AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I see you still read the financial section first thing every morning.”
“I’m retired, not dead,” he said with a chuckle. “Semiretired. I got too bored sitting at home, counting my money.”
“So you’re working again.”
“Don’t fuss,” he said, his eyes not leaving the paper. “I go into the bank a couple of days a week. The staff there were kind enough to let me keep my office, so I go down and putter around and they pretend I’m important.”
Molly smiled, pulled out a chair and sat down. Her father had always been big on formality. Lunch and dinner were served in the dining room on Wedgwood china and Waterford crystal. Breakfast, however, was eaten in the kitchen at the round oak table that sat in a comfortable nook where the sunlight spilled in.
Molly reached for a blueberry muffin and the pitcher of orange juice. “Dad, did Jordan sell the house?”
Her father lowered the paper, folded it in fourths and set it beside his plate. “Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“I was curious, that’s all.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I take it the two of you didn’t get much chance to talk.”
Buttering a piece of her muffin, Molly shook her head. “Not really.” Her words were followed by a short silence.
“I see.” Molly looked at her father. He sounded downright gleeful, as if this small fact was cause for celebration.
“What’s the grin about?” she asked.
“What grin?” His eyes went instantly sober, then rounded with innocence.
“Don’t tease, Dad. Does Jordan have something to tell me?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said, but the edges of his mouth quivered ever so slightly.
Molly stood and set her napkin on the table, frowning. “Something’s going on here.”
“Oh?”
She’d forgotten what a manipulator her father could be. She walked over to the patio doors, crossing her arms, while she thought about his comments.
“Can I have the car keys?” she asked, whirling back around, her decision made.
Her father held them in the palm of his hand, grinning broadly. “I won’t expect you home for lunch,” he said and reached for his paper again.
It was ridiculous to show up on Jordan’s doorstep before ten. Especially when he’d so recently arrived home from Africa. Unsure how to proceed, Molly drove to their favorite French bakery for croissants. To her surprise and delight, the baker, Pierre, recognized her.He called to her and hurried around the glass counter to shake her hand.
“I gave up hope of ever seeing you again,” he said in a heavy French accent. He got her a cup of coffee and led her to one of the small tables in the corner. “Please sit down.”
Molly did, wondering at this unusual greeting. He set the coffee down and his assistant brought a plate of delicate sweet rolls. The aroma was enticing enough to make her gain weight without taking a bite.
“Our daughter’s baby died the same way as your son,” he said, and his eyes revealed his sadness. “Amanda put her little girl to sleep and Christianne never woke. It’s been four months now and still my daughter and her husband grieve, still they ask questions no one can answer.”
“The questions never stop,” Molly said softly.Nor does the grief, but she didn’t say that. It grew less sharp with time. The passing years dulled the agony, but it never left, never completely vanished. The pain was there, a constant reminder of the baby who would never grow up.
“Our daughter and son-in-law blame themselves.… They think they did something to cause Christianne’s death.”
“They didn’t.” Molly was giving the textbook response, but the medical community had no cut-and-dried answers. Physicians and researchers offered a number of theories, but nothing was proven. There was no one to blame, no one to hold responsible, no one to yell at, or take out their grief on.
With nowhere else to go, the pain, anger and griefturned inward; it had with Molly. Over the months, the burden of it had maimed her. By the time she separated from Jordan, she was an emotional wreck.
“They need to talk to someone who has lost a child the same way,” Pierre said, “before this unfortunate death destroys them both.” He stood and took a business card from the display in front of the cash register. Turning it over, he wrote a phone number on the back.
Molly accepted the card, but she wasn’t sure she could make the call. There were others this young couple could speak to, others far more qualified to answer their questions.
