“Mrs. Brinkle and I are handling things here rather well,” Frank said. “Just between you and me, Molly, I’m glad she’s busy. It keeps her from pursuing an alternative destiny in the Legal Department until I can figure out a way to promote her to a job in this department that’s more in keeping with her many capabilities. Besides, you should see how she’s organized the file room.”
“Can’t wait,” Molly said, wishing she meant it. “I need a book I can read to Phoebe. Would a Harry Potter book be suitable?”
“Sure. My four oldest loved the last one. Who’s Phoebe, anyway?”
“A child I’ve learned to like a lot.”
“Harry Potter will probably be perfect, but in case it isn’t, I could advise you about other books. My in-home research team will be happy to assist.”
“Put them on the case, and I’ll call you next week.”
“You mean I’ll have to wait that long before I hear from you again?”
“‘Fraid so, Frank.”
“Molly, how’s your grandfather doing?”
“He’s terrorizing everyone at that clinic. I talked to him a few minutes ago.”
“I hope he’ll be able to travel to Fort Lauderdale soon.”
“So do I.” Emmett had sounded in good spirits but admitted that he felt weak. Molly wasn’t sure how seriously to take him.
“All right, Molls. We’re getting along without you here at the office, but we miss you. By the way, bring back some fresh tangelos, will you? The kids love them.”
“You’ve got it. I miss all of you, too, but not the weather. It’s in the seventies and sunny here in beautiful downtown Greensea Springs.”
“Sounds like heaven. Bye, Molly.”
“Goodbye, Frank. Give Elise and the kids my love.”
“Will do.”
Molly hung up and sat pensively watching the boats in the marina for a few minutes. Eric and Phoebe were on Fiona, and Eric was supervising Phoebe’s studies. As soon as Phoebe was through for the day, they were leaving in the marina van, on loan from Micki the dockmaster because they’d promised to run errands for her at the mall. Phoebe had been delighted that her father was going to participate in her makeover.
Molly stood and decided to stroll down Water Street to the bookstore at the end of the block. Perhaps she could pick up a copy of the latest Harry Potter book there, in which case she would start reading it to Phoebe tonight.
Better to plan something to do in the evenings so she wouldn’t have so much time on her hands with which to get herself into trouble if she didn’t stay on guard.
“WHICH ONE DO YOU LIKE, Dad, the yellow one or the red one?” Phoebe held up the yellow dress, eyeing it dubiously.
“How about you, Molly?” Eric asked.
Molly tilted her head and studied the dresses. “I think the red one looks best with Phoebe’s coloring,” she said. “It brings out the pink in her cheeks.”
“I’ll go with the red, too,” Eric said. They’d driven to a mall on the outskirts of town and were shopping in one of the big department stores, an outing he’d discovered that he was enjoying immensely.
“Red is my very favorite color. How about if I try on a couple more pairs of shorts and shirts?” Phoebe said.
“Go ahead, Peanut. We’ll be waiting right here.” He sat down on the bench outside the dressing room next to Molly, and she scooted over to make more room for him.
“Let me know if you need any help, Phoebe,” Molly called over the partition for the dressing area.
“Okay.”
“Thanks for taking this on today,” Eric said. “Phoebe has mostly had to make do with hand-me-downs from my nieces and nephews, and I guess she’s getting too grown up and too style conscious for that.”
“It’s fun,” Molly said.
She leafed through a magazine that she’d brought along, and Eric wished she’d stop it and pay more attention to him. After their torrid kisses last night, he knew lots of things he’d like to discuss with her. For instance, the curve of her lower lip, which was so damn sexy. Or the tiny freckle at the edge of her left eye, which wasn’t noticeable until you got really close.
“I found the latest Harry Potter book for Phoebe this morning,” she said. “I’ll start reading it to her tonight.”
“I’ll reimburse you,” he said quickly. “I’ve been meaning to get her some more reading material for a long time.”
“It’s a gift,” Molly said, returning her attention to the magazine. “Oh, and I ran into the guy who owns the vacuum cleaner shop. His name is Ralph Whister and he’s head of the committee that is turning the Plumosa Hotel into an arts center. He told me about art classes that Phoebe might like to attend.”
“Maybe they’d teach her to draw what other kids do,” Eric said with a touch of irony. “Like kittens and bunny rabbits.”
“Rabbits are bor-ing,” Phoebe called over the partition. “They don’t even make an interesting noise. I can’t draw kittens at all.”
Molly shot Eric a meaningful look, implying, he was sure, that they should keep their voices down. “I could go with her tomorrow morning to register her for the first class and inquire about open mike night at the Blossom Cabaret.”
“Good for you,” Eric told her. Molly would be a big hit with her soulful voice, sweeter than any he’d ever heard, and all that hair falling over her face as she strummed her harp.
“We’ve also been invited to a cookout tonight,” Molly said. “Dee—that’s Corduroy’s mother—belongs to a supper club where they take turns eating at one another’s houses twice a month. She asked us to come because it’s at their house, and she thought Phoebe might enjoy playing with Lexie and Corduroy. Everyone brings their kids, and they eat early so they can put the children to bed at a reasonable hour. I told her I didn’t know if we could be there.”
Eric considered this. He’d belonged to such a group back in Angler’s Spit, and he and Heather had thoroughly enjoyed it. Hanging out with young married couples now, though, might bring back painful memories, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Yet these wouldn’t be the people from his past, and this was a different town. Maybe it would be all right after all.
Molly evidently realized that he needed convincing. “I thought it would be good for Phoebe. She lights up when she sees Corduroy. She gets to be around other kids so seldom.”
That was what decided him—Phoebe’s well-being. He didn’t want his daughter to grow up a social misfit. She should have the company of other children, everyone said so. He’d detected an element of scolding in Molly’s tone, too.
“All right, we’ll go. Just so you’ll know, I make an effort for her to be with other kids as often as she can. The way we’ve been living, moving from place to place, it’s not that easy.”
“I understand, Eric, but don’t you understand how much she longs to settle down?”
“This lifestyle is only a passing thing. It’ll be over soon enough.”
“Not soon enough for Phoebe,” Molly muttered.
Eric bit back an irritated retort, just as Phoebe came out of the dressing room.
“Everything fits,” she announced. “Can I have all these shorts?”
“Sure, and we’ll take the matching shirts, too,” Eric said, still discomfited over Molly’s reprimand. “Let’s go pay for them now.”
Molly said nothing more, only got involved in a spirited discussion with Phoebe about whether the child required a new pair of sneakers.
Yet Molly’s criticism stung. He knew that he’d have to find a home for the two of them, himself and Phoebe, eventually, but no one realized better that he did that his homemaking skills were still kind of patchy, and he’d always found it heartbreaking to contemplate going to work and coming home to a house without Heather.
When they were finished in the store, the three of them walked to the parking lot together, Molly and Phoebe several feet ahead of him. His daughter was holding Molly’s hand and talking enthusiastically about clothe
s. Molly responded in kind, and the two of them laughed about something.
Eric felt excluded. He would have liked to barge in on their girl talk, to insert himself into the conversation, but he hung back, worried that either one or both of them would resent it. Finally Phoebe glanced back over her shoulder.
“Hurry up, Dad,” she said.
He walked a bit faster, and when Phoebe ran ahead to the van, Molly shot him a glance.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds back there,” she said. “It’s so obvious that Phoebe longs for a real home, that’s all. I should mind my own business.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “It’s not a bad idea for someone to bring me up short now and then.”
Molly stared back at him in surprise, but she didn’t reply.
“I want to sit in the back seat,” Phoebe said. On the way to the mall, she’d sat in front next to him.
Eric installed Phoebe in back, where she started going through their purchases with little exclamations of delight, and Molly climbed into the front beside him.
“Hey,” he said, aiming what he hoped was a jaunty grin in her direction before turning onto the road in front of the mall. “I’m just a plain old garden-variety single father, trying my best to get along on my own. I make mistakes now and then, okay?”
“You don’t make many,” she conceded. “You’re a decent guy, Eric.”
He would have preferred that she said he was a sexy guy, or a brilliant guy, or a good-looking guy. But he’d take “decent” from Goddess Molly Kate McBryde, grudgingly though she’d bestowed that word. “Decent” was pretty damn good, now that he thought of it. And a “decent” father was exactly what he was trying to be.
THE FARRELLS LIVED about four blocks from the park, in a small tidy pink house with a Spanish tile roof. The street was quiet and shady, lined with candy-colored homes similar in price and design to theirs. Dee welcomed the three of them at her door, baby Jada draped over her shoulder and drooling onto a folded cloth diaper. “Come in, Molly. Eric, I’m so glad to meet you. Phoebe is a special person to Corduroy and Lexie, even though they’ve only known each other for a few days.”
The house had a bright airy floor plan, and all rooms opened to the pool area. Dee’s husband, Craig, stocky and gregarious, met them at the door and immediately offered Eric a beer. The men wandered out to the backyard, where steaks and hamburgers were cooking on a grill. Molly had brought a bean salad, which she’d feverishly concocted from a recipe on one of the cans of beans she’d dug out from their storage place in the salon. Eric had smiled at her concentration as she measured out oil and vinegar, splashing some on the floor. After she’d combined the ingredients and put the salad in the refrigerator, she’d periodically hauled the plastic container up and out so she could stir it. It was her first stab at preparing anything for a potluck supper, she’d said.
He looked around for her now, but she was nowhere to be seen, so he tried to pay more attention to the conversation around him.
“I guess we’ll have to buy bunk beds for the boys’ room,” said one of the guys, Linc, who had been introduced as a neighbor of Craig’s. “With Steffie expecting another boy, I mean.” He seemed pleased to be announcing that he had fathered another son; Eric understood that Linc already had one son and two daughters.
“Yeah,” Craig said. “Lexie was eight when Jada was born. Dee was adamant that the two girls not share a room because of the difference in their ages. So we added a nursery in the garage for the baby, which meant that my truck has to stay outside.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Babies are more important than trucks.” He laughed and took a long pull on his beer.
The conversation continued, and though Eric found himself smiling and nodding, he felt out of it. He hadn’t been part of this scene for a long time, had forgotten how domestic issues took precedence over anything else when you had a real family. This gave him pause; he considered Phoebe and himself as a real family, though a small one. But were they? Or was he merely a “decent” father who did his best but could do better by his daughter if he tried, and she a little girl who felt out of the loop where other kids were concerned?
He searched the group of children for Phoebe. There she was, swinging on the gym set beside Lexie, who was pumping herself higher and higher. Behind them, Molly gave each one a push now and then.
“I’m Pegasus,” Phoebe yelled. “I’m flying!” She was wearing one of her new pairs of shorts and a matching shirt, her hair confined by a yellow headband. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. She was a beautiful child, and he would think so even if he were not her father.
His gaze locked with Molly’s. She was wearing a T-shirt that showed off her considerable assets, and if she wore a bra, it was a minimal one that didn’t obscure her nipples. Mesmerized, he watched as her breasts shifted under her shirt, putting him in mind of how long and lonely the past few nights had been. He wanted her so much, wanted to make love to her.
“Here’s another beer,” Linc said, pressing a cold, damp can into his hand. “Say, I don’t believe I’ve met your wife. What’s her name?”
Eric looked at him blankly, uncomprehendingly. Heather, he wanted to say, but there was Molly in his field of vision, Molly whose allure caused her to be regarded with admiration by every man present, and that was who Linc meant.
“Oh,” Eric said, embarrassed. “Molly’s not my wife.”
Linc seemed surprised. “Sorry, Eric. I thought—”
“We’re delivering a boat to Fort Lauderdale. I met her only a few days ago.”
“Oh, a boat babe,” Linc said knowingly. “Lucky you.”
Eric felt a rise of indignation. Boat babes were bimbos who hung out at marinas up and down the coast, waiting to hitch rides with guys who would, for a time, supply food, transportation, lodging and often sex.
“It’s not like that,” Eric said quickly, earning a skeptical frown. “I mean, Molly’s crewing for me, but her grandfather owns the boat. She’s a corporate accountant in the family business, McBryde Industries. They make plastic parts for industrial components.”
“Even better,” Linc said.
There was no convincing this guy; it was pointless to try. Eric shrugged. “Yeah,” Eric said, as Molly took the two girls by their hands and led them into the house. “I guess it is.” He didn’t want Molly tossed into the boat babe category, but there seemed to be nothing he could say to change Linc’s opinion.
Yet Linc had sown seeds of speculation in his own mind, because for the rest of the evening, he couldn’t shake the idea of Molly as his wife.
The whole idea was ridiculous. Molly had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t care for him in that way.
But for a second or two, he couldn’t help wishing that she did.
DEE HANDED MOLLY a stack of plastic plates. “Please put these on the table,” she said.
Molly checked the table as she set out the plates. “I think we need a few more forks.”
“Here they are,” said Dee’s friend Selena, who was helping them put the food out.
“Your little girl gets along great with Corduroy and Lexie,” Selena said conversationally as they arranged the dishes and platters for easy access. “She’s adorable.”
Phoebe was holding hands with Lexie as they ran shrieking from Corduroy and some of the other boys, who were pretending to be sharks chasing other fish.
“Oh, Phoebe’s not my daughter,” Molly said hastily. “She’s Eric’s.”
“A second marriage, right?”
Molly shifted uncomfortably and positioned the mustard and relish close to the hamburger buns. “Actually, no. We’re not married.”
Selena was taken aback. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I overheard Phoebe referring to you as her mom when she was talking to the other kids.”
“Oh…” Molly said, her voice trailing off. “Um, maybe she did.”
Selena touched her arm. “Please don’t get the idea that I disapprove of living t
ogether before you’re married. I moved in with my Ben six months before we tied the knot.” She started to go back into the kitchen.
Molly cleared her throat. “Eric and I aren’t living together. I hardly know him.”
Selena flushed. “Sorry again.”
Molly quickly explained that she and Eric were taking Fiona to Fort Lauderdale.
“That’s cool,” Selena said.
“Phoebe and I are having a lot of fun together,” Molly added. She almost said that she wished Phoebe were her daughter, which, right this very minute, was the surprising truth. She was bowled over by the unexpectedness of her emotions. “Anyone would be fortunate to have a daughter like Phoebe,” she finished lamely, meaning every word.
“Yes,” Selena said a bit too brightly before tripping back into the kitchen. Through the window, Molly saw her whisper something to Dee, and Dee seemed to brush it off. Dee shook her head and moved out of Molly’s line of sight.
Molly, not wanting to return to the kitchen just yet, hesitated beside the table and watched one of the men lighting the tiki torches around the pool. Phoebe and her new friends were chasing one another in and out of the bushes, squealing and laughing in delight. An occasional riff of male laughter drifted back to the porch along with the scent of charcoal smoke, and inside, the smaller children were parked in front of the Farrells’ TV.
This was Middle America, which to Molly had been as mythical and mysterious a place as one from her brother’s Irish folklore. To her, accustomed as she was to entertaining and being entertained in restaurants or clubs, it seemed every bit as exotic. She had warmed to the casually offered friendship of Dee and her friends, had taken pleasure in the sweet smiles of the babies and become interested in the relationships of Phoebe and the other children. She had never been part of a young-married set, and if she had been asked if she missed that kind of social setting, she would have replied that you couldn’t miss something you’d never had.
“Molly, would you prefer to put your bean salad in a bowl or leave it in the plastic container?” Dee was standing in the door to the kitchen, and she beckoned Molly to join her.
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