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“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. You’ll be a better mother when you’re fulfilled. What does Jeff say about all this?”
She smiles. “He’s been very encouraging. He really wants me to do it. Says anything to make me be the happy Molly he used to know.”
Tears unexpectedly sprout in my eyes. “That is so sweet.”
“Yeah,” Molly says. “Let’s see how it goes.”
The sound of a car stopping grabs our attention, and we watch as a brand-new gorgeous sky-blue Fiat comes to a stop in front of my house. A strange man in a salesman’s uniform gets out carrying a folder.
“Hi,” he says to the boys and then shifts his gaze to us. “Hello, I have a delivery for Miss Ivy Martin.”
Molly points at me. “She’s Ivy Martin.”
He sidles past the boys and climbs up the steps to the porch, where we are seated. He hands me the car keys with a smile.
“The car is yours. I hope you enjoy driving it.” Then he opens the folder. “I need you to sign here.”
My brain starts functioning then. “I don’t understand. What’s the delivery?”
“The car is the delivery. It’s a gift from Dr. Anderson.”
“What? Is he insane? You can’t just buy a car for someone like its flowers.” I look at my sister helplessly.
She’s giggling.
“I think it’s romantic,” she says. “In any case, didn’t you tell me that your car is in the garage and will be very expensive to fix?”
“Yes, but that is my problem, not Alec’s.” I turn to the man and give him the folder and keys. “I’m sorry, I can’t take this. Take it back to him.”
“Wait,” Molly says quickly. “Don’t be silly, Ivy. You’re carrying this man’s baby. Why shouldn’t he help you out if he can afford it?”
“It feels wrong, Molly,” I hiss even though the man who brought the car can hear everything. “He didn’t ask for this.”
“Then they should have been more careful at the clinic,” Molly says.
“Please sign the papers, ma’am,” the delivery man says. “I really do need to get back to work.”
Molly takes the pen off the man and shoves it into my hand. “Sign before I make you do it.”
I dutifully sign, and the guy grabs the folder and quickly leaves, calling over his shoulder, “It’s a beautiful car, ma’am, enjoy it.”
Molly stands up to look at the car. “Look at it. It’s so beautiful. Get up, sis; you’re taking us for a spin.”
Her excitement is catching, and my resentment starts to fade away.
“How rich are those Andersons that he can just buy a brand-new car on a whim for the woman carrying his child?” Molly says.
“They own a fertility clinic,” I say dryly. “And he’s a surgeon. I’d say they have more money than they’ll ever need.”
“Let’s go test it out.”
I follow Molly to her car, where we move the children’s car seats to the new vehicle. The boys are as excited as their mother to go for a spin in the new car. We fasten them into their car seats.
“Do you want to drive?” I ask Molly.
“Do I?” she screams and takes the key. We enter the car, and Molly turns the ignition key and then lets out a sigh as it roars to life. “Listen to that. It sounds so perfect and so new.”
I have to admit that it’s a beautiful car. I lean back into the seat and inhale the scent of newness. I’ve never driven in a car off a showroom. It still feels wrong to accept such an extravagant gift.
