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This was a completely foreign notion for Molly; her family had never once invited strangers to stay at their home, and she didn't know anyone back home who might be hospitable enough to take in a young woman just for the heck of it.
"Are you sure?" Molly asked him, still unconvinced that this was a real possibility. She'd spent enough time in Europe by this point to know that they were far more open and sociable than Americans in many ways, given as they were to inviting friends of friends over for long, loud dinners that ran late into the night, or offering rides to anyone going the same direction that they were, but to impose upon the daughter of a man she'd met on a train? She just wasn't sure about that.
"Absolutely," he said, looking surprised at her disbelief. "Lina is very kind. She will look after you."
"But...we don't even know each other's names."
The man held out a hand to shake hers. "Martin," he said. "Martin Albrecht."
"Molly Kimble-Kobayashi," she said, using both her maiden and married last names.
"Molly," he said. "Short for...?"
"Mary-Margaret."
"Lovely. Mary-Margaret Kimble-Kobayashi," he said, looking at her for approval as he attempted Rodney's last name.
Molly nodded. "That's me."
Martin took a piece of paper from his bag and wrote his own contact information down along with his daughter's name, address, and phone number in Groningen. "I'll tell her to expect you," he said, folding the paper in half and handing it to Molly.
In Brussels they exited the train. Molly was still on the fence: she could take the ticket to Berlin and find a spot on the train for the rest of the journey. She'd get there and explore what Martin Albrecht had told her was essentially a cold, gray city, checking it off her list and doing her reflecting in an austere and serious place. Or she could purchase a ticket for Amsterdam and carry on in a different direction, taking her chances on the kindness of strangers. She closed her eyes and thought of Rodney, wishing for a sign from him that would point her towards the destination he would have chosen for her.
She still felt somewhat uncertain about Berlin versus Amsterdam as she made her way to the ticket counter, considering both options. In West Berlin, she could visit art museums, drink coffee, and visit the Berlin Wall. She could put her hand against the concrete and think of the many hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of people who'd placed a palm on that same spot, sending their thoughts out into the universe. She could find a spot to leave a handful of Rodney's ashes, just as she'd done in an olive grove as the sun set in Granada, Spain; on Meco Beach near Lisbon in Portugal; in the Gardens of Marqueyssac in France, surrounded by 150,000 boxwood trees and overlooking the Dordogne Valley.
Molly was nearly to the front of the ticket line and had almost re-convinced herself to find her gate and push on to Berlin, ignoring the steely gray image she had of the city that time of year, when a young boy tugged at the leg of her pants. Surprised, she looked down at him. He couldn't have been more than four, and he was looking up at her with wide eyes.
"Oh, no!" a young woman with an Australian accent came rushing up, arms wide to scoop up the boy. "Rodney, no! Please don't bother the nice lady." She smiled at Molly. "I'm so sorry," she said, flipping her long braid over one shoulder and picking little Rodney up. "He's just really friendly!"
Molly blinked at the boy as he sat on his mother's hip. "Rodney?" she asked, smiling at the child.
The mother nodded. "It's his first train trip, and we're going to Amsterdam," she said as she bounced the towheaded boy up and down playfully. "Isn't it, love?"
Molly swallowed hard and felt the strong pull of knowing as it washed through her. If young Rodney was going to Amsterdam, then she would too.
"It was lovely to meet you both," Molly said as they walked back to the waiting area to board their train.
Less than a minute later she was at the front of the line with her passport in hand. She purchased a one-way ticket to Amsterdam and didn't look back.
Ruby
The weekend of authors visiting both Christmas Key and Shipwreck Key has arrived, and Ruby is a bundle of nerves. She and Vance Guy have been working together closely in order to pull the whole thing together, and now that they have, Ruby feels like she's hosting a slew of visiting dignitaries.
"Mom, you've had Oscar winning actresses, prime ministers of foreign countries, kings, queens, and Olympic champions over for dinner. These are just a bunch of people who wrote books," Harlow says, snapping her gum as Ruby FaceTimes with both of her daughters and her mother in a four-way call. Patty had gone home the day after the cocktail party at Ruby's house, and Ruby has been leaning heavily on all three of them as she weighs her options for the events that she'll host while everyone is on Shipwreck Key.
"I know, sweetheart," Ruby says with a sigh. She's sitting on the edge of her bed, exhausted because she hasn't been sleeping well. "I just want it all to go perfectly. I've gotten used to my quiet little life here on the island, but when people come to visit or when I do things that I know are going to somehow be 'seen' by people, I still feel like my every move needs to hold up under intense scrutiny."
Athena smiles at her mom patiently, her face looking out from Ruby's phone screen. "I don't think anyone is going to intensely scrutinize your book weekend, Rubes," Athena teases, using her mom's nickname rather than just calling herMom.
"Regardless," Patty interjects. "Once a First Lady, always a First Lady. People will be disappointed if they show up and your mom is standing around in cut-offs drinking a beer and scratching her behind."
Harlow scoffs at this. "Mom doesn't scratch her butt in public, and she doesn't really like beer. But she might wear cut-offs and drink a glass of wine."
Ruby ignores their banter as she tugs at her earlobe, looking away from her phone. "I'm honestly more concerned with the fact that Dexter and I haven't seen each other since my birthday."
"Ooooh," Harlow says, clapping her hands together. "Okay! Now we're getting somewhere."
"Did you get your roots done?" Athena asks.
