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“Please,” Pierre said, folding his much larger hand around hers and the card. “Only someone who has lost a child can understand their pain.”
“I …don’t know, Pierre.”
His eyes boldly met hers. “God will guide you,” he said. “Do not worry.” He brought her a sack of croissants and wouldn’t allow her to pay for them.
Molly left, not knowing what to do. If she hadn’t been able to help herself or Jordan, how could she reach another grieving couple?
Jordan’s truck was parked outside their home. So he hadn’t sold the house; her father had been right about that. Knowing that this one piece of their marriage was intact lifted her spirits. It was just the incentive she needed to propel her up the front steps.
This was the first time she’d been back, and she couldn’t decide whether she should knock or simply walk inside. She remembered where they’d always kept the spare key…and it was her home, after all, or at leastit had been. No, she’d ring the doorbell, which was the courteous thing to do.
Jordan took an inordinate amount of time to answer. He opened the front door wearing a bathrobe. His hair stood on end and he blinked as if he’d just awakened.
“Before you chew my head off,” she said, remembering what a grouch he was in the morning, “I come bearing gifts.”
“This better be good,” he said, eyeing the white sack.
“Pierre’s croissants,” she informed him.
He grinned, opening the screen door. “That’s good enough.”
The house was exactly as she’d left it. Sort of. The furniture was arranged in the identical pattern. Jordan hadn’t changed the carpet or the drapes. The only difference was that there were blueprints and files stacked on every surface.
“I see you still bring your work home with you,” she commented dryly.
“Listen, if you’re here to lecture me, you can go right back out that door. Just leave the croissants.”
“Never mind,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen. This room wasn’t much of an improvement. Luckily she knew where he kept the coffee. She put on a pot, then got two mugs from the cupboard, black mugs embossed with silver lettering—Larabee Construction.
“Hey,” she teased, “you’re in the big time now. When did you give up the pencils and go for the mugs?”
Jordan frowned at her, and it was obvious that he had no intention of answering her question. Despite herself, Molly found his surly mood entertaining. She waited until the coffee had filtered through, pouredhim a mug and carried it over to the table, where he’d planted himself.
He wolfed down two croissants before she managed to get hers out of the bag. The return of his appetite encouraged her. She was tempted to ask him about his medication, but she resisted, knowing he’d consider that an invasion of privacy.
“Dad asked me if we’d had a chance to talk,” Molly said evenly, carefully broaching the subject.
Jordan stopped eating and his gaze narrowed.
“Was there a particular reason he seemed so curious about us talking?”
He mulled over the question, and Molly didn’t press him. She knew Jordan well enough to realize that when and if he offered an explanation it would be in his time, not hers, and certainly not her father’s.
The doorbell chimed again. Jordan growled, stood and answered it. Paul Phelps, one of his site superintendents, strolled casually inside, then did a double take when he saw Molly. His face lit up in a broad grin.
“Molly! Hey, it’s good to see you.” He walked over and gave her a hug.
Molly had always liked Paul, who was as much of a friend as an employee. “How’s the family?” she asked.
“Brenda had another girl last year,” Paul boasted.
“Congratulations.”
He turned to Jordan. “I saw your truck parked outside and wondered if you’d gotten back,” he said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “What happened to your arm?” he asked, gesturing toward the sling.
“Nothing a little time won’t fix,” Jordan muttered. “If I’m going to have a parade marching through here, Imight as well get dressed.” He didn’t look happy about it, but Molly welcomed the time alone with Paul.
“How’s he been?” she asked as soon as Jordan had left the room.
