No Regrets (24 page)

“Lena didn't abandon her,” Alex pointed out.

“I'd never do that,” Reece said at the same time.

The psychiatrist took Alex's objection first. “She's too young to distinguish the difference between death and abandonment. One day her mother was there. The next day she was gone. That's frightening for a little girl. Especially one who'd bonded as closely with her mother as Grace had with Lena.”

As he turned toward Reece, Molly tried to ignore the faint prick of painful envy his words caused. What kind of person was she that she could feel jealous of her dead sister?

“And, no offense intended, Reece, but you've already given indications of deserting her by your self-imposed isolation. So, to protect herself, she's become like Antigone.”

“Don't you think that's reaching a bit far?” Theo asked.

“Not really. Don't forget, after Oedipus realized he'd killed his father and married his mother, he stabbed himself in the eyes, then set off on a self-imposed exile—not unlike your retreat into the library, Reece.

“Antigone dutifully became his guide as they wandered the countryside. She was devoted, compliant, she never uttered a single word of complaint about her motherless state—remember, her mother killed herself after discovering her husband was really her son. The poor kid didn't stand a chance. She became the archetypal daughter of a helpless father.”

“Just like Grace.” Reece accepted the unflattering analysis with a heavy heart. “I'm going to make that up to her.”

“I have no doubt you will.” He smiled around the table. “Grace is fortunate to have so many loving adults in her life. Give her time, don't hover too much, but be there when she needs to talk about her mother. Which,” he stressed, “she will. When she's ready.”

Having always respected Alan Bernstein, Molly was not surprised when he was proven right. As Reece began to emerge from his emotional cave, Grace, in turn, began to relax her vigil. The first time she walked past a newspaper left on the coffee table without hurrying to pick it up and put it in the recycling bin like a good little housewife, Molly felt like singing hosannas.

 

Two weeks after Molly had arrived at the house, she was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in the Navajo book with Grace when the little girl suddenly put her
crayon down and looked up at Molly, her young face sober.

“I wanted to go to the store with Mommy that day,” she revealed.

“Oh?” Even as her nerves tangled with fear that she wouldn't handle this long-overdue conversation correctly, Molly managed a casual, but interested expression.

“There was a carnival at the grocery store parking lot. I wanted to ride the merry-go-round again. But Mommy said we didn't have time to play because of Daddy's party, and she left me with Aunt Theo instead.”

Molly waited.

“I was really mad.”

“I can understand that. Riding a merry-go-round is a special thing.”

“There's this white horse with a black mane. He's the best. I named him Snowflake. The carnival was leaving the next day. I wanted to ride him one more time. But Mommy said they'd be back next year and I could ride him then.”

“A year seems like a very long time.”

“It is a long time.” Grace looked down at the picture of a Navajo boy riding a pony she'd colored white with a black mane. “I told her I hated her.”

Pansy blue eyes shimmering with moisture and worry lifted to Molly's. “Do you think Mommy knows I didn't mean it?” she asked in a frail, trembling little voice that made Molly feel as if her heart was shattering into a thousand little pieces.

“Of course she knows.” She reached out and ran her hands down the wavy ebony curls and across the thin,
slumped shoulders. “And she understands.” Molly forced a smile. “You're not the only little girl that ever said hurtful things to her mother. Lena and I used to talk back to our mama, too.”

They'd always gotten smacked and had their mouths washed out with soap for sassing, but Molly kept that unattractive little detail to herself.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I pray to my mommy every night,” Grace admitted. “Because Alex told me that she's my guardian angel.”

“Your uncle Alex is pretty smart.”

“I know.” A breath escaped soft pink lips that she'd been worrying with her teeth. “But I still wish I'd told her in person.”

“Perhaps you can write her a note,” Molly suggested.

“How can we get a note to heaven?”

Molly smiled. “I have an idea about that….”

Three hours later, they were standing on the beach below the cliff house. Hovering above them in a sky so blue and clear, it was almost blinding, was a huge red, yellow and purple kite. The colors, Grace had explained gravely as she'd carefully chosen the bright kite at the toy store, were the same as the tulips she'd planted with her mother.

“Okay,” Molly said, “let's have the letter.”

Grace reached into the pocket of her bright red jeans and pulled out the folded note that she'd labored over with Molly's help.

Molly tore a slit in the letter, then folded it around the kite string. “Here it goes.”

As soon as she let go of the letter, it skimmed up the
string in a flash, as if carried aloft on angel wings. Molly and Grace watched and when it had reached the kite, Molly let go of the string and the kite sailed out over the water, higher and higher, like a brightly feathered seabird until it became a tiny spot that disappeared somewhere beyond the horizon.

“I think she got it,” Molly said.

“I know she did.” Grace put her hand against the front of her Aladdin T-shirt. “I can feel it in here.”

Looking down into her daughter's rapt face, Molly experienced a surge of love so strong, it made her breath catch in her throat. As they walked hand in hand back up the stone steps leading to the house, she felt a weight lifting from her heart, soaring off into the cobalt blue sky, along with the tulip-colored kite.

 

Reece had refused to visit Lena's grave. He hadn't been able to bear to think of his sweet, beautiful wife lying in the ground. Especially when she'd been so afraid of the dark. The first night they'd spent together, she'd insisted on keeping a night-light on. That habit had continued all during their marriage.

Although they'd admittedly had their problems in the beginning, as she'd come to trust that he wasn't going to leave her—like all those other ill-suited men, and her own father had done—she'd changed. Indeed, during the years with Grace, the laughing woman he'd been clever enough to convince to marry him had reminded Reece of a butterfly, bright and seemingly lighter than air. Which was why, he considered as he walked through the heavy, wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, she didn't belong here
surrounded by all these ubiquitous angels and lugubrious inscriptions.

He found the simple marble marker on which her name, the too-brief span of her life, and a single line—beloved wife, mother and sister—were carved.

Mindless of the wet grass, he knelt down on one knee and, reaching out, delicately ran his index finger around those insignificant words as a blind man might trace the facial features of his beloved.

He'd thought perhaps that by coming here today he'd achieve some comfort. But although he felt pleased that he'd overcome his dread of finally seeing the stone that Theo and Alex had insisted on ordering, the weight of grief remained heavy on his heart.

Not wanting to return home when he was in such a bleak mood, Reece drove along the Pacific Coast Highway. Although the day had dawned bright and clear, a sudden storm had blown in from the sea, bringing with it heavy rains that sheeted the windshield and hissed beneath the tires of his car.

He pulled over at Malibu's Surfrider's Beach, parked and sat in the car, watching the reckless surfers who'd rushed to the beach at the first sign of the storm.

During his days in the ER, he'd treated numerous surfers and had never understood why they would risk life and limb to ride the high-breaking tides into the rocky beach. But now he realized that there was something to be said for laughing in the face of Death.

Mindless of the wind and rain, he got out of the car and stormed along the cliff side, shaking his face in the face of that black-hearted dark angel. And at God. He cursed a Maker who could allow such a wonderful
woman to die. He cursed himself for not knowing how to live without her. He swore and he shouted and he cried. Hot furious tears mingled with the icy autumn rain and ran down his cheeks; he didn't care. His clothes became drenched; he didn't notice.

Reece had no idea how long he was out on the cliffs. He was unaware of more than one curious look from a surfer who'd wisely given up when the tide crashed higher and harder as the day came to an end. A hazy red ball of sun, barely visible through the driving rain, dipped into the whitecapped water.

As the water appeared to flame, Reece lifted his arms to the darkening sky and turned his face upward so that the driving rain felt like needles against his skin.

“Lena!” he cried with a great primal howl of aloneness.

The single word, rife with grief and anger and regret, seemed to hover in the sky, like a seagull struggling to fly against the wind. And then it drifted away. And the water turned to a dark steel as the sun sank beneath the surface.

He stood there, a solitary figure on the edge of the western coastline, dragging huge drafts of rain-cleansed air into his lungs. The long-overdue release was cathartic, almost orgasmic.

And as he returned to the car, thinking that perhaps he'd take Molly and Grace out for a pizza tonight, for the first time since Lena's death, Reece found himself looking forward instead of back.

U
nder the circumstances, Sister Benvenuto released Molly from her verbal agreement to return to the Mother House and help with the postulants.

“I still wish you'd change your mind, Molly,” she said as she signed the required papers to release Molly from her vows. “But after much prayer, I've come to the reluctant conclusion that God has a different plan for your life.”

“I only wish I knew what it was,” Molly murmured. Although she wasn't second-guessing her decision to leave the order, the realization that she was leaving made her more than a little sad.

“It will undoubtedly be revealed in its own time.” Sister Benvenuto signed the last form with a determined flourish, then rose from behind the desk and gathered the former Sister of Mercy into her arms. “Guard your
heart well, dear,” she said. “And have a happy life, whatever you choose.”

Afraid she was going to embarrass them both by breaking into tears, Molly managed a wobbly smile, assured the nun that she certainly would stay in touch, then walked out the door of the Mother House, feeling strangely let down and excited all at the same time.

The idea that for the first time in her life, she was completely free to choose whatever path she wanted was more than a little daunting. Fortunately, there were several immediate matters that needed taking care of. Such as finding a job. And flying to Flagstaff to have a long-overdue talk with Joe.

He was waiting at the arrival gate when her flight landed. Molly felt the familiar warmth of genuine friendship and wished it could be something deeper. Falling in love with Joe Salvatore would be so uncomplicated. She almost envied the woman who would be granted that pleasure.

His arms, as they wrapped around her, were strong and sure and comforting. But despite her unbidden response to that illicit kiss they'd shared, his embrace did not touch a single sensual chord inside her.

He took hold of her shoulders and put her a little away from him in order to look down into her face. “So. You've done it. You've left the order.”

“Does it show?”

She was only joking, but to her surprise, he seemed to be considering that. After another longer, more probing look, he nodded his dark head. “I think it does. There's a spark of freedom in your eyes that wasn't there before. You have the look, Molly, me love,” he said
on an awful brogue that made her laugh, “of a woman who's looking life full in the face.”

“And discovering that it's a little frightening,” she admitted with a light, musical laugh that drew the appreciative attention of a male passenger checking in at the counter.

Joe laughed, as well, then hugged her again. “You'll do fine. Better than fine. You're going to soar, sweetheart. I only wish I was going to be around to watch.”

“Joe—”

“Later.” He took her carry-on bag from her hand. “I've booked you into the hotel. We'll have dinner and you can fill me in on the latest chapter in the saga of Molly McBride.”

The hotel was situated in a stand of Ponderosa pine forest on the outskirts of town at the foot of the San Francisco mountains. Although the setting was wonderfully serene and scenic, Molly's nerves were tied up in knots.

“Was it difficult?” he asked, studying her over the rim of the champagne flute. Although she was nervous about drinking wine with this man again after what had happened the last time, she couldn't refuse his insistence on toasting what he kept calling her freedom.

“Not as difficult as I thought it would be,” she admitted. “I've spent so many years agonizing over the validity of my vocation, when I finally decided to leave, it seemed absolutely, positively right.”

“Funny how things work out, isn't it?” he mused. “If the good Dr. Longworth hadn't gone into a tailspin after his wife's death, forcing you to return and take care of your daughter, you might have continued vacillating about your true feelings for years.”

There was something in his tone. A tinge of acid sarcasm that reminded her uncomfortably of the day Reece had accused her of having an affair with Joe.

“Of course I care about Grace's well-being. But I also understand she's Reece's daughter,” Molly insisted quietly.

“So you're never going to tell her the truth?”

“No. Of course not. Lena was her mother in every way that counted. And I'd never—ever—want any child to bear the burden of knowing she was the product of a brutal act like rape.”

“Good point.” He refilled his glass for the second time. When he went to pour more of the sparkling gold wine into Molly's glass, she covered it with her palm.

As he drank the wine, Joe looked out the tall windows at the darkening forest beyond. Dusk was settling over the mountains, casting everything in an ethereal, silvery pale light. Molly drew in a quick breath as she watched a herd of deer approach the man-made pond behind the hotel. Their ears were up like radar detectors, every lithe muscle in the slender brown bodies tensed, prepared to run from potential danger. As the silence between Molly and Joe lingered, stretching her already-taut nerves to near the breaking point, Molly decided she knew exactly how those skittish deer felt.

“You love him, don't you?” Joe's deep voice shattered the oppressive silence.

She knew better than to ask who he was talking about. “Of course I do. Reece was my best friend even before he and Lena met. I valued his friendship then, and I still do. Especially after all he's done for me. And Lena. And, especially Grace.”

“It's more than that. You love him more than a former nun loves a mere friend. Or her brother-in-law. Or even the adoptive father of her child.”

“That's not true.”

“Of course it is.” His dark eyes held both regret and pity. “You may not realize it yet, Molly. But you will.”

Much, much later, after they'd said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch—something they both knew would probably not happen, given the impossibility of their relationship—Molly lay alone in the too-wide hotel bed, listening to the wail of a freight train echoing in the midnight hour. Even that lonely whistle couldn't drown out Joe's ominous prediction that continued to toll deep in her fretful mind.