She was right, of course, when she said that she didn't know one damn thing about him. Most women peppered a man with questions. Where are you from? Who are your people? Tell me who you've loved. How did you come to live in this carriage house so far from Montana?
Molly asked nothing. She didn't ask about Miriam or about his ex-wife. She didn't ask if he had children or dreams or skeletons in his closet. He wasn't sure if she didn't care or just didn't want to know. It unnerved him, this lack of interest, He had no experience in dealing with a woman who lived solely in the here and now. Karen had spent half of their brief marriage worrying about where they would be in five years' time, where they'd been five years earlier. There had been no present with his ex-wife--only where she was going and how fast she could run away from where she'd been. She told everyone within earshot that what she had wasn't enough, that she was destined for better things.
He'd thought it was just talk, the kind of dream-spinning his Ojibwa mamaw used to do by the light of the fireplace, playing what if in a world that never seemed to know she was there. He'd thought once the baby came Karen would settle down and be happy with him. He'd thought dead wrong.
He hadn't been listening. She'd told him exactly what she wanted. She'd told him exactly what she was going to do, and somehow he hadn't heard her. He probably couldn't have stopped her even if he had realized what was going on, but he might have held onto his daughter.
Lately he'd been thinking a lot about Sarah. Being with Molly, lying there at night with his palm flat on her belly, his thoughts trailed back to that little house on the far edge of the ranch. To that little cradle he'd made with so much love and so many dreams. He had to remind himself that round-cheeked baby girl with the big blue eyes existed only in his heart and in the handful of snapshots stuffed in his drawer. She was almost a teenager. now. She had her own thoughts and opinions and hopes and fears. For all he knew Karen had presented her second husband as Sarah's father. His daughter might not even know he existed.
He'd come close to telling Molly tonight. He'd almost told her the whole story, how he'd let his family walk out the door and he hadn't done anything to stop them even though he loved them more than life itself. She'd never understand.
It was his mistake. His broken heart.
His secret.
#
Molly woke up as Rafe bent down to pin a note to his pillow.
"I have to give a bid on some work over in Lambertville," he said kissing her gently. "I'll be back in an hour or so."
She sat up, still half-asleep, and tried to focus on the clock. "Wh-what time is it?"
"Early," he said. "Not even seven. Go back to sleep."
"I'm wide awake," she protested, stifling a yawn. "I'll have a cup of tea and start working on the manuscript I brought with me."
"I wish you'd get some more sleep."
"And I wish you'd quit worrying so much. Go give your estimate. I'll have coffee ready for you when you come back."
"You're feeling okay?"
"A good night's sleep can work wonders," she said then kissed him. "I'm fine."
He didn't look convinced. The furrow between his brows was deep as a crevasse.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"Positive." She gave him a gentle push. "I'm going to shower and get down to work."
She showered after he left but found she wasn't in the mood to jump right into work. She and Jinx had reached an accommodation of sorts, and the cat now allowed Molly to pet her and feed her. She'd never had a pet before. Her parents moved too often, and Robert said he was allergic to everything with fins, fur, or feathers. She liked it when Jinx curled up on her lap and cast annoyed looks in the direction of Molly's belly each time the baby kicked.
This was the first time she'd been alone in the carriage house. It was ablaze with sun, more beautiful even than usual. Rafe was slowly remodeling the place, and the first thing he'd done was open it up to light. Huge windows and skylights seemed to pull the sun right into the room with her, dancing across the polished oak floor and skimming across the kitchen tiles. He'd bought those red tiles in Mexico, he said, and lugged them all the way back in his truck. She wondered why he'd gone to so much trouble for floor tiles, but she'd never asked him.
That was one of many things she'd wondered about but never asked him to tell her. When you grew up shuttling between warring parents, you learned quickly not to ask questions, not to volunteer information. There were secrets upon secrets, layer after layer of don't ask and it's better you don't know. Questions rocked the boat, and that was the one thing the young Molly didn't want to do. She'd been desperate for a home, so hungry for family life that she would have done anything to keep her parents happy and together. That was a lot to ask of a high-spirited little girl, and it changed her.
Another woman might have seen the changes in Robert as they happened. Another woman might have questioned him before he walked out the door. He might have walked out the door anyway, but at least she would have had a few answers.
She made herself a pot of decal English Breakfast tea and was about to settle down at the picnic table with the manuscript when she heard a knock at the door.
"I'm sorry," she said when she opened the door and saw Ginny, the housekeeper. "Rafe's out giving an estimate."
"I'm not here for him," Ginny said. "The old lady wants to see you pronto."
Molly took a step back. "You're kidding."
"Nope. She watched him drive away, waited to make sure he was really gone, then sent me over here to get you."
"What does she want?"
"To check you out, I'd figure."
"Good," said Molly. "That's exactly what I want from her." She grabbed her sweater from the back of the rocking chair and followed the housekeeper across the yard to the back door of the main house.
"Go upstairs," Ginny said when they stepped inside the surprisingly modern kitchen. "Third door on your left. You can't miss it."-
Molly was appalled to realize her hands were shaking. She wanted Miriam to like her. Probably more than she cared to admit. Rafe had made it clear that the woman was important to him, even if Molly didn't exactly know why.
Maybe she'd remedy that this morning.
"Don't stand out there breathing," Miriam said when Molly approached her open door a minute later. "Come in, come in. That's why I invited you, isn't it?"
"You tell me," Molly said as she stepped into the room. "That wasn't much of a hello."
"I don't have time for hellos," Miriam said, looking her up and down. "I'm dying."
Molly must have gasped, because the old woman's eyes narrowed.
"He didn't tell you?" Miriam asked.
"Not a word," Molly said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I'm ninety years old. I've lived along full life, and it's my time to go. Nothing to be sorry at all about in that." Her voice was strong, her words perfectly enunciated.
`'When you put it that way, it sounds natural," Molly said. Despite herself, she was impressed. She'd never heard anyone face death with such calm acceptance. She rubbed her back and smiled. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"My manners aren't what they used to be," Miriam said. "Please do."
"I've been wondering about you," Molly said. "I was hoping we'd get to meet."
"He was keeping us apart," Miriam said. Her gaze settled on Molly's hands. "No wedding ring."
"I took it off the day my husband left me for a judge's daughter."
"I hope you made him eat it."
Molly choked on a laugh. "That's not the reaction expected from you."
"I know." She had a radiant smile, the same kind of smile Molly remembered on her grandmother near the end. It was totally without fear or self-pity, It was also the smile of a woman who was going to say what was on her mind, whether or not you wanted to hear it. "So did you make your ex eat the ring?"
"No, I didn't," Molly said, "but sometimes I wish I had." She hesitated for a second then pushed forward. "He isn't my
ex yet."
"And that isn't Rafe's baby."
"That's right," she said, meeting the woman's eyes. "This isn't Rafe's baby."
The silence between them was long. Molly resisted the urge to look away from Miriam's intense gaze.
After what seemed an eternity, Miriam spoke again. "He loves you, you know."
Molly felt her cheeks flood with color. "I don't think you—"
"Don't be coy with me, young woman. You must know that."
"No," Molly said, "I don't." She'd prayed, hoped, dreamed that he loved her, but she didn't know. "We haven't talked about it."
"Are you stupid then or being difficult?"
"Neither one," Molly said, growing annoyed. "As I said, we haven't discussed it, and, quite frankly, I don't think it's any of your business."
"Oh, it's my business," Miriam said. "I know everything there is to know about that boy."
"There might be a few things you don't know," Molly said, her tone sharper than she'd intended.
"I know that I'll move heaven and earth before I die to make sure you don't hurt him."
"Hurt him?" Molly stared at the woman in _utter disbelief. "How could you think I'd ever hurt him?"
"Because it's clear to me you don't understand the kind of man you've found, and I'm not about to let you step in and break his heart."
What an odd thing to say. Molly didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. "And what kind of man have I found?"
"You're a smart one," Miriam said. "You asked the one question I'd love to answer."
Miriam told Molly about how she met Rafe during a Nor'easter a few years ago. He was living in his pickup truck. Everything he owned fit easily in the backseat. He'd spent the five years before that moving from place to place, moving before he found himself caring too much about anything or. anyone. He wanted to be anonymous, invisible. He'd done things he wasn't proud of, Miriam said, things that had changed him forever, made him tougher in some ways, more vulnerable in others. "It's not for me to tell you about them," Miriam said simply. "It's up to you to learn."
Miriam was still driving back then. She was on her way home from a reception at McCarter Theater in Princeton when the Nor'easter blew in. Wind whipped the rain horizontally against the car windows, making it impossible for her to see the tree that was clown across her side of the road. She slid into it, spun across the road, and came to rest in a ditch at the side. She was shaken but unhurt. She was also quite obviously stuck. Nobody stopped for her. The few cars that went by ignored her. She was shaking from the cold, a little disoriented, growing more frightened by the minute. A battered red pickup truck angled in beside her. Her heart hammered against the fragile bones of her rib cage as a dangerous-looking dark-haired young man climbed out and made his way toward her. If he'd wanted to beat or rob her, she couldn't have defended herself. How many stories about such things had she seen on Eyewitness News over the years—thousands, maybe? She whispered a prayer as he tapped on her window.
Two hours later, she whispered a prayer of thanks that the man who found her in distress was Rafe Garrick.
The two struck up an unlikely alliance. She offered him a place to stay.. He refused. She said it would be a business arrangement, not charity, that she needed someone to do repairs at the carriage house. They both knew that there was more to it than that. Somehow they had formed a deep and lasting friendship. Rafe moved into the neglected carriage house and brought it back to life. When Miriam offered to sell it to him, he accepted. To his surprise he'd put down roots right there, along the banks of the Delaware River.
"That's enough, Miriam."
Both women turned to see Rafe looming in the doorway like a thundercloud. Miriam didn't so much as blink when she met Rafe's angry look.
"That's not half enough;" she said. "I want to make sure that--"
"I can handle my own life," he, said, cutting her off.
He and Miriam continued to stare each other down while Molly watched in fascination. Ina way she was glad Rafe showed up when he did. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear whatever else it was Miriam had to say.
"I'm glad you're both here," Miriam said finally in a neat change of conversation. "I want to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner with me on Thursday."
Rafe and Molly locked eyes.
"I can't believe I forgot that Thursday is Thanksgiving," Molly said.
"I can't believe it's November," Rafe said.
Miriam laughed. "Then it's settled. Ginny is cooking. I invited Dr. Van Lieuw and his sister Agnes." She turned to Molly. "If you'd like to invite that little doctor who lives with you, feel free. I'm sure they'd have a lot in common."
Molly glanced over at Rafe. He was obviously quite the talker around Miriam. She felt almost jealous. "I'll do that," she said. "Thank you."
She no sooner got the words out than Miriam's eyes closed and her head fell to her left shoulder. Thank God she was still breathing. The sense of otherworldliness about the woman was almost palpable, and suddenly Molly knew the end was coming sooner than Rafe was ready to accept.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jinx was waiting for them at the door to the carriage house. Rafe reached down and scratched her behind her right ear.
"I used to be able to bend down like that," Molly said ruefully. "Back when I had a waist."
"I like you this way," Rafe said, pressing a kiss to her belly. "Fertile."
"Fat."
"Voluptuous."
``Bovine."
He grinned. "Bovine?"
"I look like a candidate for Baywatch reruns."
"I've never watched it."
"Don't," she said. "Not if you're lactose intolerant."
They set about fixing tea and coffee and toast. Rafe put down some scrambled eggs for Jinx, who vacuumed them up in an instant.
"Thanksgiving with Miriam," Molly said as they settled down at the picnic table. "Should be interesting."
He grunted something.
"She didn't divulge any of your secrets," Molly said, "if that's what you're wondering." She waited for him to make the expected comeback I don't have any secrets. He didn't He drank his coffee and spread blackberry jam on his toast and didn't say a word, which made her wonder all the more about what secrets he did have.
"Actually I'm lying," Molly went on. "She told me that you're a CIA operative on hiatus in western New Jersey while they build you a new identity."
"Close," he said, tossing Jinx a corner of toast. "I'm not on hiatus, though."
"So what are you?" She hadn't meant to ask that, but now that the question was out there she was glad.
"What am I?" He looked puzzled, a bit uneasy.
"Yes," she said, warming to the topic. "What are you?" She gestured widely to encompass the entire carriage house. "I've seen the work you do." The cradle that was almost finished, every piece of furniture in the bedroom. "I can't believe you're satisfied building fences and remodeling bathrooms."
"What if I am satisfied building fences and remodeling bathrooms? Would it make a difference to. you?"
She didn't even have to think about it. "No," she said, "absolutely not."
He pushed away his coffee mug and met her eyes. "It made a difference to my wife."
She pushed away her teacup. "It made a difference to my husband, too," she said. "I'm not a doctor or lawyer or CPA. All I ever wanted was to raise a family. He didn't find that very exciting."
"You can't aim higher than that."
"Robert thought I could."
"He was a fool."
"That's how I feel about your ex-wife."
He gave Jinx another corner of toast. "I wasn't out giving an estimate today, Molly."
"No?" Her stomach knotted. Please, she thought. Please don't do this to me . . . They'd moved too far, too fast, too everything, and he wanted to put some space between them. She read the women's magazines. She watched the talk shows. She knew what was coming.
"I had an appointment with the owner of a furn
iture shop in Buck's County."
She sat up straighter. "And?"
"They commissioned six pieces: three chairs like the one in the bedroom and three side tables."
She leaped from her seat as quickly as a very pregnant woman could leap and threw her arms around him. He looked shy and proud and embarrassed all at once, and the emotions inside her heart were so sweet she almost cried. Her excitement Seemed to unlock something in Rafe, and he began talking about his craft, about the smell of wood and the feel of it beneath his fingers, about the shapes and visions he saw in oak and pine and walnut and mahogany.
He hired himself out on building crews, did odd jobs, repaired fences and remodeled kitchens as a way to pay bills and buy materials for the work that really mattered, and now it was beginning to pay off.
She poured him a fresh cup of coffee and refilled her teacup from the stoneware pot on the counter. The words spilled from. Rafe like water tumbling over rocks. She wanted to drink them up and make them part of her.
They were so much alike. They held the most important things deep inside. She knew what it meant for him to share these things with her. It was as close to a declaration of love as they had ever come.
He loves you, Miriam had said. Maybe she was right.
Maybe she'd finally come home.
#
The pains started after lunch. At first Jessy thought they were payback for that mayo-heavy tuna salad on rye, but she quickly realized it was something more serious.
She called Spencer at his office. "Something's wrong," she said, bypassing the amenities. "Please meet me at the emergency room."
He arrived as they were wheeling her in for a sonogram.
"I'm bleeding," she told him as he reached for her hand.
"Jesus," he murmured. "The baby—?"
"Still with us," she said. "Heartbeat is still within normal range. We'll know more after they take the pictures.''
"They're ready, Dr. Wyatt," the orderly interrupted. "We really shouldn't delay this any longer than necessary."
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