“The plastic container is okay unless it’s not elegant enough for our table,” Molly told her.
Dee chuckled. “We’re not exactly what I’d call elegant,” she scoffed. “We’re just ordinary.”
Molly followed her back into the kitchen, but she didn’t agree. There was nothing ordinary about these people. They might be what was sometimes referred to as the salt of the earth, and the rapport that they had for one another and the interest they had in their children were special. It was extraordinary, and Molly was glad to be, even so briefly, a part of it.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Eric spent time to making sure Fiona’s lines were secure before he went to bed. They had stayed at the Farrells’ house until eight o’clock, then the guests had begun to disperse.
Phoebe was ecstatic about being asked to spend the night with Lexie some weekend. When she’d relayed the invitation, Eric hadn’t had the heart to tell her that they might not be in Greensea Springs long enough for that to happen.
After he’d finished his chores on deck, he descended the ladder. All was dark in the salon except for the wedge of light cast on the teak floor through the partly closed door of Phoebe’s stateroom. He heard Molly’s voice rising and falling in a pleasant ripple of sound, and Phoebe, sounding sleepy, interrupted once and subsided. Neither of them had noticed that he was there.
Molly was reading to Phoebe from the new Harry Potter book, the bunk light casting a mellow glow across his attentive daughter’s face. The two of them were curled up on Phoebe’s bed, which was too narrow to afford much space. Phoebe was under the blanket, her head resting trustingly on Molly’s arm in a position where she could see the pages, and Molly’s head was bent over Phoebe’s dark one. Molly, reading, seemed totally caught up in the story, as was Phoebe.
Eric started to speak, then held back. Something told him not to interrupt this tableau even as he felt a stab of something that could pass for jealousy. Molly had clearly gained a foothold in his daughter’s affections, and he was pleased about that. He considered her a wonderful influence. But he’d been working his tail off to provide for Phoebe, was accustomed to filling her every need, and here was someone who didn’t have to do much of anything at all to make Phoebe hang on her every word, include her in every plan.
That he was jealous of Molly—if he was jealous, that is—shocked him. He had been thinking about how attracted he was to her, how much he wanted to make love to her, and he hadn’t until now considered that her presence had upset the balance of his relationship with Phoebe.
He crept past the door, unwilling to draw attention to himself. In his cabin, he lay down on the V berth and rested his hand over his eyes. After a while, the rise and fall of Molly’s voice stopped, and he heard her telling Phoebe good-night, sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.
That was what his parents had always said to him and his brother at bedtime, but he had forgotten about it. He’d never said that to Phoebe, not even once. Why hadn’t he thought of it?
“Dad?” Phoebe called. “Are you here?”
“Sure, I’ll come tuck you in,” he said, swinging his feet off the bed.
“That’s okay. Molly already did.”
“Good night, Eric,” Molly said from the other end of the boat.
“Good night,” he replied. He sat there for a moment, giving her time to disappear into her stateroom and close the door.
Then he got up and went to tuck Phoebe in anyway.
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
DEAR PERSON OUT THERE,
I SAW DAD KISS MOLLY!!! THEY DIDN’T KNOW I SAW! IT WAS THE NIGHT DAD TOLD US THE STORY ABOUT NUT HOLDING UP THE WORLD. THE NEXT DAY WE WENT SHOPPING AND I GOT NEW CLOTHS CLOTHES. THEN WE WENT TO A PARTY WITH OUR FRIENDS.
I LIKE MY NEW MOM JUST FINE. HOW MANY SAND WISHES WILL IT TAKE FOR DAD TO FIND OUT THAT SHE’S THE ONE?
LUV FROM PHOEBE ANNE NORVALD
Chapter Seven
On Saturday morning, Molly regarded Eric over the rim of her coffee mug and didn’t even try to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I thought I was going to register Phoebe for her art class,” she said.
“I want to,” Eric said stubbornly, removing his feet from their prop on the ship’s wheel. “She and I need to spend some time together.” He drained his mug and stood up.
“Oh,” Molly said. “I understand.” She wasn’t sure she did, though.
“You can come with us,” Eric offered, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
“I may go over there later,” she said. “To check on open mike night.”
“You should,” Eric said with false heartiness.
For the life of her, Molly couldn’t figure out what his problem was this morning.
“Phoebe!” Eric called. “Are you ready?”
Phoebe appeared at the top of the ladder. She was carrying a big sketch pad and a couple of pencils. “Let’s go,” she said.
“See you later,” Molly said, as offhandedly as possible.
“Aren’t you going with us?” Phoebe asked, clearly dismayed.
“Not this time.”
“Come along, Peanut.”
“I want Molly, too,” Phoebe stated, planting her feet firmly on the deck.
“Sorry, Phoebe, I have things to do,” Molly said, realizing her brusque tone only after the words were out.
Phoebe didn’t say anything, only gaped at her in surprise.
“Let’s not be late,” Eric said, turning to wait for her before making the move from boat to dock.
Hugging her sketch pad to her chest, Phoebe, all big eyes and hurt feelings, followed wordlessly. Molly continued down the ladder to the salon. She didn’t see how she could have contradicted Eric, and in the end he had invited her to go along. But the way Phoebe had looked at her when she said she wasn’t going with them had made her feel guilty, and she didn’t know why.
Thoroughly disgruntled by the whole upsetting scene, she went below and tried to practice her harp, but decided it was a waste of time when she was in this mood. Instead she left Fiona, planning that she’d do some window shopping along Water Street.
“Molly! How are you?”
Molly swiveled and saw Micki coming out of the marina office, carrying an armload of mail.
“Fine,” she said.
Micki studied her face. “I don’t think so,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Well, I take that back.”
Micki tsk-tsked and drew her into the office. “How about a couple of doughnuts and some coffee? You can tell Mama Micki all about it.”
The office was furnished in discount-store style, but it had a frill of cheery cotton fabric over windows framing the marina and waterway. Molly perched on a tall stool at the counter, and Micki poured the coffee.
“It’s not easy living elbow-to-elbow on a boat,” Micki soothed. “I can relate, since my husband and I lived on a houseboat with my in-laws when we were first married. Believe me, I couldn’t wait until we got our own place.”
“That’s part of it, I guess. I’m not used to living with anyone else, much less a man and his daughter. Even though Phoebe is a nice kid.” Molly sipped at her coffee and gloomily wondered whether to choose a chocolate-frosted doughnut or a powdered one.
“Eric’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but something changed in him after Heather died,” Micki said. She shook the extra sugar from her powdered doughnut back into the box.
“What was he like before?” Molly asked, with more interest than she thought prudent to show.
“Buttoned-down, cheerful, kind of into himself. Everyone liked him. He and Heather had a happy marriage as far as anyone knew.”
“Did he and Phoebe have a special relationship right from the get-go?”
“He was crazy about her, that’s for sure. You have to remember that Phoebe was a little kid, so I don’t know how much attention he paid her. Eric probably worked such long hours that he wasn’t around.”
“Hmm,” Molly said. She
took a bite of a chocolate-frosted doughnut and decided it was exactly what she needed. She finished it off in short order.
“Eric and Phoebe headed down Water Street a while ago. Phoebe didn’t seem too happy.”
“She should be,” Molly said. “She was on the way to starting an art class at the Plumosa Hotel.”
Micki’s eyes were kind. “Did something happen this morning, Molly? Is that why you’re so down?”
Molly couldn’t help it. She poured out the story of how she’d planned to take Phoebe to her art class and how Eric had insisted that he be the one.
“Oh, dear. It sounds as if Eric resents your spending so much time with Phoebe.”
“He certainly encouraged it in the beginning,” Molly said helplessly.
Micki tightened her lips and got up to remove an incoming fax out of the machine. “That was before Phoebe stopped paying attention to him. When he brought her in here yesterday, that child talked about ‘Molly this, Molly that.’”
“I didn’t realize that,” Molly said in bewilderment.
“You ready for some advice? It’s free of charge.”
Molly managed a wry smile. “Sure, why not?”
“Give both of them a lot of space.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” Molly said unhappily. “He’s been keeping Phoebe close by when he works, and I’ve done my own thing all week.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“I thought it was mine. I—I hoped to keep Eric at arm’s length so that he wouldn’t think that—well, you know.”
Micki studied her face. “I guess there’s a problem, huh?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Molly said with more certainty than she felt.
If Micki doubted her, she didn’t say anything. “I’ve got a two-person kayak—let’s go kayaking some day, or we could do a movie if you’re up to a little girlfriend fun. My guess is that Eric will be upset once you’ve backed off.”
“Why? If he wants to spend time alone with Phoebe, he won’t care. He’ll be glad I’m busy elsewhere.”
“Don’t bet on it. I’ve heard a lot of single fathers say that nothing is going to come between them and their kids, but any redblooded man eventually gets bored hanging out with seven-year-olds. If you ask me, Eric’s half in love with you, and you’ve already captured Phoebe’s heart completely.”
Molly laughed at that. “I’m not eager for Eric to be in love with me.”
“What are you, girl, crazy? Why not?”
Molly couldn’t answer.
AFTER SHE LEFT THE MARINA, Molly did her window shopping and continued on to the Plumosa Hotel. Not because she intended to check up on Eric and Phoebe, she told herself, but because she wanted to find out more about open mike night.
The hotel’s spacious lobby, still resplendent with antique wicker furniture and terra-cotta tile floors, had lately been converted into an operations command point where visitors could see a model of what the hotel would look like once restored to its former glory. Molly picked up a flyer about open mike night and lingered there, taking in the spacious grounds, which included Springs Park, where she and Dee had gone with the children to play on their first day here. When she learned that visitors were encouraged to walk along the breezeway that stretched from the hotel to the enclosed warm sulfur pool, she set out in that direction.
According to a brochure she found on a table outside the glass enclosure, the pool had been a popular attraction with winter visitors around the turn of the century. It was still maintained as though people swam there, and Molly went inside the enclosure to study the frescoes on the only solid wall. The pictures showed men and women dressed in bathing costumes of the early 1900s, the styles quaint, even amusing. The temperature of the spring, Molly read on a small sign near the door, held at a steady seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit all year long.
The sulfur odor—some might call it a stench, though Molly wasn’t willing to go quite that far—permeated the pool enclosure. Runoff from the indoor pool coursed down a small waterfall through an opening in the wall and was carried away by an underground culvert to the park. There it collected in the wide pond where Molly had seen children sailing boats on that first day. Large sconces that had once held candles adorned the marble pillars.
On her way back to the hotel lobby she encountered a man sweeping the breezeway. “Excuse me,” she asked, “but why isn’t swimming allowed in the pool?”
“People today don’t like to swim in sulfur water,” he replied, leaning on his broom for a moment. “They most likely go to the municipal swimming pool over on the other side of town. The days of moonlight swims by candlelight are over except for a couple of times a year when the chamber of commerce holds a party.”
“A pity,” she said. “This pool is so picturesque.”
The man laughed. “It is that. You’ll want to check with the chamber of commerce, buy you a ticket for the next big do. Might be a couple of months.”
“Thanks,” Molly said, but she knew that Fiona would be long gone by then.
Out of curiosity, Molly detoured through the corridors of the hotel. A sign explained that they had been constructed so wide because hotel guests in the late 1800s and early 1900s had customarily arrived with huge steamer trunks, which were stored in the hallways. At the end of one such corridor, she interrupted workmen on their way out for a lunch break.
“Are you here about the puppet theater?” one of them asked.
“No, I’m not,” Molly said, peering around them into a large room with what appeared to be a stage at one end.
“Sorry, we thought you were the lady over to measure for curtains. If you see her, tell her to go ahead. We’ll be back in an hour.”
“Would you mind if I have a look?”
“Nope, please do.” One man stayed behind the others. He opened the double doors for a better view. “The stage is almost finished. We’re building benches in a semicircle for kids to sit on, and we’ll put a light panel up there.” He gestured overhead. “This used to be a parlor, and now it will be put to use to entertain the children of the community.”
“How wonderful,” Molly murmured.
“We think so, too. We’ll have several productions a year, hold classes in puppetry, teach kids to paint scenery for the shows and make puppet costumes. A PBS station has already contacted us to film a documentary about the process.”
“That’s pretty neat.”
“This will be something for us to be proud of when we’re finished. Make yourself at home. You might want to get involved.” He afforded Molly a cordial nod and left.
Molly let the doors swing closed behind her as she made her way up the wide space that was going to be an aisle. The sunlight beaming through the tall window swam with dust motes, and the framework for the stage smelled of newly sawn pine. A breeze from an open bay window ruffled a set of architect’s plans spread out on a door mounted between two sawhorses. Shelves, presumably to hold puppets and stage props, lined the walls backstage, and a poster asking for donations to build the theater was stapled to a closet door.
She stood for a moment on the stage facing the audience area, smiling at the memories that rushed at her from the past. Emmett had loved puppets, had built a small puppet theater in the playhouse in his big backyard in Lake Forest, the upscale suburb outside Chicago where he’d lived when he was actively involved in the running of McBryde Industries. He’d bought them hand puppets, and her mother had helped her and her brother and sister construct furniture out of cylindrical potato chip cans with Barbie doll accessories for props. They’d made up their own stories and performed them for neighborhood children, who always sat enthralled while Molly, Patrick and Brianne put on their plays.
Molly credited the puppet theater with nurturing her brother’s interest in Irish folklore, which he’d researched when he was eleven or twelve in preparation for a show about leprechauns. It had been one of their best, complete with a wailing banshee and a renegade leprechaun who hated
the color green.
“Excuse me—oh, Molly, is that you?” A woman stepped into the room, carrying a retractable tape measure and a sheaf of folders. It was Selena, whom she’d met at Dee’s cookout.
“It is, and I’ll bet you’re the one who is going to measure for curtains,” Molly said, jumping down from the stage.
“That’s why I’m here—and would you mind helping me? I need to get this done before I pick up my Amy from the art class upstairs. I volunteered to make the curtains, but don’t ask me why. Sometimes I rue the day that I let anyone in Greensea Springs know that I can sew.”
“I’ll be glad to hold the tape measure,” Molly told her.
“Great! How did you happen to be here?”
“Exploring. I stopped to see the indoor swimming pool and was fascinated by it. A custodian told me that it’s only used for swimming a couple of times a year. I suppose that’s why they haven’t boarded up the glass enclosure.”
“It’s one reason, but if you’re concerned about vandals, don’t worry. We haven’t much of a problem with them in Greensea Springs, and that’s good because our budget doesn’t allow for a watchman anymore. How’d you get from the pool to the puppet theater? Did the custodian tell you about us?”
Molly shook her head. “I took it upon myself to look around and was pleased to find this place. My brother and sister and I used to put on our own puppet shows when we were growing up. It was so much fun, and I’m glad that there’s going to be a puppet theater in the new art center.”
“It’s been an uphill battle,” Selena said, jotting numbers in her notebook. “Some people weren’t convinced that puppets are art. Others thought the money would be better spent on something for adults.”
Molly nodded toward the poster. “You’ve raised some money for the puppet theater, haven’t you?”
“Not nearly enough.” Selena stretched out the ruler again. “Construction costs were more than we thought they’d be. The cost of the lighting system went way over budget. We’d hoped to pay a puppet expert to come in and explain how to teach the children, but we won’t be able to do that until our second season, if then.”
The Mommy Wish Page 9