Almost a Family

“So where does that leave us?” Agitated, he ran his hands through his hair, his eyes openly hostile.

She smiled thinly. “Exactly where we were before today. You have your life. I have mine. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Fine,” he bit out, glaring. “You’ll be begging for my help before the week is out.”

He stomped to the door and she heard it slam behind him. “The hell I will,” she muttered to herself.

*

Molly was exhausted by the time Jason picked them up to go to the hospital the following evening. She’d broached the subject of going without him to Sara and had met with stiff resistance. The child was clearly attached to her “Uncle” Jason, and rather than rock the boat, Molly acquiesced. How one child could demand so much attention, she wasn’t sure. But she knew that keeping the house in order and entertaining Sara had filled her day, leaving her no time to even open her briefcase.

The dinner mess was at least tidied up when he arrived. He looked big and outdoorsy-handsome in his thick brown coat and heavy boots. His hair had been whipped up by the winter wind, his cheeks were ruddy with cold. She opened the door, left it ajar and went to get her own coat, leaving him standing silently in the gap while the brisk air rushed into the foyer.

“Come on, Sara. It’s time to go.”

Sara came around the corner carrying a teddy bear and a folded piece of paper. Molly fluffed her hair over the collar of her coat and knelt to help Sara put on her winter boots.

They still hadn’t spoken, and it was getting on Molly’s nerves—feeling his big presence behind her, knowing he was standing there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to be folded into those strong arms, enveloped in his jacket. How she could want to and still feel so hostile toward him confused her.

“Why don’t you drive my rental?” she suggested, stuffing Sara’s arms into her jacket. “That way we don’t have to move the seat back and forth.”

“Fine,” he said quietly. She could feel the heat from his body as he leaned inside further, reaching to pick up the keys from the small table by her left hip. Her heart beat just a little bit faster at the his nearness.

“Okay!” she said brightly to Sara while her insides trembled. It wasn’t only Jason. She was going to see Kim, too, and was afraid of what she might see, how she might feel seeing her sister lying broken in a hospital bed. She hadn’t seen Kim in a couple of years. This wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned their next meeting.

“We’re all ready. Got your card?”

Sara held up her folded paper in a fuzzy mitten.

“I’ve got my purse. Let’s go.”

She locked the door behind them, leaving on the porch light. The sedan was already warming up, and Jason came forward to scoop up Sara and secure her in her seat. Head held high, Molly opened the passenger door herself and got inside, buckling her seat belt.

He pulled out of the drive, everyone eerily quiet.

She glanced over at his legs. He was in jeans again, faded ones that creased at the knee as he sat. His jaw held a hint of dark stubble, and his fingers—those long, glorious fingers—were gripping the steering wheel, encased in brown leather gloves that matched his coat.

Fingers that had touched her intimately years before. Fingers that had wiped her tears and had fed her chocolates at Christmas. Fingers that he’d once loved to sink into her hair…ones that had touched her skin…

Scowling, she turned her head and stared out the window at the inky darkness of the river as they headed into Fredericton. Ten minutes. In ten minutes, they’d be at the hospital and out of this silent prison. In ten minutes, she could stop smelling him and feeling him so close.

“Uncle Jason?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are you mad at Aunt Molly?”

Before she could stop it, Molly’s head swiveled in his direction and his gaze met hers. She felt her heart leap at the emotion there. It wasn’t animosity. It was acceptance. Acceptance of the inevitability of how things were between them. She wondered if her eyes mirrored the same thoughts. That the things they hadn’t resolved six years ago still hung between them.

He looked in the rearview mirror as he answered the child. “No, Sara. I’m not mad at your Aunt Molly.”

“Then why aren’t you talking?”

Molly hid a smile and waited for his answer.

“Aw, we’re just thinking about seeing your mommy again. I know she’s excited to see you.”

Molly’s lips curved deeper at his clear manipulation, turning the topic away from them.