“I need you to sign these insurance forms,” the clerk said. “They have to be signed,”—her voice began to rise—“now.”
“But...”
“The child has been treated and discharged. He,” she said, gesturing toward the operating room, “will be here for a while. We have the information. Just sign the forms.” She pushed them at her.
What choice did she have? It was take the clipboard or let it clatter to the floor waking Gracie for sure. Molly grabbed the clipboard.
What’s the worst that can happen? Pearce will wake up from the surgery and say he hadn’t wanted to have it?
If she signed with a scrawl, nobody could make out the signature anyway. They would just attribute it to somebody signing under duress—totally expected with the night’s circumstances. Molly grabbed the pen and signed on the indicated lines.
“Here you go.” Molly waved the clipboard at the clerk. She heard her grandmother’s voice. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Well, she was definitely racking up the pounds.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse arrived, and Molly followed her to the six-bed intensive care unit. Each bed was enclosed with walls of glass, double sliding doors making up the front wall. Bland beige striped curtains hung from the ceiling on U-shaped rods and could be pulled for privacy. Only three of the beds were occupied. Molly waited on the indicated chair.
“Mrs. Taylor?” a twenty-something nurse called through the double glass doors. “You can see him now. But just for a minute. Can someone take the child? Against the rules, you know.”
“No, there is only me.”
“Well, come along then. Maybe she’ll stay sleeping.”
Striving to keep Gracie asleep, Molly struggled to a standing position. The child moaned, but let herself be shifted without rousing. Molly followed the nurse through the double glass doors.
Pearce remained unconscious. Partly due to the effect of the anesthetic during surgery, yet was some of it related to the head injury? Molly glanced at the monitor’s digital readout. His numbers were stable for now. Even his pulse rate had returned to an acceptable normal.
The room remained silent, save for the whoosh of air through the ventilator’s translucent tubing and the audible blips of the monitor. Other than a folded white sheet covering his privates, Pearce lay exposed. Pale, his only color came from the brown tape securing the endotracheal tube to his mouth and the remnants of Poviodine antiseptic coating the surgical sites. His eyes were closed, his face cast in a stark, serene mask.
Molly stared at the dark-haired man lying in the bed. He’d wanted her to pretend to be his wife. Was he delusional?
What’s going to happen when he wakes up and tells people some woman took his child?
She wanted to confess, but they were too busy to listen. It didn’t help that Gracie kept calling her ‘mommy.’ Her quick scrawl on any documents had gone unquestioned. They just wanted someone to sign, releasing them of any responsibility. That mess she could straighten out later. But what if he wasn’t delusional? What if there was no one to care for the child?
Gracie moaned, then snuggled her warm face into the curve of her neck. A lump came to Molly’s throat. She’d always wanted children. What would it be like to have her own? For a brief second, Molly allowed herself to imagine Pearce as her husband.
Despite his pale stillness, she could see how attractive he was. Filling the length of the bed, his body was that of a well-proportioned athlete. The hospital sheet only partially covered his broad torso revealed a wavy mat of dark hair extending in a V above the stark bandage on his abdomen. Molly forced herself to look back at his face. His black hair was tousled, giving him a wild and untamed look that whisked her breath away.
The nurse turned to walk out of the room. “I’d rather you didn’t disturb him. He was restless when he came back from the operating room, and we just got him settled.”
The nurse’s voice snapped her back to reality. The thoughts she’d been entertaining had nothing to do with a patient lying critically ill in a hospital bed. “I won’t disturb him.” Molly reassured the nurse.
Without warning, Gracie jerked her head back. Her eyes flew open, terror reflected in the sapphire saucers. She started to cry. “Where’s my daddy?”
Before Molly could stop her, Gracie twisted around and caught site of Pearce. Molly felt her heart sink to rest on her fancy sandals, and she geared herself for an uncontrollable emotional crisis. What would the child think, seeing her father lying there lifeless with multiple bandages and tubes sticking out all over?
“Daddy’s sleeping. He’s sick, isn’t he, Molly Mommy?”
Molly hugged the child tightly. “Yes, Daddy is sleeping.”
“I think you had better go now,” the nurse insisted. “I don’t need him waking up or the child having a tantrum.”
“Gracie, how about we let Daddy sleep?”
The child yawned, then tucked her head under Molly’s chin. “Okay. I’m tired, too.” She yawned and her eyes drifted shut. Molly took another glance at the monitor. Pearce seemed stable. She’d come back and check on him tomorrow. That was, after she found a place to rest her own head for the night.
“Here are his belongings.” The nurse handed her a clear plastic clothing bag. “They had to cut his clothes off in the emergency department. Lots of blood on them.” She paused. “But we have to give you everything. His wallet and keys are tucked in his shoes. The umbrella is in bad shape. They broke it. Won’t be much use.”
Molly grabbed the bag with her free hand—the one that wasn’t clutching Gracie to her chest. No wonder they said mothers needed another pair of arms.
Perched on the edge of a bench in the waiting room, she shifted the child and pulled the plastic bag up beside her. Rifling through it, she tugged out a gleaming black leather shoe. A leather wallet and car keys were stuffed inside. The wallet held his driver’s license, along with the routine jailbird picture.
A black thought crossed her mind. How good would she look when the police took her picture for forging official documents? She shuddered as an icy wave washed down her spine. Molly shook it away and continued searching. She needed something with an address and phone number on it. The hospital should have done it, but they assumed she was his wife and everyone was too busy to talk to her.
Why hadn’t she objected to their assumptions? Was it because of Gracie, or was she savoring the fantasy of being a wife and mother? Molly gave herself a quick shake. As soon as she found the child’s mother, or Pearce woke up, it would all be straightened around. She grabbed his wallet and searched through the soft leather.
There were several credit cards. She left them in their slots. Opening the back slit, she pulled out a wad of bills. Well, the man didn’t have to worry about finding a bank machine any time soon. Molly slid the money back into the wallet. She wasn’t going to add theft to forgery.
She held up the driver’s license with his name and address. There was also a business card with a matching address and a phone number. The same number Molly had called earlier and heard Pearce Taylor’s voice. She shoved everything back into the shoe.
He’s a lawyer. Good, after signing all those forms, I might need one.
Well, at least I have an address. That’s a start. Now, I just need to find out how to get there and drop off the child.
Molly prayed someone would hear the doorbell. She’d slept through Molly’s multiple calls. Wasn’t somebody concerned about their whereabouts? They should be waiting by the phone, worried, calling the police to find out where they were.
She searched for someone to ask for directions. It was 2:30, and short-staffed, like all hospital nightshifts, only a skeleton staff remained visible. The nurses, busy with patients, had handed over the car seat, then rushed away. There’s always the security guard. Just need to find out where his office is. Her sandals echoed on the tiled floor as she made her way down the deserted hallways.
Gracie’s sleeping body was heavy, and Molly shifted her position several times. Thankfully the child was exhausted and would merely let out a moan, then curl her head back into Molly’s shoulder. Her damp blond curls had pasted themselves to her neck, and Molly wanted to wipe them away, but between holding the man’s belongings and the car seat in one hand, and securing the child to her with her other, she didn’t have a spare hand. Thank heavens she wasn’t a mother. She didn’t know how she’d cope. Her brief babysitting sessions hadn’t prepared her for this. Hadn’t she passed a security guard’s office on the way in?
Molly tried to recall where she’d seen it. She headed down another hallway. It didn’t look familiar, but it did lead out of the emergency department. Why didn’t they have signs? She was tired and grumpy. All she wanted to do was sleep. Ahead of her, she saw a double-paned glass window in the wall. Finally, the security office.
A man, on the far side of fifty, his gray hair as rumpled as his uniform, dozed behind a large scarred pine desk. His blue uniform shirt stretched over a ponderous abdomen, its buttons threatening to burst with each sonorous breath. Her knock on the window wrenched him awake.
“I need to get to this address,” Molly said.
He slid one pane of glass sideways and took the card. “You got to go out to the highway, go left for about fifteen minutes. You’ll pass a small white church, then...”
“Could you write down the directions? I’m not from around here.”
“Sure, Miss.” He took out a lined pad and began writing. “You got quite a load there.” He ripped off the page and handed it to her. “You should have no problem finding the place.”
Molly followed his directions. Fortunately, he’d drawn a map with clear street names and landmarks. She turned right at Wallace’s Groceries, then another right at the Calvary Baptist Church. It took her five minutes to get back to the highway. Gracie had fallen asleep within two of those minutes. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. The child’s damp hair hung in ringlets around her chubby face, like a halo making her look like an angel. Molly couldn’t help smiling.
The child’s current predicament touched a cord in her heart. What would it be like to be a mother? What would her child look like? Would she be as cute as this munchkin in her back seat? Molly shook her head. Had this encounter set off her biological clock?
Outside of town, the houses thinned and the highway began to twist and turn. Her heart rate accelerated, exceeding the speed limit as she neared the accident site. Subconsciously her foot eased off the gas, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Pearce Taylor’s Jaguar sat there, its front end crumpled like a recycled pop can.
Molly’s thoughts went to the man fighting for his life after that terrible crash. She prayed he would survive. She remembered holding him in her arms and waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The scent of his cologne seemed to have transferred to her blouse and its heady perfume was having a strange effect on her. For several minutes, she let herself imagine him in her arms again, then the image of him in the hospital bed brought her back to reality.
It was a miracle Gracie had escaped that mangled mess with only a few scratches. Molly glanced in the rearview mirror. The child continued to sleep. Molly shivered at the thought of what the outcome could have been. The road remained dark and deserted. How long would it have been before the next car had come along and found them?
Molly was glad she’d been there. If the car had caught fire or exploded... She pressed her foot on the gas and hurried past the vehicle. It took several minutes for her heart rate to return to normal. She relaxed back in the seat, enjoying the ability to breathe without conscious effort.
She concentrated on her mission. To find someone who knew Gracie and her father. Molly hoped someone would be waiting expectantly at the front door.
The security guard had told her to follow the highway until she passed the village of Arva, then go five miles until she came to a series of concession roads. The one she wanted was the third one. The house number should be on the mailbox.
The trees were thinning. She saw a house, then a bit farther, another one. Was Arva coming up soon? One sign announcing the village, and a second one, reducing the speed to 30 miles per hour, came up on her right. It took her less than a minute to drive through the village. The child continued to sleep, her head tipped to one side, strands of blond hair sweeping across her peaceful face. The even rise and fall of her chest reassured Molly.
That maternal instinct roused again as she let herself imagine the dark-haired man as her husband, and this, their child. Memories of the child clinging to her, her tiny body pressed against her, mistakenly calling her Mommy, instead of Molly. She felt a pang of jealousy and regret that shortly she would turn the child over to her real family and never see her again.
Would she ever have children of her own? That would mean having someone in her life to father a child. The way her life was going right now, that would be never. A tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away.
Stop being so maudlin. You haven’t really considered having children.
You wouldn’t know what to do with one. You’d kill it by neglect, just the way you’ve killed every plant you’ve looked after. You don’t have a green thumb nor whatever color thumb you need to raise a child.
She started counting the concessions. There wasn’t a car on the road, but she automatically put on her signals and slowed for the turn. Creeping at a snail’s pace, she watched for the number. Picking up the card, she verified the address. It should be the next one.
The driveway was bordered with trees, shadowy and sinister. It made her think of Mandalay in Rebecca. Would she find a Gothic mansion at the end of the driveway? Molly followed the winding roadway. It wasn’t Mandalay. Instead, three hundred feet from the road, she saw the silhouette of a large Cape Cod. A house sheathed in darkness. This doesn’t look good. What if no one’s home?
Her body ached with exhaustion. She’d been tired before the accident, and despite the adrenalin rush that had kept her going at the accident scene and the hospital, now she was ready to drop. All she wanted to do was hand over the child and find a place to lay her head.
How far was it to Tillsonburg? Were they still holding her reservation? Molly yawned. Could she even make it that far? She might have to stop at the next motel, no matter how dilapidated it looked. Maybe, after she dropped off the child, she could pull to the side of the road and catch some shuteye. But one look at the shadowy forest made her shiver as images of evil creatures catapulting out at her flashed through her mind, vanquishing any thoughts of stopping by the roadside.
Lights flashed on as she approached the house and for a second her heart leaped with hope, but they were motion sensors. Otherwise the house remained in darkness. Molly parked on the interlocking bricks in front of a three-car garage and glanced in the back seat where Gracie remained in dreamland. Crossing to the white double front doors, she rang the bell. Chimes echoed inside. She waited several minutes. No one came. No lights flickered. She pressed on the doorbell, then waited three minutes before knocking loudly. Still no response.
Now what am I supposed to do? Does being his pretend wife give me permission to go into his house?
Digging the keys out of Pearce’s black leather shoes, Molly headed back to the front door. The motion light had switched off, and Molly waved her arms to make it come back on. She sorted through the keys. There were so many of them. Which one is the house key? She picked one, swallowed the golf ball lump in her throat, and inserted the key into the lock. It didn’t fit. She selected another one. Not that one, either. The third one slid into the chamber. Thank you. She twisted the key. It didn’t turn. Just her luck. All bad.
Molly went through the ring again. Another one looked like a house key. She took a deep breath, said a prayer, slid it into the lock, and twisted. The chamber turned. She gave the door a push and it whispered open.
“Hello. Is anybody home?” The house remained silent and dark. “Hello. Hello. Is anyone here?” She leaned further into the foyer.
It was a large open area, the space beyond pitch black. She ran her hand blindly along the wall, searching for the light switch. Her fingers felt a row of three buttons. She flipped the first one, immersing the area in bright light. Her eyes were drawn upward to the glimmering crystal chandelier hanging twenty feet above. It looked like a hundred glass pieces shimmering like diamonds.
Glad I don’t have to clean that baby.
Molly ventured into the foyer, her sandals clattering on the ceramic tiling. The sound echoed through the emptiness. “Hello. Hello.” No one answered. She ventured farther into the house.
She called again, this time loud enough to wake the dead. Obviously no one was home, dead or alive. Her shoulders sagged.
What now? First, get Gracie out of the car and into bed. Then maybe I can find a phone book with some relative’s name in it. Where is the child’s bedroom?
Molly looked up the circular staircase leading to the second level.
It must be up there
.
She took a quick tour of the rooms on the first level. Living room to the right, library to the left, powder room, dining room, kitchen, and family room. All large, all empty. She ran up the stairs, calling out as she went. There were five bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a laundry room, again all empty. At least she’d found the child’s bedroom. She pulled down the comforter on the twin bed.
Should I worry about pajamas? No
.
Just get her into bed
. She flicked on the angel night-light and headed back to the car.
Gracie barely protested when Molly pried her out of the car seat and carried her to bed. Molly tucked the comforter around the child, then sat on the bed and watched her sleep. Impulsively, she gave the child a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving the room.
Now what? I can’t think. I need sleep. Maybe if I just lie down for a few minutes
. Leaving the child’s door slightly ajar, Molly crossed the hall and pushed open another door. Inside, she saw the shadow of a king-size bed, an armchair, dressers. A shaft of moonlight poured through the large casement window, providing a soft illumination. Half expecting to find Gracie’s mother asleep on the bed, Molly didn’t turn on the overhead light. She crept into the room. The bed was empty.
Exhaustion engulfed her, and she didn’t think she could keep upright a moment longer. The bed looked so inviting. She couldn’t prevent the step she took toward it.
What could it hurt? I’ll just lie down for a couple of minutes, maybe a bit longer
. Molly’s body sank into the soft mattress. The moon’s reflection caught on a picture on the facing dresser, and the last image she had as her eyelids slid to a close was of Pearce, on the beach, his long, lean, tanned body stretched out on the white sand. He could have been posing for a photo shoot. Molly drifted into sleep, feeling those muscular arms pulling her into the circle of his broad chest. She arched against him, a perfect fit.
She jerked awake.
What time is it? How long did I sleep?
She’d planned on only closing her eyes for a few minutes, yet now sunshine streamed in through the windows. Her gaze flew around the room. Someone was shaking her shoulder.
“Wake up, Molly Mommy.”
Molly jerked her head around. Who was talking?
“Molly Mommy.”
She heard the whisper, but saw no one. Molly lifted her head. A small blond haired child peeked at her from the end of the bed.
“It’s time to get up. The sun is up already.”
Molly shook away the cobwebs coating her brain. Last night’s events came rushing back.
“I’m hungry,” the child announced. “We have to eat. Then go get Daddy.”
Molly felt a terrible gnawing in the pit of her stomach.
Oh, my God, how am I going to deal with this? What can I tell her?
They couldn’t bring her dad home today. Molly put her hand to her abdomen but the pain didn’t go away.
What if he never came home? Stop it. You can’t think like that
.
Molly rolled off the bed. She needed to find the child’s next of kin so they could deal with this. Her career had mainly been dealing with adults. She didn’t have a clue how to tell a child about illness, and parents who might never come home.
“Gracie, do you have a mommy?”
“She’s gone. I want breakfast.” Gracie grabbed her hand and pulled her along the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen.
Oh great. That’s the same thing Pearce had said at the accident scene. Gone could mean anything. How can I find out what happened to her mother? Had she died?
She needed to find someone to take the child, but she didn’t want to bring up bad memories. She tried another tactic. “Who lives here with you?”
“Daddy and me.”
“No one else?” Molly looked around the room. There were several pictures on a desk by the window. Pearce and Gracie. There wasn’t an adult female in one of them.
“Nope. Just the two of us.”
This is getting us nowhere. Molly looked around the room, neat and tidy, the same as the rest of the house. By the business card she had in her pocket, Pearce Taylor was a practicing lawyer. Molly doubted he did his own cleaning and cooking. Was there a housekeeper?
“Gracie, does somebody come in to look after you while your daddy is at work?”
“I’m a Pink Panther.”
Molly raised an eyebrow. “What’s a pink panther?”
“I’m a Pink Panther at my school.”
“Do you have an aunt or a grandma?”
Gracie’s blond curls bounced. “Grandma Katherine.”
Molly let out an audible sigh. Finally a next of kin who could look after the child and let her get on her way.
“But she doesn’t like to be called ‘Grandma.’”
“No?” Molly tipped her head.
“Nope. Makes her feel old.”
Molly crossed her fingers. “Do you have a phone number for your Grandma?”
Gracie raced out of the room and down the hall. Molly followed, her sandals clicking on the ceramic floor as she hurried to find out where the child had gone. She found her in a room to the left of the kitchen. It was a large den and smelled of pine and old leather. Molly took in the rich opulence of the room with the wall-to-wall bookshelves, the large cherry desk, and the chestnut brown leather couch. Gracie pulled open the top drawer of the desk, shuffled through some papers, then held up a leather-bound address book.
“Daddy keeps his numbers here.”
As Molly accepted the book, she glanced at the photos on the desk–Gracie and Pearce at the beach, on the front lawn, at an amusement park. She could see the love for his child reflected in the tender expressions captured by the camera’s lens–pride, joy, devotion. It was obvious this child was his life.
Then another picture caught her attention. Behind the others, tilted away from direct view, Molly had to pick it up to see it properly. It was of Pearce, Gracie, and a woman in her mid to late fifties.
“Who’s this?” Molly pointed to the woman.
“Grandma Katherine.”
The woman sat primly on the edge of a red velvet Victorian chair. Pearce stood behind the woman, Gracie sat at her feet. An elongated pinched nose separated the woman’s high cheekbones, but it was the arched eyebrows and flat line of her smile that gave her an authoritarian air. Pearce’s mother? He did have an aristocratic profile, but there the resemblance seemed to end.
Involuntarily, a shiver sluiced down her spine. She thought of her own grandmother, whose chubby face was furrowed with years of laugher and a life well spent. She felt a wave of pity for the child. She needed to call ‘Grandma Katherine,’ but she wanted privacy for that.