were extremely limited. Sarah’s death had thoroughly and shockingly proved the truth of her accusation that the baby’s father was viciously dangerous.
Lily allowed Molly to process her thoughts, waiting on the other side of the table with her hands in her lap, letting the silence spin. The worried look remained on her face; Molly knew without seeing that her sister’s fingers fidgeted under the table top.
Finally Lily said, “That baby can’t be over a week old.”
Molly stopped herself from blurting out that he’d been born four days ago—what new mother would drive cross-country alone four days after giving birth? “He’s two-and-a-half weeks.”
Lily tilted her head, wordlessly inviting Molly to elaborate.
Molly drew a deep breath and began. “This is Nicholas . . . my son.”
For the longest moment, Lily looked as if she’d been slapped; stunned into immobility. Then she regained herself and nearly shouted, “Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell us you were considering this?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” The lie was falling easier from her lips each time. “I had planned on giving him up for adoption—”
“What!” Lily jumped to her feet. “You had him; he’s not adopted? You were pregnant for nine months and didn’t tell us!”
Molly nodded, finding it easier than speaking the lie.
Lily’s hand went to her forehead. “Jesus, Molly!” She walked in a tight little circle. “Who’s the father?”
“No one you’ll ever meet.” Please God, let this part remain true.
“Oh, Molly.” The words were no more than a sympathetic breathy sigh. Finally, after standing there looking down at Molly with nearly the same disappointment that Molly had seen on her father’s face earlier, Lily finally sat down. “What about your career?”
“I’m moving it to Glens Crossing. I’m not as stupid as you think; I know I can’t raise this child completely without support. I need my family—I need you.”
A light dawned in Lily’s eyes, as if a thought just popped into her mind. “Dad?” she breathed. “Oh God, what will Dad say?”
Molly forced herself to look into her sister’s eyes. “He’s already said it.” The tears that had threatened earlier now broke free. She spoke around the lump in her throat, tucking her chin in order to get the words out. “He’s ‘disappointed.’”
After a second, Lily asked, “What else did he say?”
“That was pretty much it. He hardly even looked at the baby.”
Lily’s mouth screwed slightly to the side, looking just like it had when they were kids and she was contemplating something. “You have to admit, you did drop a bomb.” Then her face hardened and her back stiffened. “How could you have done this—after all you’ve worked for? And why didn’t you tell us? My God, Molly, how could you not have told us?”
“It seemed best, as long as I was giving him up.” She took herself along the imaginary path of her newly invented past. The emotion in her voice was real enough, even though the true motivation was masked. “The decision was hard enough without having everyone in the family putting in an opinion. I was trying to do the right thing for the baby.” At least that much was true.
“I see.” Lily’s voice had taken on a surprising edge. In all of Molly’s memory, she could never recall Lily using this kind of tone with her. “We would have been troublesome in the decision making, but now that you have a baby and no way to take care of it, you need us?”
Molly didn’t even try to conceal her shock. “That’s not what I meant! You’re not being fair.”
“And you’re being fair to this baby? You bring him to a town like this without a father and expect things to go smoothly for him?”
“You think I should have given him away?” That Lily, a woman who had devoted her life to her son, could think such a thing had never crossed Molly’s mind.
“I don’t know how you could have considered giving away your own child. But coming here—”
Molly’s jaw clenched and her body flashed hot. She would have shot to her feet if she hadn’t been feeding the baby. “Listen to me.” She leaned slightly forward to emphasize her words. “Every choice I’ve made has been based on what’s best for this child! If I had chosen adoption, it would have been because it was best for his future. Dad already threw that ‘convenience’ card in my face. It has nothing to do with my convenience.” She sucked in a trembling breath. “And don’t make it sound like every mother who gives her child over to someone in a better position to care for him is a monster.”
Lily’s tone softened when she said, “I couldn’t imagine not seeing Riley grow up—to wonder every day what was going on in his life.”
Molly looked at the baby in her arms—another woman’s baby. Lily had had the option of marrying Peter—a loving man who cared for both her and their child. Poor Sarah had had no such option. Molly wanted to explain, to defend Sarah—but that was both impossible and useless. She said in a soft voice, “Sometimes a mother doesn’t have any other choice.”
Lily sat for a long moment in silence. Her posture told Molly that she was still upset.
“So both you and Dad are going to pass judgment,” Molly said. “I just don’t understand it. It’s not the fifties. I’m not a kid. My God, Dad was the one who talked Missy Jackson’s parents out of sending her away when she got pregnant in the tenth grade. How could he not lend me just a little support?”
With a sad shake of her head that said Molly didn’t understand anything, Lily said, “You don’t know what it’s going to be like here—you don’t remember how awful it was when Mom left. You didn’t see how Dad’s pride suffered.”
“How can you even compare the two situations!”
“How can you not see how people in this town will react? I know you’ve been in the city for a long time, but my God, Molly, think! Yes, Missy Jackson stayed in town and had her baby. But as soon as she graduated, she moved away. It’s hard to raise a fatherless child in a place like this.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Maybe. I hope so.” Lily was ever the peacemaker in their family—the one who always smoothed out the wrinkles. “How are you financially? Is the father helping out at all?”
It was a step toward peace, and yet, Molly sensed a certain amount of strain remaining.
“I’m okay.” At least she would be as long as she could get up and running in a job within a mont
h or so. As with most young doctors, she had a boatload of loans to pay off. “The father doesn’t know and I plan to keep it that way.”
Suddenly that defensive stiffness was back in Lily’s posture and her eyes sharpened with something that bordered on suspicion. “Do you think that’s fair to the father? Doesn’t he have the right to know?”
Even as Lily voiced the question, there was a certain hesitancy that made Molly wonder exactly what Lily thought about the father’s rights.
Molly thought of Sarah’s quiet nature and her shining innocence, all destroyed by the man who gave her this child. Her voice was cold when she said, “Some people, by their very actions, forfeit that right. I’ve made up my mind and I won’t discuss it anymore.”
With Molly’s tone, Lily’s eyes narrowed in censure. Then she settled back in her chair and said, “All right. I’ll respect that.”
She may have said the words, but there was disapproval in her eyes.
Molly had come to her sister expecting a life raft in the storm and all she’d found was more rain.
Through the thick fog of pain that played with him—winding tighter, robbing him of breath, then without reason, slipping away momentarily, only to return with a piercing vengeance—Dean Coletta heard voices. No longer the sweet voice of his mother calling his name. Mother had vanished in a brilliant white flash the instant these new voices began their discordant squawking, like a flock of big black crows pecking at a harvested cornfield.
Dean recoiled from the harsh voices, reaching out, grasping at that flash. He called for his mother to return, needing her beautiful comfort. Except for the faint aroma of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies—the warm, chewy ones she often surprised him and his sister with when they arrived home from school—it was as if she’d never been there at all. The scent lingered, teasing his senses, assuring him that she had indeed been there, within an arm’s reach. So close.
Now gone. Leaving Dean alone with his cold, dark pain.
The crows grew louder. Harsh. Quarrelsome.
They were arguing about him. Dean tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He knew he’d been dreaming. But was what was happening now real? The pain was back, so it must be. He tried to grasp that thought, but it slid quickly away, hiding once again in the darkness.
The voices slipped into the distance. The pain dimmed. Warmth began to caress his cold limbs.
He heard his mother again. And this time another voice joined hers. He strained to hear it. Then his sister, Julie, appeared from nowhere and took his hand. Her touch was warm and welcome. It had been so long since he’d seen her; they’d been close as children, but as adults had taken very different roads. She tugged on his hand, pulling him toward his mother’s calling voice.
“Come on,” she said, with a smile that made him long for youth and carefree summer days. “Mother’s waiting.”
He was too tired to move.
“We’re late,” Julie said. There was just enough edge in her voice to tell him they were going to be in trouble.
They were never allowed to be late. That was rudeness in the extreme, according to Mother. With his sister’s urging, he gathered his strength and started to get up.
Suddenly, someone slapped him on the cheek.
“Don’t you dare die on me!” The shouted words crashed through the confusion.
Die? Reality struck like an ice spear through his chest. No, he wouldn’t die!
The same woman’s voice yelled, “I need another unit of blood. Now, dammit!”
Julie was gone. He was alone again in the dark, falling through silent, black space. He didn’t want to be alone. For the first time in his memory, he was afraid of being alone.
The next thing Dean heard was the droning of an aircraft engine. The crows were gone. He had no idea how much time had passed. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids refused to obey. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. The slightest movement of his neck muscles shot an electric pain down through his shoulder and up to the top of his head.
He remembered the laser dot on the hotel room wall. The poker-hot pain. Clifford falling. The blood.
Was it just seconds ago?
If he was going to survive, he had to get up. Get help. If he didn’t get to the lobby, it would be too late.
Something held his body down. He strained against the band of pressure on his chest, tried to move arms that seemed strapped in place. With the restriction, he fought harder.
“Easy there!” a voice shouted over the noise of the engine. “I’m giving you something to relax you. We’ll be in Germany soon.”
Even as the warmth of the drug moved through Dean’s veins he thought, I hate Germany.
Lily finally crawled into bed next to her sleeping husband. She tried to tamp down the resentment that had been fighting against her sisterly concern since Molly’s arrival. How could her sister throw away a career in Boston? The entire family had worked so long for her to achieve her dream. Lily certainly might have made different choices if it hadn’t been for her desire to protect Molly from scandal. It wasn’t fair to punish Molly for sacrifices she herself had made years ago on Molly’s behalf—sacrifices that Molly knew nothing of. Logic told Lily that. And yet, her sister’s situation made mockery of that sacrifice. Lily couldn’t help but be hurt.
The entire day had passed in an emotional blur. From the moment Molly had shown up on her doorstep, everything seemed to shift into fast forward. Lily had had to make some quick decisions—decisions that would affect everyone in the house. However, in reality, she knew there wasn’t any debate over the outcome. Molly was family. She needed a place to stay. In spite of her disappointment, Lily would never turn her sister away.
But it was going to be difficult, her feelings about Molly’s choices aside. Her own marriage was only a year old. She and Clay and Riley were still learning to live like a family. At times they sailed along as if they’d lived together forever. Other times the tension between Clay and Riley was nearly enough to make her doubt her decision to get married before Riley left for college. Still, Clay had been gracious when he arrived home from work to discover that his sister-in-law was moving in, along with a newborn baby.
Lily had watched Clay all evening. His quiet, measuring gaze continually went to Nicholas, whether the child was awake or sleeping. She’d wondered if he was thinking of all he’d missed in not being a father to an infant. Or maybe he was just dreading the crying and the dirty diapers and the disruption to their already active household. It was impossible to tell.
She hadn’t had the opportunity to question him before he went to bed at eleven; work at the marina started early. Lily had stayed up with Molly until after the baby’s one o’clock feeding.
Clay rolled onto his back. Lily slid close to his side. Automatically, his arm went around her. She didn’t think he was awake enough to realize he was doing it. That was one of the things she loved about him. Even when he wasn’t conscious of it, he acted in ways that told her he loved her. How close they’d come to missing this. Having fallen in love as teenagers, fate had cheated them out of their early years. But in the end, they’d found one another again.
There were still hurdles to cross. They were very close to taking the biggest leap—in fact had planned on doing it this weekend. Now with Molly’s unexpected arrival, it would have to wait. There was only so much upheaval a family could tolerate at once.
The truth had waited sixteen years; a few weeks more weren’t going to make that much difference—she hoped. Down deep, she knew they’d made a mistake in not dealing with it before they married. But things had been going along so well, Lily had talked Clay into waiting. It was selfish of her, she knew. But she’d waited half her life to marry Clay, she didn’t want to risk having everything fall apart.
As she drifted to sleep, measuring her own breathing against Clay’s, she thanked her lucky stars that he had come back into her life—new complications and all.
It was still dark when she h
eard the baby cry. Instinctively, she started to get up. Clay put a hand on her arm.
“You were up late. I’ll go see if there’s anything I can do.” He got up and pulled on his jeans before he went out into the hall.
Just after he disappeared through their bedroom door, she heard Riley’s quiet voice in the hall. She listened carefully.
Clay whispered, even though everyone in the house was awake. “What are you doing up?”
Riley was equally quiet when he answered, “I wanted to see if Aunt Molly needed anything.”
Lily’s heart turned into a melted lump of butter. Riley was showing more signs of maturity every day—even though they were still quite liberally interspersed with skewed teenage perceptions and unthinking behavior.
She heard a noise, as if Clay were patting Riley on the shoulder. “You’re a good boy.” Then he told Riley to go back to bed, he’d look in on Molly.
Lily wriggled deeper under the comforter, feeling both content and blessed. She ignored the part of her that warned of rough days ahead.
It took all of four days for Molly to realize that living in her sister’s house was not going to work—even for the short term. The house had three bedrooms. Molly and Nicholas were in the guest room, which was situated between the master bedroom and Riley’s room. Every time the baby woke up in the night, Lily, Clay, or Riley—sometimes all three—would stick their heads in and, with sluggish speech and bleary eyes, offer help. By the end of the fourth night, they all had bags under their eyes.
And, as hospitable as Lily had been, there was undoubtedly a strain between her and Molly. Lily said all of the right things, but she acted as if there was a taut rubber band inside her that was ready to break. Her answers were just a little too brusque; her movements too rigid; her avoidance of conversation with Molly too obvious to ignore.
Although she had planned to stay at Lily’s until she managed to join a medical practice in town, she decided, for all of their sakes, she had to move now. Of course, Lily—again saying the right thing—maintained they’d all adjust in no time; Molly should stay.
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