He'd said he owned his own place, and she'd assumed he meant a handyman's special. She was half right. This carriage house was certainly special. She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to pay for it. Nothing about him suggested great wealth. He drove a beat-up old truck. He wore jeans more often than not. He said he'd grown up on a failing Montana ranch where electricity was as capricious as the weather. He did yard work and deck repairs to repay his moral obligation when he couldn't repay Robert's deposit money:
Yet he lived on an estate, within shouting distance of the beautiful main house with the candles glowing in each and every ground-floor window. He couldn't possibly own the main house. The idea almost made her laugh out loud. No man who owned a house like that would push around a lawn mower at Princeton Manor once a week.
Her clothes were draped over the chair in the corner of the bedroom. The chair was a wonder of bent wood and intricately carved legs. She ran her hands along the elegant curves and instantly knew that it was Rafe's work. There was so much she wanted to learn about him, so much she wanted to know. For the first time in her life, she felt of one. piece—body and soul and heart.
She hurried downstairs, eager to see him, in the light of day. The first morning they'd spend together as lovers. She felt shy and wild and hopeful and terrified and everything in between. She wanted to see his magnificent face, the look in his deep blue eyes when he saw her. She wanted to hear his voice.
He wasn't in the great room or the kitchen or the downstairs bath. She looked out the back window. He wasn't on the deck or in the yard. She let herself out the front door and scanned the area. Not a sign of him anywhere. Their vehicles were still parked side by side where they'd left them last night. She looked toward the main house. Two of the windows were open. So was the back door. A large, sleepy-looking cat sat on the top step, lapping milk from a white bowl. Rafe, she thought, and started toward the main house.
#
"If you're going to look at me like that, sonny, you can hightail it back to your house and leave me alone. If I wanted crying, I could go back to Florida. That's all they do down there." Miriam leaned back against her pillows and closed her eyes.
"Gimme a break, will you, Miriam?" he said as he paced her bedroom. "You come home unexpectedly then drop a bomb on my head. What do you want me to do—tell jokes?"
"I'm ninety years old. You can't tell me you're surprised."
He was surprised, though. Somehow he never thought Miriam would die. She was mother, grandmother, conscience, and friend. She'd thrown him a lifeline when he was drowning, and now that she was in trouble, she told him to back off.
"Somehow I thought you'd find a way around this," he said.
"Poor boy," she said, her eyes still tightly closed. "You always did have trouble with endings, didn't you?"
He couldn't argue the observation. He'd hated endings since he was a little boy and his mother faked one suicide attempt after another, right up until the morning she sent him off to school then put a gun in her mouth and blew her brains out.
He heard the carriage house door swing open then closed. Miriam heard it, too. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Do you have someone in your house?"
"Yes," he said.
She opened one eye. "A woman?"
"Yes," he said again.
She opened the other eye. "Well, it's about time."
"You didn't come home from Florida to supervise my personal life."
"No," she said. "It's an unexpected dividend."
"Rafe?" Molly's voice floated up to them. "Are you in here?"
He thought of that old movie When Worlds Collide. "Upstairs," he called out. "First room on your right."
Miriam had closed her eyes again. She looked so frail and still that he found himself staring at her chest to see if she was breathing. He heard Molly's steps as she approached.
"You were gone when I woke up," Molly said as she appeared in the doorway. "I was afraid I'd—" She stopped abruptly as her gaze scanned the room.
"Miriam," he said, "there's someone. I'd like you to meet"
Miriam didn't stir.
He leaned forward. "Miriam, I want you to meet. Molly Chamberlain."
"Rafe," Molly said quietly, "please don't wake her up."
"She was awake a second ago," he said, peering closely at Miriam.
"She's sound asleep," Molly said. "Don't disturb her."
They stepped out into the hallway.
"She came home from Florida a few hours ago," he said. "I think she's exhausted from the trip."
"I would imagine," Molly said as they moved toward the center staircase. "Who is she?"
"She owns the house and most of the land."
"You bought the carriage house from her?"
"And a few acres of land."
"That's an odd thing to do, splitting up property like this. She must be very fond of you."
"I helped out around the house."
"Chores? Yard work?"
"A little of everything." He put his arm around her shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Let's grab some breakfast before it gets any later."
Molly looked at him as if she didn't quite believe that was the whole story, and she was right. It wasn't even close.
They went back to the carriage house and made breakfast together. She was comfortable in the kitchen. For some reason that surprised him. She worked easily and seemed to know what he needed before he knew himself.
"How did you know I needed the milk?" he asked.
"Because I needed the milk,", she said, punching him lightly on the arm. "I'm pregnant, remember?"
Sunshine spilled through the windows and seemed to find its focus on her beautiful face. Why should the sun be any different? That was where he found his focus, too.
"You don't have to leave," he said when she finally slid behind the wheel of her Jeep.
"I have a manuscript to read, phone calls to make," she said. "I really have to get home."
"I have a phone."
"You don't have a manuscript."
"I'll write one," he said. "Give me a year or two." He leaned in the window and kissed her. "You're coming back tonight."
"I am?"
"Yes." He kissed her again.
"Rafe, I—"
"We've wasted enough time apart, Molly. I don't want to waste any more of my life without you."
#
As the days passed, the two-story colonial in Princeton Manor ceased to exist for Molly. Piece by piece she moved her life to Rafe's carriage house by the river. She worked at her house, made her phone calls, but she didn't live there. It was nothing more than a glorified office.
Jessy was working round-the-clock hours. She looked pale and exhausted, which was probably the usual state for a first-year resident, but Molly had the feeling it was more than that. She'd come home one Sunday evening after spending the weekend with Rafe to find Spencer's car next to Jessy's in the driveway. She'd hesitated, not wanting to intrude, then realized how foolish she was being. This was her house, after all. If they were having sex, they'd be smart enough to have it in Jessy's room where they wouldn't be interrupted. At least she hoped they would be.
She needn't have worried. Jessy stood by the window, choking back tears, while Spencer sat on the arm of the sofa. Jessy's shoulders were slumped with despair. His posture was downright military. Her heart went out to both of them. There were no easy answers in life. That fact became more clear to her with every day that passed.
If someone had told her a year ago that she would be pregnant with Robert's child but practically living with another man, she would have suggested serious therapy. But there she was.
Her path hadn't crossed again with Miriam Cantwell's. Not that she'd imagined it would. Rafe certainly didn't know her neighbors, and there was no reason why he'd even want to. Still, she found herself more curious about that relationship than the situation should have warranted. He seemed very concerned about the woman, almost familial when he talked about her.
Actually he'd told her little about his life, and she hadn't pressed him for details. He was content with the bare-bones version of her own childhood and teenage years, and she was glad. The past had never had much of a hold on her. She would be very glad to let it go in favor of a future she could call her own.
Every now and again Rafe asked her about the progress of her divorce, and her answer was always the same: no progress at all. The strange thing was she didn't care. Robert and the divorce seemed part of somebody else's life. The only things that were real to her were the baby and Rafe. She increased her workload and found herself enjoying the process more than she had in a long time. She also enjoyed the marked increase in her income. Her focus was clearer; her concentration sharper.
Life was good, and she was intensely grateful.
She hoped it would last forever:
#
"Dr. Wyatt."
Jessy jumped at the sound of Dr. Cirone's voice behind her left shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, struggling to bring her mind into focus. "You were saying?"
The assembled doctors and students stared at her as if she'd strolled into the room buck naked. Even the patient, a hugely pregnant woman in her mid-forties, was staring at her.
"We're waiting for you to say something, Doctor." Cirone's voice held a sharp tone of censure that she knew was only a harbinger of things to come. "Mrs. Hughes is complaining of swollen limbs and dizziness."
Her mind was utterly blank. Swollen limbs ... dizziness ... swollen limbs ... what did any of this have to do with her? She couldn't find the connection. All she heard was the rush of air inside her head as everything went black.
#
"I'm so sorry," she said later on as Molly drove her home. "They shouldn't have called you. I could drive myself home."
"Have you looked in the mirror?" Molly asked, glancing at her when they came to a stoplight. "You look like you're ready to pass out again!!
"I'm fine," Jessy said. She'd looked at herself in the bathroom mirror before they left the hospital, and the sight had put the fear of God into her.
"Sure you are," said Molly, "and I'm still a size six."
Jessy hunkered down lower in the passenger seat. She wished she could close her eyes and make everything go away. "I'm not much in the mood to talk."
"Neither am I, but I'm in the mood to ask a few questions. What's going on, Jess? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me that a good night's sleep won't cure." She summoned up a smile. "That and a quart of Ben and Jerry's.'''
"Are you sick?"
"Sick?" She laughed. "Of course not. Where'd you get that idea?"
Molly leaned over and flipped down the sun visor so that Jessy was eyeball to eyeball with her own reflection. "Do you still have to ask that question?"
"I'm not sick," Jessy repeated. Talking seemed to take every ounce of energy she had.
"I don't believe you," Molly said as they were waved through the gates into Princeton Meadow. "If you're not sick, then what are you?"
Jessy turned and looked straight at Molly Chamberlain. "I'm pregnant"
Molly stared at her as if she were speaking in tongues, but Jessy didn't care. It felt so good to say it finally, to let the terrible secret out into the light.
"I'm pregnant," she said again, beginning to laugh. "Can you imagine that? I spend half my life lecturing young girls about taking responsibility, and look what happened to me." Her voice shook on the last word, but she refused to cry.
Molly said nothing. She looked straight ahead as she made the turn onto Lilac Hill Road then pulled into her driveway.
"It's Spencer's, isn't it?" she said when they were alone in the house.
"Yes, it's Spencer's." She wasn't going to deny it.
Truth was, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
"Does he know?"
She nodded. "I told him last week."
"The day I interrupted the two of you?"
She nodded again. "It wasn't our finest hour."
"He didn't take it very well?"
"He wants to marry me."
Molly sank onto the arm of the living room sofa.
"Say that again."
"He wants to marry me."
"And what did you tell him?"
She wrapped her arms around her middle to keep from breaking apart. "I told him to go to hell."
"I thought you loved him."
"I do," she said. "But it's just not enough anymore."
Life had played a nasty little trick on her, and she didn't mean the pregnancy. She'd told herself she could be. content with whatever little bit of him life threw her way, but she'd been wrong. She wanted everything. She didn't just want his body, she wanted his heart. She didn't want a wedding ring, she wanted a marriage.
She didn't just want a baby, she wanted a family.
She might as well wish. for the stars, because she had a better chance of dancing on the rings of Saturn than finding any of those things with Spencer.
Chapter Eighteen
"I know what you're doing," Miriam Cantwell said to Rafe one morning a few weeks after she returned to New Jersey. "You're keeping her away from me."
"You're delusional," Rafe said as he repaired the window frame nearest to her bed. "I think the cold weather's rattling your brain."
"You have no respect for age," she said in the tart tone of voice that put fear in the hearts of hired help from one side of the state to the other. "Just wait until your old bones are feeling the cold. Then you'll know."
"There's nothing wrong with you that getting out of that bed wouldn't cure," Rafe said as he pried away a chunk of dried paint. "You're getting soft."
"I'm old," Miriam said. "I'm entitled."
"I don't want to hear it," Rafe said. "I've never known you to be a quitter."
"You've never known me to be dying before," Miriam shot back.
"You're not dying," he said as he pounded a nail into the right side of the window frame. "I didn't hear the doctor say anything about dying."
"He said it, son. You just didn't want to hear it."
She was right. He didn't want to hear it. His life was perfect, or damn close to it. He wouldn't allow Miriam to die. It wasn't part of his plan.
"I suppose now you'll tell me you're not getting paranoid on me," he said, reaching for a chisel. "That stuff about keeping Molly away from you is a boatload of crap."
"I'm merely making an observation."
"You go to sleep earlier these days, Miriam. Your schedule doesn't cross with Molly's."
"I wasn't born yesterday," Miriam said.
He grinned at her. "That's for damn sure."
"I worry about you," Miriam said. "Here I spend my time praying you'll find someone to love, and you go and take up with a pregnant married woman "
"She's getting a divorce," Rafe said.
"She's still pregnant."
"I know," he said, "and it's not a problem." He found himself awed by the miracle happening inside Molly's beautiful body. He felt privileged that she allowed him to be a small part of it.
And he'd be lying if he said there weren't times when he wished they both belonged to him.
"She's going to hurt you," Miriam said in her most upper crust tone of voice. "You mark my words, it isn't over with her husband yet."
"It's over," Rafe said, reaching for a screwdriver. "He's in love with someone else."
"And what about your Molly?" Miriam asked. "Who does she love?"
"That's none of your business," he said.
"Are you afraid of the answer, son?"
A man's voice rumbled up from the floorboards. Rafe had never been more grateful for an interruption. They'd crossed over into dangerous territory, a place he'd been avoiding from the day he met Molly.
"Dr. Van Lieuw is here," Miriam said.
"Nothing wrong with your ears," Rafe said, forcing himself to shift gears. "I'm telling you, you're healthier than I am."
"If I am, then you'd better
write your will."
Rafe was still chuckling when he stepped out into the hallway to give Miriam and the doctor some privacy. Miriam had been born to money and privilege. She'd never known what it was like to wonder where her next meal was coming from. The Cantwells were one of New Jersey's founding families, with a proud history as long as his arm. Rafe had spent enough time working in rich people's houses to know how isolating wealth and lineage could be. It was a testament to Miriam's expansive heart that she'd never let her background separate her from the rest of the human race.
He was checking the sash on one of the hallway windows when Dr. Van Lieuw left her room.
"She's doing great, isn't she?" Rafe asked as the doctor approached him. "I mean, look at her. She's awake, alert, eating well,"
Van Lieuw didn't rise to the bait. "Nothing has changed, Rafe. Her heart is very weak. I don't know what's keeping her with us."
Rafe did. Miriam wasn't ready to go yet. He'd seen the endless stream of lawyers corning and going as she took care of the details that surrounded the end of a woman's life. One of those esteemed attorneys had pointed out to Miriam that she could have accomplished the same thing from her comfortable house in sunny Florida, but she was determined to die at home, in the place where she'd been born. She spent endless hours on the telephone, calling old friends and relatives, having her say; getting things off her chest, reassuring them that they'd be well taken care of after she was gone. She'd have him married off to a vestal virgin, if she had her way.
He hated the whole goddamn thing. He hated the fact that Miriam was right. He had been keeping the two women in his life apart. Molly was his future. Miriam knew all the secrets of his past. If he brought them together, he was afraid he might lose them both.
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