“At least Rocky here is glad to see me.” Her mother bent down and patted Rocky on the head. His tail beat a steady pattern against her leg.
Molly headed for the front door, opened it, and waited for her mother to follow. “I’ll call you after the meeting. Promise.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Molly glanced down at the tote bag, then back at Rocky, who was happily gnawing on his rubber bone. “Uh, I don’t think so.”
“Your keys?” Cynthia pointed at the hall table. “Goodness, Molly, you are forgetful today.” She reached out, put a palm on Molly’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.” Except for this little baby thing. Possibly.
“You look a little peaked.”
“Mom, no one says peaked anymore,” Molly said, dashing over to grab her keys before returning to the door. “And I’m just fine. Really.”
“Jayne,” Cynthia said, turning to the other woman as she entered the foyer. “Don’t you think Molly looks peaked?”
Jayne sent Molly a smile that said she understood meddlesome mothers. “If she’s pale, Mrs. Hunter, I’m sure it’s just because she’s been too busy to get outside and putter around in her garden.”
Molly mouthed a silent thank you Jayne’s way.
A twinge of guilt ran through Molly. She hadn’t told Jayne—or any of her friends who had been with her that weekend in Vegas—about what had happened that night. It had been so out of character, such an insane decision, and Molly just couldn’t seem to find the words to explain her irrational choice. At twenty-eight, she should know better, for Pete’s sake, than to let her hormones do the thinking for her. But that night…
That night she hadn’t done much thinking at all.
She thought of the two pink lines and realized if they were right, she was going to have to find some words pretty soon.
Cynthia gave a dubious shrug. “If you say so.”
Jayne pressed a shiny silver travel mug into Molly’s hands. “Here. This’ll get you through the morning.”
Molly grinned. “Thanks.” She accepted the coffee, not telling Jayne she wasn’t sure she should be having all that caffeine.
“Hey, making coffee is the least I can do for you putting up with me all this time.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Molly smiled. “You’re a great roommate, Jayne. I love having you here.” And she had. Ever since Jayne Cavendish had moved in two months ago, every day had been fun. She hadn’t minded one bit having one of her best friends to fill the empty spaces in the tiny bungalow, and she suspected Jayne, who was still nursing a broken heart, was happy for the company, too.
Molly’s heart went out to Jayne. She understood what it was like to see your dreams for happily-ever-after dashed. It was partly why Molly had thought going to Vegas that weekend with Jayne, Alex and Serena would be just the right medicine to help Jayne forget her fiancé’s betrayal. The four of them had intended to have one crazy, fun, girls-only weekend filled with lots of laughs and incredible memories.
They’d gotten more than they bargained for, that was for sure. Alex had ended up staying in Vegas to run Wyatt McKendrick’s hotel—and ended up falling in love with the handsome hotelier. Serena, who had impetuously married Jonas Benjamin on that wild weekend, had also stayed in Vegas and so far had stayed married, though she hadn’t said much about life with her politician husband. Molly missed her friends desperately, and except for one weekend when Wyatt had brought all the friends together for a quick lunch and shopping visit, they’d had to keep in virtual touch via texts, online chats and phone calls.
Jayne gave Molly a quick hug, wished her luck at her meeting, then told her she was heading inside. “I have to get ready for work. Maybe we’ll get pizza tonight and rent a couple movies.”
“Sounds great.” Except for the pizza part, which had Molly’s stomach rebelling yet again. After Jayne left, Molly opened the front door and gestured for her mother to leave first. But Cynthia held her ground. “Mom, I have to get to that meeting.”
Her mother smiled, the kind of smile that told Molly a conversation was coming she didn’t want to hear. “If you want, I could call Douglas…?”
“You don’t have to call Doug.”
“Molly, really, I think you’re being awfully hard on him. Can’t you two work it out?”
Work out what? She and Doug had been divorced for over two years now, and still her mother thought resurrecting her failed marriage was as simple as picking up the phone and arranging a dinner date. She didn’t seem to understand the arguments that had driven a wedge between Doug and her, the differences in everything from the way they viewed the world to the future they envisioned together.
She’d been so naïve when she’d married Doug. She was swept off her feet by his charm, the way he took care of every little detail, making her busy life suddenly seem easy. At first, it was simple to fall into Doug’s regimented world, to let him make the decisions. Then, too late, she’d realized that he had no intentions of relaxing the rigid rules by which he lived. The man who had seemed so organized and under control she now saw as unyielding and closed off to the full life of children. The life that she wanted.
If she ever got married again—and that if was so big it topped Mt. Everest—she’d give the event weeks, maybe months of careful thought. No rushing in, no thinking with her hormones instead of her brains.
She’d be smart. Not infatuated. Ever again.
“Doug is miserable, you know,” her mother added, then she sighed. “I just want you to be happy, like your father and I were.” Her mother’s eyes misted at the mention of Molly’s late father.
“I am happy, Mom.”
“Being alone?” Cynthia shook her head. “How?”
Molly realized then that her mother’s concern stemmed more from her own difficulties dealing with the loss of her husband eighteen months ago than worry about the demise of Molly’s marriage. “You get involved, Mom. Join that bridge club you’ve been talking about. Go to the book club at the library.”
Cynthia looked away.
“Mom…”
“They’re reading Wuthering Heights this month,” she said softly.
“You love Brontë.”
Cynthia turned back to her daughter. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” she said instead, retreating to the safety of playing mother hen. “If you want, I can stay.”
Molly’s stomach was rebelling, and the mere thought of making the six-mile drive to work had her wishing she could turn right around and head back to bed, but she refused to tell her mother that. “Go to the book club meeting, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll call you later.” She pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek, inhaling her familiar scent. “I promise.”
Then she got in the car, and left, before her mother could finish the sentence she was beginning to sputter. Molly sent Cynthia a wave, then headed down the driveway and off to work.
Only eight-fifteen. At least an hour and a half until her meeting with the administration was over and she could get into Dr. Carter’s office. The day had barely begun and already, she could swear it had lasted a year.
“I know what I want, and that isn’t it.” Lincoln Curtis slid the portfolio across the polished mahogany table to the team of architects sitting