For an answer, Eric swung Phoebe up in his arms, and she was giggling when he set her down. Dee emerged from the house, Craig close behind her.
“Come on in,” Dee said. “We ate supper early, and I’m taking advantage of Jada’s early bedtime to accomplish some sewing.”
“How about if you show Molly what you’re doing?” Craig said. “I have a couple of questions to ask Eric about that boat motor in the garage.”
After Eric followed Craig around the corner of the house, Dee led the way inside. She settled the children on the porch with foil packets of juice and brought out her sewing.
“These are costumes for the puppets at the puppet theater,” Dee told Molly. “Selena said you’d stopped by, and I thought you might like to see them.”
The little costumes were elaborate, complete with delicate tucks and lacings. Dee had fashioned riding habits and ball gowns, tuxedos and swimwear. As she spread them out on the kitchen counter, Molly exclaimed over them.
“These are wonderful!” she said, fingering the delicate lace on a baby’s cap. “Where did you find the patterns?”
“I made them myself,” Dee said with modesty. “As Selena told you, the puppet theater has budget problems. I convinced a drapery company to donate fabric, and I sew these in my spare time. Ralph Whister’s brother is making the puppets, and by changing their costumes for each production, we won’t need to have so many. If there’s any way to keep the costs minimal, we will.”
“Selena said the lighting system cost more than anyone expected,” Molly said, recalling their conversation.
“Everything was more expensive than we ever thought, but counting our pennies has caused us to be all the more creative.” She interrupted herself to instruct Corduroy to look in the snack drawer for granola bars, then began to fold the costumes into squares of tissue paper. Molly helped, and by the time they had finished, Eric and Craig were stomping in from the garage.
“Eric says I should deep-six that engine and forget about using it again,” Craig said cheerfully.
“Good,” Dee replied. “It’s old anyway, and you’re never going to need it now that you’ve bought a new one.”
This set off lively banter between husband and wife while Craig poured everyone a glass of iced tea. They sat on the porch around the pool to drink.
When the evening began to grow dark, Eric called to Phoebe. “Let’s go, Peanut. Time to head back to Fiona.”
They said their goodbyes and began sauntering along the wide streets toward the marina. Phoebe jabbered nonstop with Eric, which Molly thought was all to the good. She was suddenly self-conscious, sure that Phoebe would detect the change in their relationship. Now that she and Phoebe’s father were intimate, Molly was unsure how to act. Should she let her hand reach for Eric’s as they waited for the light to change at the intersection of Water Street and Vendue Lane? Should she avoid his eyes on the chance that Phoebe would notice the warm light in his when he looked at her? She’d never been in a situation like this before.
Yet Eric slid his arm casually across her shoulders as they walked, seeming not to care if Phoebe noticed this affectionate gesture, and he took her elbow as they crossed the street in front of the marina. Molly wished that they’d had the foresight to discuss what their behavior should be in front of Phoebe. She’d be sure to tackle that tonight after Phoebe had gone to bed.
By the time they reached Fiona, Phoebe had convinced Eric to buy the Blaine doll as well as the Barbie.
“Blaine is Barbie’s new surfer boyfriend—she broke up with Ken. Molly, can you sew?”
“Not much,” Molly said as she helped Eric slap together a quick meal of spaghetti and garlic bread. Her experience was limited to a sewing course she’d taken as a teenager.
“Lexie has the best-dressed Barbies in the world. Her mother sewed their clothes out of scraps.”
“We have a small sewing machine on Fiona,” Eric said. “Your grandfather keeps it around for mending sails.”
Molly, who was eager to change the subject before she was wheedled into doing something she didn’t really know how to do, said, “I talked with Grandpa today.”
“How is he?” Eric stirred the spaghetti sauce, and Phoebe sat down to work on her latest drawing, the one of the Robo-Kleen. Eric kept an eye on its progress, clearly wishing that Phoebe were drawing something else.
“He seemed tired and cranky. And—” Molly stopped talking before adding that there was something else about her grandfather that worried her, his reticence about his condition and the name of his doctor. “He wanted to know when we’re going to get Fiona to Fort Lauderdale.”
Eric snorted. “So do I. The fuel injection pump is due any day now.”
“I’m going to try to call my grandfather’s doctor tomorrow. Grandpa seems to have trouble remembering the person’s name, or else he was obfuscating.”
“What does that mean?” Phoebe asked, looking up from her drawing.
“Trying to confuse me. Probably so that I won’t find out whatever Grandpa doesn’t want me to know.”
“Obfuscating,” Phoebe repeated. “That’s a good word.”
“Don’t get any ideas about doing it,” Eric warned sternly. “I’m confused enough as it is.”
Phoebe smiled and bent over her drawing again.
“You sound worried about Emmett,” Eric said in a low tone.
“I can’t help it. He’s a seventy-nine-year-old man with heart trouble. He’s never been forthcoming with information about his health, either. Fortunately, my sister returns from her stint in Australia this week, and she’ll be catching a flight from O’Hare to Minneapolis right away. I expect her to check in with my brother and me when she gets there.”
“Let’s hope you’re worrying for nothing,” Eric said comfortingly.
“We have other things to fret about,” she said pointedly. It had not escaped her notice that Phoebe was covertly watching them, a small secret smile on her face when she thought no one was glancing her way.
“Oh. You mean—?” Eric spared a quick and almost imperceptible twitch of his head in Phoebe’s direction.
“The same,” Molly said.
“Little pitchers do have big ears,” Eric said. “One might wish to be careful about one’s choice of topics.”
“I’ll let you set the tone,” Molly murmured. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“What are the two of you talking about?” Phoebe demanded. “Could you please speak up?”
“We’re discussing who’s going to put the garlic bread in the oven,” Eric said.
“Yeah, right,” Phoebe said, clearly not fooled.
“I’m in charge of the bread,” Eric said, “and then I’m going to set the table. Phoebe, away with you and your drawings, my child. Do you want me to put a plate out for you?”
“Nope, I’m not hungry. I ate two hamburgers at the Farrells’,” Phoebe said as she gathered her pencil, papers and crayons.
“Okay,” Eric answered, but as soon as Phoebe’s back was turned, he swooped the hair off Molly’s neck and planted a light kiss at the nape.
“Eric!” she warned, her voice an outraged whisper.
He only afforded her a maddening grin. “Molly, me goddess,” he said in a fake Irish brogue. When he reached for her again she had to make tracks for her own stateroom. With her neck still tingling where Eric had kissed her, she sank onto her bed, wondering how they were going to keep their relationship within bounds while living in such proximity with a child. Molly didn’t mind a few stolen kisses. She didn’t mind being caressed. But she most certainly would mind if Phoebe got her hopes up. All those sand wishes had made Molly all too aware of what Phoebe wanted from her.
LATER, WHEN PHOEBE was asleep in her narrow bunk in the middle of the boat, Eric led Molly to his stateroom. Here in the bow, they could hear every slap of every wave, and outside a freshening wind blew in from the north. There was no moon, and the chilly damp air curled down through the open hatch and around
them so that Eric wasted no time in pulling Molly close.
“I don’t think I’m handling our new situation very well,” Molly confessed, resting her forehead against Eric’s shoulder.
The two portholes admitted soft illumination from the lights of the boat in the next slip. The yellow glow played across Eric’s features, and Molly lifted her head to admire for the umpteenth time that day the straightness of his nose, the fullness of his lips.
“Handling what?” Eric said. He reached under her shirt, unhooked her bra.
“Don’t act like you don’t know. Phoebe,” she said as he eased her shirt over her head. “She suspects what’s going on. I’m sure she does.”
Eric tossed both garments to one side. “Realizes that we’re having a great time? I certainly hope so.”
The ends of his mouth curved into a smile as he shrugged out of his shirt. The hair on his chest glimmered in the half darkness, begged to be touched. She ran her hands up his taut torso, across his well-developed pectoral muscles.
“She may know that we’ve slept together,” Molly said, swallowing hard. She couldn’t believe how rapidly she became aroused from only touching him.
“How is that possible?” He kicked off his shoes and helped her shimmy out of her jeans.
“She sees things. She hears things,” Molly said. Her nipples were tight nubs, and she guided his hands to them.
“She’s sound asleep. Don’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say. Phoebe’s likely to walk up to me tomorrow and ask, ‘Are you and Dad having sexual intercourse?’ What am I supposed to tell her, Eric?”
“She doesn’t understand anything about sex. She’s only seven years old. I guess you could tell her you’re satisfying me like no other woman in a long time. Tell her—”
Molly removed his hands from her breasts. “Excuse me? ‘Like no other woman in a long time’?”
Eric looked abashed. “There hasn’t been anyone since Heather. Well, no one important. There were only quick couplings in the dark, and I don’t even remember the women’s names. And they happened a long time ago. I thought…” His voice trailed off, and his reflective tone caused Molly to touch her fingertips gently to his cheek. He twisted his head and kissed them. “I thought I could overcome my grief by having sex with people I didn’t care about. I was wrong.”
“Eric, you don’t have to tell me this,” Molly said as he pulled her down on the bed beside him. She lay back on rumpled sheets; he’d never bothered to make the bed that morning. Not that she cared, because there was something even more intimate about sheets where you’d made love before.
“I want you to know everything about me.” His fingers found her breast and began to trace easy circles.
Eric’s caresses made it difficult to concentrate on anything but his soothing ministrations. His hand moved lower, and she closed her eyes. To give in to the sensations, to reach for him and anticipate the sensuous pleasure of skin against skin, was so easy.
“We should talk about the Phoebe situation,” she managed to say as he began kissing her open mouth, ran his hands up into her hair and down her back to press her closer. She reached down and touched him, wrapping her fingers around him.
“Later,” he said. “First let’s turn Mr. Grumpy into Mr. Happy.”
She smiled, and he nuzzled her neck. “Hey, I’m the one who should be smiling,” he said.
She continued her ministrations, and he rolled over so that she was on top. By this time, she was ready for him and realized the pointlessness of further conversation. She guided him inside her, gasping as he found his mark. Then she gave herself over to him, wishing only to possess and be possessed. Her consciousness was limited to their lovemaking, to the utter passion of the experience.
Eric. He was everything in those moments, everything and more. What that “more” might entail was not at all clear, and she didn’t care. She clung to him, cried out at her climax and held him fiercely close when he had his. Afterward, they lay pressed together in silent communion with their legs and feet tangled in the V of the berth, hardly able to tell where one ended and the other began.
Eric slept before she did. Finally, after lying awake for a long time, she disentangled herself from him and slipped out of his bed. She found her clothes and clutched them to her chest as she made her way naked through the quiet cabin, steadying herself against the to-and-fro motion of the boat. A peek into Phoebe’s stateroom revealed a child who was sleeping soundly and looking particularly angelic.
Molly continued on to her own room and shut the door before falling into bed. As much as she would have liked to spend the whole night with Eric, she didn’t want Phoebe to discover them together in the morning. Maybe, as Eric said, the kid didn’t know anything about sex. But Molly certainly hoped she wouldn’t find out from them.
Chapter Twelve
“Don’t forget your picture,” Molly cautioned Phoebe as they prepared to go to Art in the Park the following Sunday. Phoebe was wearing one of her new shorts outfits and had blown her hair dry herself. She looked adorable.
“Oh, I’ve already put it in my backpack. It’s the Robo-Kleen I’ve worked on so hard. Dad, hurry! I want Mr. Whister to hang my drawing up on the kids’ display so everyone will see it.”
Eric emerged from the cabin into the cockpit and kissed Molly on the cheek while Phoebe’s back was turned.
“Let’s go,” he said, and Phoebe began to clamber over the side of the boat. To Molly he said in a low tone, “She’s displaying a vacuum cleaner picture? Why can’t she take the one she drew in art class of the Farrells’ house?”
“I don’t know, Eric.” Molly pulled a hat down over her curls and grabbed the sunscreen from its usual place near the ship’s wheel.
“Hurry up, you two,” Phoebe called up to them.
They joined her on the dock and started to walk past the nearby boats. On one, Mrs. Peeler was hanging clean laundry on a line strung between the two masts of her husband’s small sloop. On another, a sleek white cat sat grooming his whiskers while his owner, Lainie Kallbeck, read the newspaper on a deck chair nearby. Phoebe waved to Lainie, and she waved back.
“Hi, Phoebe,” she called.
“Hello, Mrs. Kallbeck. Come see my picture at Art in the Park.”
“I will, honey.” The woman spared a cordial nod for Molly and Eric before picking up another section of the paper.
“Who’s that?” Eric asked.
“Phoebe and I met her in the laundry room the other day,” Molly explained.
“She’s on her way to Miami. She spends the winter there,” Phoebe added.
“Well, Phoebe, you sure do get around,” Eric teased.
“Oh, I’ve talked with most everyone at this marina. Mrs. Kallbeck’s cat’s name is Jody. He lives on the boat with her. The boat at the end of our dock, Argonaut, has a dachshund on it. He lives with Mr. and Mrs. Vrooman. And then—”
Eric chuckled. “Okay, Peanut, we get the picture.” He paused and said to Molly, “She does this everywhere we go. The kid’s never met a stranger.”
Phoebe grinned. “I’ve met lots of strangers, Dad, but I turn them into friends.” She ran ahead when she saw Micki standing at the open door of the marina office.
Micki greeted Phoebe enthusiastically, and Eric and Molly stopped to talk.
“Going somewhere?” Micki asked.
“To Art in the Park,” Molly told her.
“I’m planning to walk over there after I close the office around noon,” Micki said. “Eric, we’ve got a boat coming in and they say they need a quick fix on their engine. You available?”
“Sure. I’ll check with you when I get back.”
“Phoebe, we could keep your dad busy full-time repairing engines,” Micki said with a wink. “He’s good at it.”
“I wish you would,” Phoebe replied. “Then maybe we wouldn’t have to leave Greensea Springs, ever.”
Micki grinned. “I’d like to stay here, too, but when my husband ret
urns from the Middle East, I’ll be going to Norfolk. That’s where he’ll be stationed.”
“Will he be back soon?” Eric asked.
“In a month or two. I’ve told the marina owners that I’ll be out of here then.”
“You’ll be hard to replace,” Molly said, remembering all the times she’d been in the office and seen Micki at work. The woman could field three phone calls, hand out quarters for the laundry machines and sort mail, all at the same time.
“I’m not sure I’ll hire someone else. There’s talk that they plan to sell the marina.”
“Why? It’s a going concern, and someone told me the new dock section was added only a year ago,” Eric said.
Micki shrugged. “I suspect the owners are ready to retire and go fishing. Can’t say that I blame them.” She laughed and handed a key to the showers to a marina guest who had just ducked into the office.
“Dad, we need to go,” Phoebe said, tugging at his arm.
“See you later,” they told Micki.
After they crossed the street, Phoebe ran ahead of them, her dinosaur backpack bobbing behind her. “You know what she carries in that backpack? Her new Barbie and Blaine and all her vacuum cleaner drawings,” Eric said.
“In other words, the things that are most important to her,” Molly suggested.
Eric sighed. “Yeah. Except for you.”
“I’m not—”
“Oh, but you are. She thinks the world of you, Molly.”
Before Molly could reply, Dee waved at her from across the street and hurried over to join them. She carried Jada in a blue canvas sling across her front, and Jada smiled and gave an eager wriggle when she recognized Molly.
Molly, charmed, held out a forefinger and let the baby grasp it. Jada immediately tried to gum Molly’s finger, and Molly, laughing, pulled it away.
“She’s teething,” Dee explained. “She tries to shove everything in her mouth.”
The Mommy Wish Page 16