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Jordan scowled at her. “You might have given me some warning. I don’t knowwhatI’m going to do.”
“Might I suggest—nothing?”
“No,” he growled.
“Here,” she said, handing him the bottle. “Whenyou’ve had time to think this through, give me a call and we can talk about it in a more reasonable fashion.”
* * *
Reasonable fashion!
It was just like Molly to waltz into his home, the night before their divorce was final, and casually announce she was pregnant.
Jordan was furious. He reached for the tumbler, and brought it to his mouth. At least she’d had the foresight to realize he was going to need a drink to help him deal with this.
Pregnant.
A baby.
Jordan’s hand tightened around his drink. How could this have happened? If he wasn’t so shocked, he’d laugh. Weeping, however, seemed far more appropriate.
Molly had had time to adjust to the news. He hadn’t. Frankly, he didn’t know that he ever would. Dealing with the possibility of losing a second child was beyond his endurance.
His hand was shaking, and Jordan realized it had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.
He was frightened. So frightened he shook with it. Give him a band of gun-toting rebels any day of the week. Another gunshot wound was preferable to the risks involved in loving another child.
The grandfather clock in the living room signaled the time, reminding him that in a matter of hours he’d be standing before a judge.
* * *
“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” Amanda Clayton said on Thursday, when Molly joined her onthe wooden bench in Lincoln Park. She was a petite young woman with thick dark hair that curled naturally.
Pierre had given Molly dozens of croissants over the past few weeks in an effort to encourage her to meet his daughter. Molly had finally agreed, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to say anything that would help.
Although the day was cloudy and overcast, Amanda wore sunglasses. Molly wasn’t fooled; the glasses were an effort to disguise her blotchy red eyes.
“How long has it been?” Molly asked gently.
“Christianne died six months ago yesterday. How…how about you?”
“Jeffrey’s been gone almost four years now.”
“Four years,” Amanda echoed, then added softly. “Does it ever get any better? Does the pain ever go away?”
“I don’t know.” Molly had been uncomfortable about this meeting from the first. How could she possibly help someone else when she hadn’t been able to help herself? “I can get through a day without crying now,” Molly told her.
“How…how long did that take?”
“Two years.”
“What about your husband?”
“How do you mean?”
“This seems so much harder for me than it does for Tommy. I can’t even talk about Christi with him because he thinks we should forget. But how am I supposed to forget her?”
“You can’t and you won’t. Your husband’s hurting, too, but men often have a more difficult time expressing their grief. My husband never cried, at least not whenI could see him.” She knew Jordan had grieved in his own way, but never openly and never with her.
