Molly (6 page)

“There’s something you should know about
me,
Samuel. I believe rules were made to be broken.”

His eyes darkened. “I loved a person like
that once.”

His voice was so filled with passion and pain
that Molly spoke in a whisper. “Who?”

“My father.”

The room because hushed and still. Molly
stared at the raw pain in Samuel’s face and felt a great remorse.
She’d always lived for the moment, lived for fun and excitement and
joy. But never had she inflicted hurt. She had a marshmallow heart
that caused her to cry over every unfortunate creature—stray cats
without homes, fallen birds with broken wings, abused dogs with
cruel masters.

Impulsively she reached toward his face.

Samuel turned abruptly and walked away from
her. Sitting down in the wing chair beside the piano, he smiled.
“It seems that we are left with time on our hands. Sing for
me.”

Molly looked at that sad, brittle smile, and
wanted to cry. Samuel would have hated it.

Assuming a nonchalant manner, she walked over
to the piano. “I can’t play as well as Daddy, but here goes.”

The sound of music filled the room, and then
she began to sing
Someone to Watch Over Me
.

o0o

Sitting in the middle of her bed with her
skirt spread around her and her cheeks still flushed from her
encounter with Sam, Molly powered up her laptop.

From: Molly

To: Bea, Janet, Joanna, Belinda, Clemmie,
Catherine

Re: Dinner with Glory Ethel

Oh, Bea, she’s every bit as wonderful as I
remembered! I’ve never seen Daddy so happy! And, Clemmie, the
squash casserole was a huge hit!

Bea, I’m a little worried about your brother,
though. Sam seems to
hate
the idea of being part of the
family, and I know your mother depends on his advice. You don’t
think he’ll do anything to sabotage Daddy’s happiness, do you?

BTW, he called me a TEENAGER!

Molly

From: Bea

To: Molly, Catherine, Belinda, Janet, Joanna,
Celementine

Re: Mother

Mother may
look
like she’s hanging
onto Sam’s every word, but she will do
exactly as she
pleases!
You don’t have a thing to worry about, Molly. She’ll
be walking down the aisle like a Southern belle, if I can ever get
a weekend off to go shopping for the perfect wedding dress with
Cat.

Don’t let Sam rattle you. He’s a control
freak. But underneath all that posturing, he’s
really
a
nice guy. In the end, he’ll want Mother to be happy. Just don’t
let him get the upper hand!
Call him an old fart!! That’ll
get his attention!

Bea

From: Clemmie

To: Molly, Bea, Janet, Joanna, Catherine,
Belinda

Re: Weddings

I just adore weddings. Yesterday Miss
Josephine got this old faded satin dress out of moth balls because
she thought Junior was back for the wedding. It was sad, but sweet
at the same time.

I’m so glad you enjoyed the squash casserole.
I’m freezing some lovely chicken gumbo. The next time I come to
Tupelo, I’ll bring you a batch.

Clemmie

From: Janet

To: Molly, Bea, Belinda, Joanna, Clemmie,
Catherine

Re: Sam Adams

Don’t worry about him, Molly. He shares the
same genes as Bea. There’s no way he can be anything except good
looking and intelligent. A really smart man will typically always
behave himself.

Janet

From: Belinda

To: Molly, Bea, Joanna, Clemmie, Catherine,
Janet

Re: Reeve

My husband has companies all over the world,
and he’s done business with Bea’s brother. I know, because I
recognized the name when he said
Samuel Adams.
Anyhow,
what I’m rambling on to say is that Reeve thinks Sam is brilliant
and just about the bees knees. Of course, the bees knees was my
part of the equation, but that’s okay. I’m a pretty doggoned good
judge of character. Look at me, married to most wonderful man in
the world! Of course, I know Janet will give me some argument!

Peanut peed on the Persian rug. The children
thought it was funny and Quincy thought the world was coming to an
end.

Belinda

From: Catherine

To: Molly, Bea, Joanna, Clemmie, Belinda,
Janet

Re: Sam Adams

I don’t care if he is Bea’s brother. Take
charge!!! OMG, Molly, of all of us, you’re the one who knows how to
do this best. Use what Nature gave you, girlfriend!!! Get that man
so rattled, he won’t know whether he runs a bank or a red light
district! Just don’t use Nature’s credit card. Rule Four worked for
Janet and Belinda, and it’s gonna work for us!!! Virgin
Power!!!!

Cat

From: Joanna

To: Molly, Bea, Catherine, Janet, Belinda,
Clemmie

Re: Sexy

I saw an article about Sam Adams in
Time
Magazine.
I think it was on America’s Top 100 Most Influential
People. He’s HOT!!! Like a male version of Bea, only taller and
with LOTS OF MUSCLES!!! For him, I would ABANDON rule four!!!!

Joanna

From: Molly

To: Bea, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Belinda,
Clemmie

Re: Rule Four

Ya’ll always make me feel better!!! Clemmie,
gumbo sounds great. Give little Miss Josephine a hug for me. Bea, I
did
call him old, and he got pissed. Janet, you and
Belinda are right about genetics! Sam is as handsome as Bea is
beautiful – and probably just as smart. Cat, Joanna, I’m NOT going
to abandon Rule Four. Particularly not with Bea’s brother!!! What
if I got mixed up with him then ended up ditching him? Bea would
never speak to me again!

Molly

From: Bea

To: Molly, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Belinda,
Clemmie

Re: My Brother

I
would, too,
Molly! Don’t you
know?
Female friends supersede
everything!!!!

Bea

It was well after midnight when they left the
Rakestraws. Glory Ethel leaned her head against the seat to relive
her walk with Jed and their cozy visit in his comfortable den. They
had so much in common, she could hardly believe her good
fortune.

When they got to the hotel, Samuel escorted
her to her room on the third floor. Humming and smiling, she went
inside and tossed her purse on the bed. This marriage was going to
be the best thing that had ever happened to her family.

Samuel watched until his mother was safely
inside, then went to his room, which was just down the hall and
close enough so he could keep an eye on her. This marriage was
going to be the worst thing that had ever happened in his
family.

Still, he undressed methodically, as he
always did. First he loosened his tie then sat in a chair and
removed his shoes and socks. Next he removed his jacket, his tie,
and his shirt, taking time to hang each item carefully in the
closet. He finished his ritual by taking off his pants and his
shorts.

He climbed into bed and waited for the
soothing coolness of the sheets to work their usual magic. He was
an organized, methodical man with a routine and a schedule for
everything, including falling asleep. It took five minutes usually;
ten if he’d had an especially worrisome day.

Twelve-thirty came, and twelve-forty, and
twelve forty-five. At one o’clock he looked once more at the watch
he’d carefully placed on the bedside table. The luminous dial
mocked him.

“Dammit.” He put the watch back on the table
then pulled the sheet over his head and willed his mind to become a
blank.

Finally he drifted off. But even his dreams
disturbed him. He heard the music, and then he saw her: the shiny
blond hair, the bangles, the gaudy costume. She was singing
Help Me Make It through the Night.
A tall man was walking
toward her, a distinguished man with gray at his temples: Taylor,
his father. The floozy lowered the mike and he saw her face
clearly. It was Betsy, the homebreaker. The man took her in his
arms and started kissing her. Betsy wrapped her arms around him,
dragging him to the floor.

Suddenly, the woman was no longer Betsy, but
Molly. Sam began to run his hands over her, but the skin that
should have been warm was cold and hard. Molly was a statue, a
perfect body captured forever in bronze for the whole world to
see.

She wasn’t his at all. She belonged to every
man.

Samuel awakened, sweating. He kicked the
covers aside and sat up in bed, one hand groping for his watch.
Nine o’clock. He’d never slept that late in his life.

He ran his hand through his hair and started
toward the shower when he saw the note under his door.

Sammy,
it read.
Jed is showing
me the city. Don’t expect me back until late. Mother.

“Damn.”

He wadded the note into a ball and threw it
into the garbage can. It bounced off the rim and rolled onto the
floor. He said another word, and bent over to pick it up.

His knees popped. He was getting old. He
felt
old.

He climbed into the shower and told himself
he’d take the day to do business. He had a briefcase full of
reports that demanded his attention. No sooner had he soaped his
chest than he realized he wasn’t going to do business at all that
day. He was going to try to visit Molly. He had to put an end to
this foolishness between his mother and Jedidiah before it was too
late.

Too late for what?

He stepped out the shower and dried himself
so vigorously, the towel burned his skin. The only person in danger
here was his mother. He was going to visit Molly strictly to
protect her.

o0o

Molly always had three or four projects going
at the same time. With her daddy gone for the day, she planned to
repot the houseplants, clean the hall closet, update a couple of
her cocktail dresses and search through her mother’s old recipe
books for the chicken casserole she and her daddy loved.

When the doorbell rang she had her hands in a
clay pot full of philodendrons and potting soil.

“Coming.” She left the pot on the kitchen
table with the feathers and beads she was putting on a red satin
dress and the recipe book open to the first page, and made her way
to the front door.

“My goodness.” She put her hand on her cheek
and left a smudge of dirt.

Samuel stood there, overdressed and feeling
like a fool. His tie was wilting in the heat, the suit was hotter
than hell, and he shouldn’t have come.

“I don’t usually drop by uninvited.” For a
moment, he got trapped in the way Molly’s eyes looked in the
sunlight. “I
never
drop by uninvited.” Words failed, and
he blamed it on the way the cute little smudge brought out the blue
of her eyes.

“I
love
unexpected company.” Taking
his hand, she pulled him through the door. “Do come in.”

He barely noticed that she got dirt on his
hand.

She led him through the hall, following a
trail of potting soil to the kitchen.

“I woke up this morning and thought, with
Daddy gone, what a perfect day for projects. Don’t you think
Tuesday is a perfect day for projects?”

“Wednesday.”

“What?”

“Today is Wednesday.”

“My goodness! I thought the morning paper had
put the date down wrong. And calendars are always so confusing. You
can’t even tell what’s going on unless you already know the date,
and why bother to look if you already know?”

In all his life he’d never met anybody who
lived without benefit of a calendar, a schedule. He felt as if he
had been dunked in bowl of marshmallows.

“I’ve never known the date on a newspaper to
be wrong, Molly. You might use it to keep track of the days.”

“If I ever run out of exciting things to do
and have to keep track of the days, I will.”

“How do you keep your appointments?”

“Robin.”

“A secretary? A girlfriend? A bird?” To his
amazement, Samuel was feeling positively frivolous.

“No. A male friend. We share an
apartment.”

Samuel felt a punch in his gut that was
nothing short of pure, primitive jealousy.

“I see.”

Molly saw the sudden stiffness of his back,
the tightness of his face.

Yesterday afternoon she would have taken
issue, would have done battle. But not now, not after what Samuel
had said last night:
I loved a person like that once. My
father.

She put a hand on his arm. “It’s not like
that at all.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“I know. But I don’t want any
misunderstandings... because of Daddy and your mother.” She
released his arm and walked to the cabinet. A quick swipe with the
tea towel removed most of the dirt from her hands, but did nothing
for her face.

Taking down two cups, she poured coffee,
shoved aside the feathers and placed the coffee on the table.

“Robin is a dedicated artist, a good man, a
dear friend, and not at all interested in me.” Molly indicated the
cups. “Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

Samuel sat down at the table beside Molly and
took a fortifying sip of black coffee. It didn’t make him feel a
damned bit better. The man—Robin—was obviously a fool.

He looked at Molly over the rim of his cup.
His fingers itched to wipe away that beguiling smudge of potting
soil on her cheek. Suddenly, he couldn’t even remember what
business he’d come to talk about.

“Do you pose for him?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“It’s strictly professional.”

“I have a hard time seeing how any man can be
impersonal about your body.”

“You’ re not an artist.”

“No. I’m merely a banker.”

The look on Samuel’s face reminded her of
that Mickey, the most rambunctious of the two puppies, after he’d
jumped on the sofa and knocked over a vase of flowers. She’d always
been a soft touch for that look.