Dream a Little Dream (19 page)

B
ob pulled his truck to a stop in front of Sam's. It was nine o'clock in the morning and he'd decided he couldn't take the solitude of his ranch any longer. Molly had only been gone for three days and it seemed like a lifetime. Now, sitting in front of the diner, he wasn't sure why he'd come. It wasn't just anyone's company he sought. It was Molly's and she wasn't here.

And you might as well get used to it.

He yanked on the handle and shoved the door open, not feeling the pain in his ribs because it was overshadowed by the pain in his heart.

Walking through the heavy door and into the ancient diner, his mind in turmoil, he didn't even realize he'd walked into the middle of a private moment until it was too late to disappear. Applegate was standing by the counter with his checkerboard tucked under his arm, while Stanley stood beside him holding their five-pound bag of sunflower seeds locked in the crook of his arm.
Sam stood behind the counter with a scowl on his weathered face as he listened to what Applegate was saying. Bob hadn't been thinking about fireworks when he made the stop, but he couldn't very well back out the door now that he was there.

“—Just because I called you on the fact that you're being ignorant is no call for you to run us outta here,” Applegate said, his frown drooping like a hound dog's.

“That's right. We were just doin' what friends do,” Stanley agreed. “We watch Dr. Phil you know.”

“And Oprah,” snapped Applegate.

“Friends are supposed to tell the truth,” Stanley continued.

Sam didn't look too convinced. Bob wanted to go, but his interest got the better of him and he took a step away from the door. After all, he'd do anything to not think about Molly.

“Bob,” Sam grumbled. “Come on in here. Applegate and Stanley were just about to leave and quit disruptin' my business.”

He looked pointedly at them.

“We weren't goin' anywhere,” Applegate said, and to prove it, he walked over to his table and slapped his checkerboard down, then whirled around and went back to the counter. “This here's an inter-ven-chin.”

“That's exactly what it is,” Stanley said. Following Applegate's lead he walked over and plopped the sunflowers down beside the checkerboard, sending a couple of dozen shooting out of the top and skidding across the floor.

“An
inter-what?
” Sam snapped, snatching up the coffeepot and making Applegate take a step back. Bob
thought that was a smart idea seeing how Sam looked like he might toss it on him.

“An intervention,” Applegate said, thrusting his bony chest out. “You know the thang friends do when their friend ain't usin' the brain God gave 'im and needs his friends to think for him.”

Sam growled. “If the two of you think I'll ever need yer kind to do any thinkin' fer me then you're both crazier than Art Holboney was the day he tried to get Norma Sue to marry him so's she could fix his tractors!”

“Hey, no need to get mean,” Stanley yapped. “Art Holboney was dumber than dirt.”

“Exactly,” Sam snapped back, never losing a beat.

Bob stepped close, his orthopedic boot and his cowboy boot beating an uneven rhythm on the wood floor as he crossed the room in the sudden silence. “Look fellas, I don't know what's going on between the three of you, but this is no way to handle it.” Why had he come to town? Why hadn't he stayed on his ranch? Town was getting wackier by the day. “Would anyone like to let me in on what's come between all of you?” He looked from one to the other, but they'd clammed up.

“You want some coffee?” Sam asked, lifting a cup from its rack and pouring before Bob said yes.

“It's not ours to tell,” Applegate said. With the wind now out of his sails, he sounded deflated. “We're just going to sit over here and play our checker game and show our support.”

Sam glared at Applegate, who lifted his hands in a no-contest palms-out gesture. “That comes straight out of the Good Book, so don't you be giving me that look no more.”

“We'll be right over here if you need to talk,” Stanley said, and followed Applegate to the table by the window.

“By the way,” Applegate said, turning back. “This matchmaking thang has been hard on me and Stanley. And other than showing support fer Sam, we figure we're gonna let the womenfolk take care of things like this from here on out. So Bob, we'll be bringing back yer mailbox this afternoon. We figured to try and get you and Molly some alone time…you know the TV shows talk about the need fer quality time, so's we figure the best way of givin' you and Molly that time—you know, so you both could come to yer senses—was to make sure them other women couldn't find ya. Seein' how some folks was giving out yer address and all. But we're done. If'n you and Sam are gonna both play dumb, then Stanley and me figure we can't do you no good.” That said, he heaved a sigh and sat down at the table, effectively shutting everything out but his game.

Bob was stunned. App and Stan stealing his mailbox?
Matchmaking?
This town was getting weirder by the minute.

“They've lost what few marbles God gave 'em in the first place,” Sam grunted.

Bob put what they'd said to him out of his mind and turned back to Sam. He wasn't clear on what had happened between the three older men, but he had to agree with Sam on that assumption. Sliding onto a stool, he took a sip of his coffee, hoping it would clear his mind.

“Well, son.” Sam cleared his throat and studied the floor before looking at him. “You're the last person I expected to see here.”

“Why's that? I needed a cup of coffee.” He didn't know how he was supposed to handle all of this. Was Sam going to act as if nothing had happened just now? And was Bob supposed to go along with it? Taking another drink of his coffee, he asked the Lord to do the intervention, because he didn't know what was wrong with Sam. He did know that Applegate and Stanley were right. If Sam needed them, then his friends needed to step up to the plate and help him. Was he sick? He didn't look sick. He looked sad. They'd said matchmaking. Were they trying to help Sam out with Adela?

Agitated, Sam snatched up a dishrag and started wiping down the spotless countertop, glancing toward the window where his buddies were happily jumping checkers. If anybody else had walked through that door, they'd never believe what Bob had just witnessed. Everything looked normal.

Like he'd run out of steam, in slow motion Sam stopped wiping the counter, slapped the rag across his shoulder and met Bob's gaze. “I figured ya fer a smart one. I figured you'd be on a plane to New York.” He rubbed his chin.

“What?” Bob took a sip of coffee to hide his surprise as his stomach knotted.

“You heard me. You got yer whole life ahead of ya and an open opportunity, and you're gonna let Molly get away. I don't get it. It's you that needs the intervenin'. Not from them two crazy coots over thar though.” His eyes narrowed. “Look son, I've lived my life behind this counter and I'm tellin ya, looking back, I agree with App and Stanley. I'm a fool, a coward.”

It was Bob's turn to narrow his eyes. “What in the world are you talking about, Sam? You're neither of those things. And if they're your friends, they'd never have said such a thing.” He glared toward the window. Either App and Stanly's hearing aids were down too low for them to hear or they were pretending not to hear, as they were known to do.

“Look, alls I'm sayin' is life ain't that long. And if you've got the chance of having a little bit of God's grace while you're livin' here, then go get it. Don't let that girl get away 'cause of yer pride.”

Bob hung his head. “Sam, it doesn't have anything to do with my pride. Even if I thought Molly loved me, which I don't, going after her isn't the answer. If I thought loving me would be enough then it might be the answer. But this is about Molly. Right now she has a chance at achieving her dream…and it's because I love her that I can't try to stand in the way of that. At the same time, I can't wish that her dreams fall through—that wouldn't be any kind of love. So basically I'm in a hole without a shovel.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “Sadly, I can understand that correlation.” He looked toward the window once more and shook his head, blowing out a huff of pent-up air. “My Adela, she loved Theo Ledbetter more'n anything. Forty years ago, even if I'd had the courage to ask her to marry me before he popped the question, it wouldn't have done me a spec of good. She only had eyes for Theo and everybody knew it. Marrying someone by default ain't exactly the happily ever after a person dreams about.”

Bob had to agree with Sam. He'd never liked being second choice in anything.

 

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh barely audible over the excited chatter of the three children standing with their parents at the front of the crowded lift. Molly stood at the back of the elevator and waited for everyone else to exit. Why had she come? She was not the best at heights and her one true love was not waiting out there on the landing for her. So what in the world had possessed her to stand in line for thirty minutes to make the stomach-tingling ride to the top of the Empire State Building?

She didn't have a clue.

“Ma'am, are you going or staying?”

She smiled at the dignified older man holding the door for her. “I'm staying. Thank you.”

She stepped out onto the tile then moved to the double doors leading onto the deck of the historical building.

The magnificent lighted view took her breath away, but since she really wasn't that fond of heights, she stayed close to the walls and didn't venture over to the fenced outer edge. All around her families were exchanging excited conversations about the view. A mother was holding her little girl's hand, pointing at various illuminated landmarks. A father stood at the corner of the building and took his son into his arms so that he could see through the viewfinder. Their heads were bent close, their dark curls mingling as they took in the sight together.

Molly swallowed a lump in her throat. She was standing at the top of the world and she had never felt so alone in all of her life.

Why had she come?

A woman passed by. She was alone, self-assured and, unlike the picture Molly was certain she was portraying, the woman looked happy and content. She was snapping pictures with her palm-size digital camera, totally engrossed in what she was doing. Alone but connected to what was going on around her.

Molly was an observer. That was what she did. She disconnected and then created her own illusion of the truth of the story she was writing.

So why had she left the interview, climbed into a taxi and come to the Empire State Building? Nostalgia?

Because in your heart of hearts you wish Bob had been here waiting
.

Molly walked to the stone wall and wrapped her fingers around the chain-link fencing that rose from the top of it. The cold steel fencing was a safety precaution. It kept people from harming themselves. It let people observe the incredible view without worry. Kind of the way Molly had viewed life through the viewfinder of her writing. Always the observer, seldom the participant.

 

Bob was standing in front of Sam's Diner when he saw Molly's bright yellow car swing into town. He'd heard she was supposed to make it in on time for Dottie and Brady's wedding. Checking his watch, he saw she had three hours to spare. With the top down, hair waving in the wind, she looked like a woman on top of the world. But she wasn't alone. She had a giant green plant sticking up in the front seat. It was so big there was no way she could have transported it without the top being
down on her convertible. And the back seat also had things piled in it.

He climbed into his truck, and drove the two hundred yards down through town to Adela's, pulling to a stop behind Molly's car. Finding out how her trip had gone was the neighborly thing to do. He couldn't very well drive on by without at least saying hello, even if seeing her and not being able to tell her how he felt was going to be hard.

“Bob!” she exclaimed when she jumped out of her car. She was dressed in soft gray slacks and a pale pink top that looked soft and shimmery against her apricot skin. She looked as fresh as the dew in April.

He didn't get out, didn't trust himself to get out, not with the way he wanted to put his arms around her and beg her not to move to New York. What kind of man would he be if he did that?

She stopped beside his door and laid her hand on his arm, which hung out the open window. “I'm glad you made it back. How did it go?” he managed.

She smiled, and her eyes sparkled like green glass in the afternoon sun. “It went perfect. Wonderful.”

Bob's heart sank. He'd been praying that everything had gone the way she dreamed it would go, but he figured he was allowed a moment of grief for his loss. “I'm happy for you.”

She was still smiling and looking at him as if she had more to tell.

“So,” he prompted, “when do you start?”

She dropped her hand to her hip and rocked back and forth on her heels, her smile turning mischievous. “I don't.”

“What!” Anger, raw and electric flashed through him. Throwing open his door, he stepped from the truck, yanked off his Stetson and rammed a hand through his curls. Poor Molly, here she was smiling when he knew her heart was breaking. “They turned you down? They actually passed up the best opportunity they ever had?” He patted her shoulder. “Well, it's their loss. You'll get another opportunity and it will be outstanding. Your work is wonderful, anybody can see that. So you, you just hang in there. Don't give up on your dream, because it's going to happen—what are you laughing about?” She was hysterical. He'd thought she was putting on a brave front for him and here she was going into hysterics. Her shoulders were shaking hard and tears were seeping out of the edges of her happy eyes.