The meaning of that thought suddenly seized her heart. A treasure of immeasurable worth. That was exactly what this baby was to her. The daunting responsibility of those first days had faded away and been replaced with a fierce love that she could never have imagined.
Her hand moved gently to cup his head, a perfect fit into the curve of her fingers. This child may not have come from her body, but he was as much a part of her soul as if he had grown in her womb.
His lower lip began to twitch, his breathing grew louder and before he even opened his eyes, his cry broke free.
“Oh, there, there, little one,” she whispered as she picked him up and held him to her heart. “Mama’s here.” She kissed the silky dark baby hair on the top of his head and breathed in that very special scent only to be found on babies. Her hand cupped the back of his head as it bobbled in his effort to hold it upright. Already the sides of his dark hair had worn away, replaced by a much lighter color that said he was going to be a blond. Sarah would have liked that.
“I’ll always be here.”
She began her day, as she had each one since she moved into this house, as a mother. Her happiness was soon overshadowed by a growing sense of guilt. She was only a mother because Sarah was dead. Nicholas would never know anything about his biological parents. That meant she had a lot to make up for; she couldn’t let him down.
That also raised another question; would she tell him the truth? She had arranged for the birth certificate paperwork to be processed in Boston through the defunct clinic with the birth mother as Jane Doe, Nicholas as live birth, Baby Doe, leaving the possibility wide open for the future. It was a question she was ill prepared to answer today. So she tried to forget it for now.
For the rest of the morning, she puttered around; reading the paper, lying on the bed with the baby cradled next to her while she sang all of the old nursery songs she could remember, walking aimlessly around her empty house.
A peculiar restlessness began as an undercurrent to her loving contentment of early morning. It seeped in so quietly she didn’t notice the moment of its arrival. It grew until it tainted all else, yet it remained elusive in definition, vague and unnameable.
She stared out the window at the starkly bare tree branches, the browning grass and the dismal mist that wrapped everything in a blanket of chilly dampness. When she caught herself glancing at the silent telephone for the fourth time, she recognized the source of that restlessness. She was sitting around like a teenager waiting for Dean to call. The way he’d looked deep in her eyes last night, respectful kisses that quickly gave way to passion, had all gotten under her skin much more deeply than she’d realized. He’d awakened her to something she was probably going to be missing for the rest of her life. Her sexuality sat like an exposed nerve at just the thought of him.
Well, that was a relationship that was going nowhere fast. So she might just as well push it out of her mind completely. Besides, she had enough to deal with at the moment without getting all emotional over a man.
After realizing she was harboring secret hopes about Dean Coletta, her feelings were as raw as the miserable autumn weather—much too raw to remain alone in this house with only her thoughts and one tiny baby. She got Nicholas and herself ready and headed out the door with no real plan.
She began with a drive around the lake, past the old summer houses owned by out-of-towners, which were mostly closed up for the season; past the marina with its empty slips and storage yard filled with boats awaiting another summer; past Arctic Express—
Oooh, Arctic Express.
Immediately she braked and made a U-turn. She pulled into one of the spaces served by an old-fashioned car hop. For a Sunday afternoon, the place was unusually deserted. Molly supposed not many people wanted ice cream on a wet and dreary day like today.
She unfastened her seat belt and twisted to look at Nicholas. As always when in the car, he was fast asleep.
The server came out of the building with a scowl on her face that said she wasn’t happy about being dragged out in the cold. The girl leaned near Molly’s open window, with her hands stuffed under her arms, bouncing slightly to keep warm.
“I’ll have a hot fudge parfait, extra whipped cream.”
“That all?”
“Yes.”
The girl trotted back inside and Molly cranked up the heat in her car. She also turned on the CD player loud enough to drown out the fifties and sixties oldies the drive-in had blaring on their outdoor speakers.
When the server returned with her parfait, Molly gave her an overly generous tip. Lily used to work here and the thought of her sister running back and forth in the cold for minimum wage drew on her sympathies.
She dug into the ice cream, not in the least concerned about the fit of her jeans. The stress of the abrupt changes in her life was eating away pounds better than a new gym membership and a low-carb diet combined.
As she listened to a sentimental ballad sung soulfully by Faith Hill, she thought of growing up in this town, of Christmases past, of the family warmth she’d hoped to pass on to Nicholas. Pretty soon, Dean’s words started kicking around in her head.
Then it’s going to be up to you to pull that family back together.
As much as it galled her, she knew that was exactly what she needed to do. She had to straighten this out before it grew too big to overcome. Her Dad was the second most stubborn person on earth—only surpassed by herself. She was woman enough to admit her own flaw. Was she woman enough to take the first step in mending her damaged relationship with her father?
She thought of the baby sleeping in the back seat and set the half-eaten parfait in the cup holder, then put the car in gear. Within ten minutes, she was sitting outside the Crossing House.
Being the middle of Sunday afternoon, there were few cars in the lot. Faye had been trying to get her father to take Sundays and Mondays off for a year now. But, having the obstinate Boudreau blood running in his veins, her father had fought it tooth and nail. Last Molly heard, Dad was taking every other Monday afternoon off, but not during NFL Monday Night Football season. Which in effect, meant he wasn’t taking any time off at all.
Molly could understand his compulsion. She suffered from the same type of fixated drive. If she was in, she was in up to her eyeballs or not at all. That’s what had drawn her to the free clinic, she supposed—that pressing need that justified her obsessive commitment. This bar was her father’s life, his link to the town, a child in its own right—one he’d raised from infancy like his other children, but this one didn’t disappoint and frustrate him by making decisions he couldn’t understand.
She could see it much more clearly today. And just a few words from Dean had cut through the bullshit for her.
Maybe I should send Dean to talk to Dad first, too.
She took Nicholas out of the car and went inside. She felt good about it . . . strong.
Up until a couple of years ago, when her father had remodeled and added a dining room separate from the bar, she wouldn’t have been allowed to bring the baby inside. As a child, she had never been permitted on the first floor. The law said no one under twenty-one. And in Benny Boudreau’s eyes, that included his own children. He apparently didn’t see the irony that they slept right above the beer cooler.
Of course Molly, being the bullheaded child she was, managed to sneak in on plenty of Saturday nights while her dad was swamped at the bar. Her advantage was that she was so much shorter than all of the adults. She was hard to see from his position behind the bar. It became a challenge she issued to herself: make it through the kitchen without Henry the cook catching her, slip into the room with the pool table in back, rub a little blue chalk on the end of her finger as a symbol of her achievement, snake her way all the way to the front of the bar undetected, go out the front door and then around to the outside stairs that led back up to their apartment.
Dad caught her when she was twelve. She blamed it on her growth spurt that put her over five-four.
It was the very last time she attempted it. She was stubborn, not stupid. Losing her father’s trust was the worst thing she could have imagined. She suffered for weeks, and he really didn’t do much more than say only once, “I’m disappointed.”
She never heard those words from him again—until six weeks ago. And they cut her as deeply as they had when she was twelve.
Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she opened the door and stepped inside. The dining room was empty. Five or six men gathered at the bar, watching football on the TV suspended from the ceiling. Her dad was standing behind the bar with his back to the door, watching the game.
Nicholas was awake, which meant she only had a short while before he needed attention. As she gathered her composure, Faye appeared at her side.
“I’m so glad you’re here, darlin’. He’s been cross as a bear with an arrow in his butt.”
Faye’s frankness helped take the edge off her mood. Molly knew Faye and Lily were sometimes at odds, but she liked the woman. You never wondered where Faye was coming from, with her it was always up front and in your face.
Faye cooed at Nicholas. Then she said, “Can I take him for a minute? Henry’s been wanting a look at him for a month now.”
Molly smiled her thanks and handed the baby seat over. “You might want this too.” She took the diaper bag off her shoulder. “It’s about time to feed him.”
Faye looked surprised. “You’re not nursing?”
“No. Complications.” Actually, Molly had expected this question much earlier; most pediatricians espoused the benefits of breastfeeding. She’d been prepared with a sad look and a ready answer for weeks.
Faye looked appropriately sympathetic. She patted Molly’s shoulder. “Plenty of babies are on formula. They grow just fine.” Then she smiled. “I’ll send Henry out to babysit the bar. You don’t want to talk to your daddy with all those men around.” She nodded at a booth near the back. “Why don’t you just wait there a minute.”
Molly was thankful for Faye’s consideration. Sitting in a quiet booth waiting for her dad made her feel a little less awkward than having to walk into a crowd and wait for his reaction in front of everyone.
In two minutes (her gaze had remained steady on the second hand of her watch) her dad came into the dining room. He stopped short when he saw her. Then he came and slid in the booth across from her.
His face was creased with worry when he asked, “Is something wrong? You look thin. Where’s the baby? Is he all right?”
Oh, he knew her too well. It had to be something of a monumental nature to get her to be the one to surrender first. “The only thing that’s wrong with the baby is that his grandfather won’t acknowledge him.”
He leaned back in the booth, his palms down on the table. “I didn’t disown him.”
“Only me?”
As he scrubbed his hands over his face, Molly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked more tired than she remembered.
He said, “I never said I ‘disowned’ you. I said I was disappointed. And can you blame me? My God, the things you’ve thrown away.”
“Dad, I can practice medicine anywhere. In fact, I was thinking about leaving Boston before. . . . But I have something I never thought I would. You know after the surgery they said I might not have children.”
“Did you have to run right out and put it to the test? Is that what this is all about?”
A terrible thought grabbed her. If she were to be found out, if the police discovered she had Sarah’s baby, her own potential infertility would be damning evidence. Maybe they’d even think she killed Sarah for her baby. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Why hadn’t this occurred to her before now?
When she finally pulled in a breath, she told herself, if she was caught, it wouldn’t matter. In the eyes of the law she’d kidnapped the child. Nothing else would be an issue. She would go to jail. And if she ever told her family, they could be charged as accessories, or for harboring a fugitive, or something equally awful.
She felt her dad’s hand on hers. “Are you all right?”
Unable to spare the oxygen for words just yet, she nodded.
“I’ll get you something to drink.”
He was up and gone before she could stop him. She didn’t need anything to drink, she needed a miracle to sustain this deception.
Setting a glass of ice water in front of her, he sat down on the same side of the booth and put an arm around her. “You look like you’re going to faint.”
She took a sip of water. “I’m all right. I guess I’m just overly emotional right now.” Not exactly a lie.
“Your mother was the same way—for months after you kids were born.”
She forced herself to look into his brown eyes. She tried to arrange her words so they weren’t blatant lies. “Dad, I came home so Nicholas would have a family. I don’t want to raise him alone.”
He stiffened. “Then you should have brought a father, too.”
Molly saw this for what it was; his last defense. Eventually, they would find their way back to one another. She hoped it wouldn’t take years. But if it did, she wasn’t giving up.
Faye brought the baby out at that moment, her timing giving away the fact that she was probably peeking out from the kitchen the entire time. She had a huge smile on her face as she tried to hand Nicholas to Benny.
“Whoa!” He held her off. “I’m too rough to hold something that tiny.” To emphasize his point, he held his large, calloused hand next to the baby’s tiny face. “Look at that. I’d crush him.”
Faye looked as disappointed as Molly felt when she sat in the booth across from them. “Just look at what a big man he is,” she cooed.
Nicholas performed nicely with a gummy smile.
Benny looked more closely. “He is a handsome devil.”
“Of course,” Faye said. “He takes after his granddaddy.”
Benny made a sound of dismissal, but Molly saw him study the baby just a little more intently.
Don’t look too close there.
Henry brought over an appetizer platter and three drinks. Faye asked questions about the baby, his delivery and a thousand other things that Molly really wanted to avoid. But she pulled it off admirably well, she thought.
Then her dad took the conversation on a new tangent. One that rankled, but things being what they were, Molly could hardly cut him off.
“I hear you had dinner with Brian Mitchell Friday night.”
“I ran into him at Papa’s,” she said flatly. “We shared a table; it was very busy.”
“A good man—had his share of troubles. Still, I say it’s the best thing that happened when that snooty wife of his up and left town. He deserves some happiness.”
“I’m sure he does.” Dad was anything but subtle.
“You could do worse than a man like Brian.”
“Like not have a man at all?” She knew she should have kept her mouth shut; couldn’t she just quit while she was ahead?
Benny’s brow grew stern. “You know where I stand. That won’t change.”
“I know.” In the effort toward peace, she decided to throw the man a bone. “Brian is nice.”
One of the creases left her dad’s brow. “Keep that in mind.”
He got up and went back to the bar.
Molly tried not to feel defeated, or like a cheater in her last admission. If thinking there was a man in the near future for her made her dad feel better, then fine. Clearly, Benny Boudreau wasn’t going to be happy until he saw Molly married. And he was right; she could do worse than Brian.
After Molly put Nicholas to bed, she poured a red plastic Solo cup of cheap wine. Having always lived on a tight budget, cheap wine was the only kind she’d ever had, so the glassware fit perfectly. But as she did it, she realized she was going to have to arrange to have her apartment emptied and the stuff shipped here. There was no way she was taking Nicholas back to Boston, even for a few days, so she would have to hire a mover.
She turned off the kitchen light and took her wine to sit on the floor in front of the cold ash-filled fireplace. Without the fire, the room felt every bit as stark as it was, even when masked by darkness. Last night, with Dean by her side and the yellow flames lighting the room, it had almost seemed like home.
She pushed thoughts of Dean away and embraced her day’s success. She and her dad were at least back on speaking terms again, even though it was partly due to false pretense on her part. She couldn’t see herself married to Brian. Although, the man would make a good father. Maybe she should consider something like that for Nicholas’s sake.
She shook her head, putting those thoughts aside. Today was a beginning with her father; she made herself happy with that.
Molly came awake, lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, tipping her empty Solo cup over with her elbow.
There had been a sound. She listened intently.
The baby was quiet.
Then she heard it again, a quiet tapping on the front door glass. Her heart sped up. She had no idea how late it was. Was it someone just testing to see how soundly she was asleep before they broke in?
She quickly negated that thought. Who would use the front door when the back was so well-concealed from the street and neighbors?
Thank goodness she’d tacked a towel up over the glass.
She got up, shaking off the lingering grogginess, and went to the door. Flipping on the porch light, she pulled the towel slightly aside to peek out.
Dean stood there with a concerned look on his face.
Unlocking the door, she couldn’t deny the gladness in her heart at the sight of him.
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