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Everyone in the room knows that Cobb and Marigold have had their struggles over the years, and that they were divorced for quite some time before rekindling their romance earlier in the year.
"It would have never gone the other way," Ella says knowingly. "I had a vision you two would be back together."
Cobb winks at her indulgently. "I'm glad we're all on the same page with this," he says, sipping his beer.
"I'm only here because I heard there was a houseful of hens with no rooster," Bev says.
The women shout with laughter, tossing wadded-up napkins in his direction and generally giving him a hard time.
Bev holds up a hand in defense, laughing heartily. "Alright, alright," he says, "I came because Cobb wanted a wingman. He thought Ruby might turn him away at the door."
"I would never!" Ruby says, sitting on the edge of the fireplace with a refreshed glass of wine.
Molly is watching the gaiety with a close-mouthed smile, and for a moment Ruby wonders if it makes her uncomfortable to have Cobb and Bev there. She leans over and taps Molly on the knee. "Are you okay with this?" she whispers.
Molly smiles down at Ruby, who is perched lower than she because Ruby is sitting on the edge of the fireplace. "Oh, I don't mind," she reassures Ruby. "Truly. Bev knows a fair amount about me, and Cobb has lived more life than I have. I'm good to carry on."
Ruby squeezes her knee and then pulls her hand away so that she can stand. "Everyone," Ruby says, "if we've all had a moment to use the powder room, get more to drink, and sample the desserts, then I think we should get back to Molly's tale. Agreed?"
The group, which now feels like a proper crowd, applauds and shouts their approval. Molly repositions herself in the chair and takes a deep breath as she looks around appreciatively. Ruby can sense that she’s pleased and flattered by the growing audience, and that some part of her is getting a sense of joy or closure from the telling of her tale. Truth be told, it’s evident on the faces of every woman in the room that they’ve gotten something from sharing in Molly’s trip around the world.
And they aren’t done yet.
Molly
Leaving Portugal and entering into Spain proved to be more difficult than Molly imagined. There were questions at the border about why a young pregnant woman was traveling alone without her husband (and how had they known she was pregnant? At three months, she wasn’t even showing yet—Molly chalked it up with wonder to that apparent “glow” that some women had, and the fact that, when asked, Helena had eagerly confirmed the pregnancy). Molly tried to explain that they were two friends who’d met in Madagascar and traveled by boat to Portugal, but with every bit of detail she offered, the waters seemed only to get more muddied.
“You are taking a pregnant girl into Spain?” the border guard asked. He inspected their passports with a deep, disapproving frown. “For what business?”
“Not for business,” Molly clarified for what felt like the thousandth time. “For pleasure. For travel.”
The guard’s frown deepened. “You wish to offer her…for pleasure?” he asked, aghast.
“No! No,” Molly said, waving both hands back and forth. “Not like that. We’re traveling together. She’s on her way home to the U.K. The island of Lundy,” she added. For some reason, being grilled under these circumstances gave her the feeling that she needed to keep talking, which she most definitely didnotneed to do.
“I see,” the guard said. But he clearly did not see, as he waved over two more stern-looking men in uniform and began speaking to them in fast, angry Spanish as he slapped their passports against the counter for emphasis.
“This girl will call her parents,” the first guard finally said as he turned back to them. “She will tell them she is in Spain and ask permission to be here with you.”
“What?” Molly nearly laughed at this, it was that ridiculous. “She’s nineteen years old. She can do whatever she wants to do.”
But there was no bargaining on this issue. A phone was found and both Molly and Helena were led into an office as the guard pointed at the phone. “Please call,” he said, standing sentry in the doorway.
Molly sighed and turned to Helena. “I guess you should call them,” she said gravely. She’d hoped to get further into Europe and to give her friend one last taste of freedom and excitement before her life changed permanently with the arrival of a baby.
Helena looked at the phone as if it were a snake that might bite her ear if she picked it up. “Okay,” she said, sounding small. She sat in the chair and dialed a long string of numbers, looking dubious. “Hello?” she finally said, her voice small and childlike. “Mum?”
Molly picked at her cuticles as Helena spoke to her mother, and through the receiver she could hear the yelps of surprise and shock as Helena delivered each bit of news: run off to Madagascar with a professor; treated poorly; left to her own devices; met Molly and stayed with her; traveled by boat to Portugal; and, oh, three months pregnant. Molly swallowed around the lump in her own throat as she listened, realizing as Helena talked that her mother would have been beside herself with worry and fear over her daughter’s vanishing act. How irresponsible it would have been of Molly to keep traveling with the girl.
She reached out and laced her fingers through Helena’s as the phone call wound down, and Helena passed the receiver to the guard, who put it to his ear and spoke to Helena’s mother in his proficient—if not fluent—English.
He hung up and stared at Helena. “You will stay,” he said to her. “And you,” he said to Molly, “will not.” He handed her passport over and looked at her as if to dismiss her immediately.
“But what about Helena?” she asked him.
“Her parents are purchasing a plane ticket,” he said. “She will stay until it’s time to board the flight.”
Helena’s eyes turned into watery saucers and she stood, looking helpless. “Molly…”
