The Mommy Wish

by Pamela Browning

  “That kid,” Eric said to Molly. “Her make-believe vacuums are driving me crazy.”

  “Did you ever consider that maybe if she could live in a house and have a real vacuum, she might get over this phase?” Molly asked.

  “You said you’re not qualified to give advice about children,” he said. “So what’s with that?”

  “Sorry,” Molly mumbled, swinging up and out of the cockpit onto the deck in preparation for docking.

  The last thing Eric wanted at the moment was parenting advice from someone who had never been one. Unless he asked for it, that is.

  THE GREENSEA SPRINGS MARINA was, as Eric had said, small and looked slightly run-down, but the biggest slip was available and adequate for docking Fiona. Bottlenose Island, one of a string of barrier islands between the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic Ocean, provided protection from rough weather. The other boat people at the marina were friendly, running out to help them dock and lingering afterward to tell them where to find laundry facilities and a nearby grocery store.

  “Molly and I can stop to buy food on the way back from our picnic,” Phoebe said, bouncing up and down on one foot in front of the chart room where he sat.

  “What picnic?” Eric said, looking up from Fiona’s logbook.

  “The one where we’re going to eat our peanut butter sandwiches,” Phoebe informed him.

  Eric shot a questioning glance at Molly.

  She shrugged. “You’re welcome to join us,” she said.

  “I need to have a talk with the dockmaster, see if there are any mechanics around here who can advise me about this engine,” Eric said as he closed the log. “You two go on.”

  They left Eric topping off Fiona’s water tanks. “Have a good time,” he called after them, and Molly had the distinct impression that he regretted not being able to go along. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was gazing after them wistfully.

  Phoebe skipped alongside Molly all the way up the dock. A couple of curious pelicans did an inquisitive fly-by as they passed the marina office, then settled on two pilings and tucked their big bills down into their chests. A scruffy dog ran up and followed them to the street, sitting down beside a bench to watch while they crossed to the other side.

  “What’s that funny smell in the air?” Phoebe asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “That’s sulfur,” Molly said, consulting the town map that the dockmaster had given Eric when he checked them in. “There’s a spring here where people from the north used to visit in the winter. Drinking the water was supposed to be beneficial to their health, but it certainly doesn’t smell good.”

  “I like it,” Phoebe said as she took Molly’s hand. “It smells friendly.”

  Molly laughed. “If you say so” was all she said. “Look up there, Phoebe. That’s the Plumosa Hotel. According to the notes on the map, it was a major tourist attraction around the turn of the century.”

  The large rambling building, which occupied the center of a city square, was embellished with cupolas, porches and gingerbread trim. Although part of it appeared close to falling down, scaffolding stood against the side nearest them. A man was diligently painting the worn and weathered clapboard a bright sparkling white. Behind the hotel was a park—Springs Park, according to the map.

  “They’re fixing up the building,” Phoebe said. “When they finish with it, it’s going to look like the world’s biggest birthday cake.”

  Molly agreed, but there was more to see than the hotel. They were passing beneath enormous live oak trees whose leafy branches arched over the brick street. Water Street was flanked by small stores—a chichi boutique, a hardware store, a café. The windows gleamed with wide expanses of glass, and the signs were uniform in size and noticeably deficient in garish neon. Tiny patches of grass edging the sidewalks were free of litter and neatly clipped and trimmed. Planters containing bright flowers were spaced every ten feet or so beside decorative wrought-iron benches. All in all, the effect was of a town that had wandered off a Disney stage set.

  Phoebe seemed entranced by their surroundings and began to talk nonstop. “I like Greensea Springs, don’t you, Molly? I hope we get to stay a while. Maybe they have a McDonald’s. Do you like McDonald’s? I could go to school here instead of getting home schooled. Is that a good idea, Molly? My aunt said I’m not being socialized properly. What does that mean? Oh, a vacuum cleaner shop!” Phoebe ran up to the window under a sign that said A Perfect Vacuum and peered in. “And they have a Robo-Kleen! It’s a robot vacuum cleaner like I told you about! Please can we go inside? Please?”

  The Robo-Kleen in the window was going busily about its work, and amazingly, it was avoiding a chair and a footstool that had been set up to demonstrate the vacuum cleaner’s self-steering capabilities. Molly found the machine mildly interesting, and before she could give Phoebe permission, the child disappeared inside the shop. Molly followed, figuring that it couldn’t hurt to learn more about vacuum cleaners. It wasn’t an area of expertise that had ever interested her, but she had to admit that maybe she had missed something important.

  The proprietor of the shop was talking with a young mother who was there with her three children. He looked like Santa Claus.

  “Thanks for stopping in, Dee,” he said, chucking the baby under the chin. “I think those bags will work fine on your canister vacuum.”

  “We’ll see you at Art in the Park in a few weeks,” the woman said. “Come along, Lexie. Did you thank Mr. Whister for the lollipop? Corduroy? Let’s go, son.”

  But her son, a self-possessed sort who wore thick glasses, a ready grin, and had a wild thatch of white-blond hair, was already talking with Phoebe, who was explaining how the Robo-Kleen worked.

  “And it’s real lightweight,” Phoebe said. “Even we could pick it up.” She started to lift the immobile one on display, but Molly stopped her.

  “Phoebe, you’d better not,” she interjected hastily.

  Mr. Whister laughed, a jolly ho-ho-ho. “It’s okay. I’ll show her how,” he said to Molly. He strode to where Phoebe and the boy were standing. “You hold it by this handle. Then you won’t do it any harm,” he said, demonstrating. Phoebe lifted it up first, then the boy did so.

  “It’s real nice,” the boy said admiringly.

  “I have a Model 440 Hoovasonic Sweeper of my very own,” Phoebe was saying.

  Oh, great, thought Molly. The pretend vacuum cleaner again. “Phoebe, come along,” Molly said firmly, prepared to shepherd her small charge out of the shop.

  “We only have a Model 320,” said the boy, sounding impressed. “My name’s Corduroy. What’s yours?”

  “Phoebe Anne Norvald. I’m seven and a half years old and I live on a boat.”

  “A boat? Really? Wow!”

  The mother, who balanced a baby on her hip and held her older daughter’s hand, moved closer to Molly. “Our children seem to have struck up an acquaintance. We’re going to the park for a picnic. Would you like to join us for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

  Molly held up the brown sack she carried. “We brought our own, and yes, we were going to the park. It would be fun to go together.”

  “I’m Dee Farrell. This is Jada,” she said, jiggling the baby. “My other daughter is Lexie.”

  “I’m nine,” said Lexie. “My brother’s dumb. He likes horseshoe crabs.”

  Clearly this statement needed more explanation, but that would have to wait. Before Dee and Molly had even left the shop, Phoebe, Lexie and Corduroy were already racing through the ornate iron gates of Springs Park.

  Molly and Dee followed at a more sedate pace, past a shallow pond where children were wading and sailing their boats. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Dee asked. She was short, with a mop of shiny brown hair and glasses that couldn’t hide a lively curiosity about the world.

  “We just got in last night,” Molly told her. “We’re on Fiona at the marina.”

  “What brings you to Greensea Springs?”

  “W
e were moving Fiona to Fort Lauderdale and stopped here for repairs,” Molly said.

  “I hope you get to stay a while,” Dee said. “Our kids are having a great time.”

  They passed a fenced area where dog owners could unleash their dogs and let them run free. By the time Molly and Dee reached the picnic tables in a grove of live oaks, the three older children were exploring a nearby play pirate ship complete with the Jolly Roger flying overhead. Phoebe was hanging from her knees on one of the bars, and Corduroy was clambering up the mast. Lexie had assumed the role of captain on the foredeck.

  “They do seem to get along well,” Molly murmured. “But Phoebe’s not my daughter.”

  Dee’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I assumed she was.”

  Molly launched into an explanation of how she happened to be with Phoebe, and Dee evinced interest in what it was like to live on a boat. Then the children interrupted, and Dee’s attention was diverted when Lexie stubbed her toe on the picnic bench.

  While all this was going on, Molly considered for a moment what her life might be like if she really was Phoebe’s mommy and they really were going to stay in Greensea Springs.

  The idea rattled around in her mind, settled in and felt uncomfortable. She adjusted it: What if Phoebe’s most cherished wish came true? If she and Eric fell in love and got married and they all lived happily ever after?

  No. It could never happen. She knew that. She had a job in Chicago and a life of her own, and she didn’t want to be a mother, ever.

  Only, she couldn’t shake the idea as easily as that. As she watched Phoebe playing so happily in the playground with the other children, as Dee discreetly began to nurse baby Jada by her side, an unfamiliar yearning washed over Molly, and she felt a twinge of longing for a life that she would never know, the life of a wife and mother. Eric’s face came to mind, his blue eyes, his impudent grin. And two words flashed through her mind, two words full of unlimited possibility: What if…

  MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

  TO SOMEBODDY:

  I THINK THEY LIKE EACH OTHER. MOLLY AND MY DAD, I MEAN. HE HASNT BEEN MR. GRUMPY FOR A LONG TIME AND HE’S ONLY WATCHED JEPPARDY ONCE. I WILL LET YOU NO WHAT HAPPENS. I SENT NO VACUME CLEANER PICTURE TODAY BECAUSE I DID NOT DRAW ONE. I WENT TO THE PARK INSTEAD.

  YORE FRIEND,

  PHOEBE ANNE NORVALD

  Chapter Five

  “It’s like this,” Eric said the next morning when they were eating breakfast on deck. “I’m waiting to hear from the factory in Germany about ordering the new fuel injector pump. We may be stuck here in Greensea Springs for a while.”

  “Goody!” shouted Phoebe.

  “Oh, no,” said Molly, making a grab for Phoebe’s cereal bowl, which almost flew from her lap.

  Phoebe accepted the bowl from Molly, dismay written all over her face. “I thought you liked it here, Molly.”

  “I do, but we need to get Fiona to Fort Lauderdale.”

  “We’ll get her there,” Eric said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I’m worried about work,” Molly said, thinking about Frank and Mrs. Brinkle handling things at the office all by themselves.

  “Don’t,” Phoebe said consolingly. “Work’s not important.” She started spooning up Cocoa Krispies and milk, totally unconcerned.

  “Not to you, maybe, but it certainly is to my boss,” Molly said.

  Eric stood up and looked out over the marina. Down the dock, a man was hosing off his cabin cruiser, and a dog on one of the boats began barking at something unseen. “Have you heard that they have open mike night at the Plumosa Hotel a couple of times a week?” he asked abruptly. “I thought about you and your harp.”

  Molly recognized a diversionary tactic when she heard one. “How did you find out about that?” Dee hadn’t mentioned it when she’d briefed Molly about what to expect while living in Greensea Springs, but then, most of their talk had centered around the kids.

  “I heard it from Mickey, the dockmaster here, who is someone I know from way back.”

  Molly detected a thread of discomfort in his words, wondered about it for a moment, then dismissed it.

  “According to Mickey, there’s work for me here if I want it. A couple of people might need boat repairs while we wait for the engine part.”

  “I don’t want to delay our trip because you’ve found other work,” Molly said, the words sharper than she intended.

  He looked surprised. “Hey, don’t worry. Fiona is my first priority. Speaking of which, I’d better go up to the captain’s lounge and make a few phone calls to Germany.”

  “You can use my cell phone,” Molly said. “That might be more convenient.” She reached into her pocket and handed it to him.

  He stared at it for a moment before accepting it. “Thanks. I gave up my cell phone a long time ago. They’re handy things to have, I’ll grant you that.” He started down the ladder to the cabin. “Say, why don’t you girls do something fun today.”

  Phoebe spoke up. “We’re going to find McDonald’s. Corduroy’s mother said it was just a few blocks from the park. I’m going to get a Happy Meal. You could go with us, Dad.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, looking straight at Molly.

  “It would be fun if the three of us went,” Phoebe said eagerly. “Wouldn’t it, Molly?”

  “Well,” Molly said, wanting Eric to go with them but not in the mood to say so.

  “I’m supposed to check with Mickey this morning, get the names of the boat owners who need work done,” Eric said. He paused, assessing Molly’s expression. “How about if I let you know?”

  “Fine,” Molly said brusquely, standing and brushing biscuit crumbs off her lap. Eric had made biscuits, or rather he’d taken them out of a can and baked them. He’d also fried sausage and squeezed fresh orange juice from the fruit that Molly and Phoebe had bought yesterday at the grocery store.

  “What shall we do now?” Phoebe asked.

  “I want to practice my harp,” Molly told her.

  “I could do my schoolwork right away and be all done with it before lunchtime. Then maybe Dad will take me to the office to see Mickey,” Phoebe said.

  She hurried down the ladder, and Molly heard her talking with Eric about her assignments. Molly sat on deck, raising her face to the warm sunshine. It was nine o’clock, and a couple of boats were heading out for a day of fishing. The air was scented with tar and brine, an odor peculiar to all the marinas she’d ever visited. She felt at home here, on Fiona, with the sea air caressing her cheeks as gently as a lover might.

  Only, she didn’t have a lover, and she didn’t want one. Men could be a lot of trouble. They got in the way, often tried to control and generally made nuisances of themselves. She’d had enough of that with Charles Stalnecky, the guy she broke up with last summer. She didn’t miss him, not one bit.

  After Phoebe seemed to have settled down in the salon with her schoolwork and Eric was talking on the phone to someone in Germany, she went to her cabin to get her harp.

  If she was going to play at open mike night, she’d need to practice.

  “I’LL HAVE A BIG MAC with fries,” Molly told the girl at the counter.

  “Same here,” Eric said.

  “I can’t recall the last time I ate a Big Mac,” Molly confessed.

  Eric grinned at her. “You poor deprived soul,” he said soothingly.

  When they reached their table, which had a view of the McDonald’s slide and gym, Phoebe was busily vacuuming the carpet in the vicinity with her make-believe Hoovasonic. Eric aimed a stern look at her. “Honey, don’t do that,” he said as he deposited her Happy Meal at her place.

  She pretended to switch off the vacuum cleaner and wind its cord, which Molly found amusing. Eric apparently didn’t.

  “Phoebe, as of now, you are forbidden to take your vacuum cleaner off the boat,” he said.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes and sat down. “My dad hates my vacuum cleaners,” she said to Molly. “One time he wo
uldn’t even let me say the words for a couple of years.”

  “It was more like a couple of months,” Eric said. “I got tired of hearing them, that’s all.”

  “You’d think he didn’t like vacuum cleaners,” Phoebe said. “I like them. Don’t you, Molly?”

  Molly, her mouth full of food, nodded.

  “It’s not that I have anything against vacuum cleaners,” Eric explained, dunking a French fry in ketchup. “There are better things for a seven-year-old girl to do.”

  “That’s why he’s teaching me to play chess,” Phoebe confided. “He says it’s cerebral. That means something to do with the brain.”

  Eric grinned at her, and Phoebe grinned back. “How about eating your Happy Meal, which would require doing something with your mouth,” he suggested.

  Phoebe giggled and turned to Molly. “My dad’s pretty funny, wouldn’t you say?”

  Molly, her mouth full again, shrugged elaborately and took a pass on that one, too.

  Fortunately, Phoebe decided to concentrate on her meal, and she finished in record time. She wadded up her hamburger wrappers and threw them in a nearby trash can, then started to fidget.

  “You can go out and play, Phoebe, if you’d like,” Eric told her.

  She slid off her chair. “That’ll be fun. Then you and Molly can talk to each other.”

  Molly blinked at that, amazed at Phoebe’s ability to notice everything that went on around her. True, she and Eric hadn’t spoken since they sat down, but to her way of thinking, it was okay.

  “Don’t leave the playground,” Eric cautioned his daughter, “and try to stay where I can see you.”

  “My dad always wants to know exactly where I am,” Phoebe told Molly. “He doesn’t like me wandering off.”

  “That’s the way parents are,” Molly replied.

  “Uh-huh,” Phoebe said before skipping away.

  That left Eric and Molly facing each other across the narrow Formica table.

  “I guess all this kid stuff is new to you,” he said. “The vacuum cleaner obsession and everything.”