“Not to speak of. I raised the idea once—she got hysterical. It was our baby. How could I possibly suggest any such thing.”
Curled on one end of the sofa, conscious of the quiet house around her since Cait had disappeared upstairs to her bedroom shortly after dinner, Molly continued tentatively. “Have you thought about that? I mean, this is our grandchild.”
He made a noise she couldn’t quite interpret. “I’m thirty-seven years old. You’re, what, thirty-four, thirty-five? Doesn’t the idea of becoming a grandparent at your age secretly horrify you?”
“Um…yes?”
Richard laughed, a quiet, rich sound. “Honesty,” he teased.
“I’m so confused,” she heard herself admit. She clutched the phone, as if it was a lifeline.
“I don’t totally see why. Caitlyn still has the chance to walk away from this. To say, ‘I’m too young.’”
“You could have done that, too. So could I.”
“But we were both…”
“A few years older. I know.” All these feelings crowded in her chest like an overfull room. She needed air to breathe. “I’ve got to go,” she said, knowing she sounded abrupt and suddenly not caring. “Good night, Richard.”
She cut him off, still speaking. Why had she thought he of all people would understand? Dropping the phone on the coffee table, Molly stood and walked to the French doors that led out to a patio and her tiny backyard. She stared out at the darkness, not sure she was seeing more than a few feet past the glass. It felt symbolic. Maybe if she stepped outside, there would be enough moonlight to ease her panic. But she made no move to open the door.
If only Cait would talk to her.
When Molly had told her about the fight between Trevor and Aaron and the possibility that there was speculation Cait was pregnant, her expression had been almost as stricken as when she realized her mother had uncovered her secret. But this time, she hadn’t said, “Mommy, what should I do?” She’d only said, “No one can prove anything.”
“No.”
Cait had nodded when Molly suggested a doctor’s appointment, although her face had been white and oh, so young when she followed the nurse into the exam room for her first ever pelvic. The doctor had wanted to talk to her privately first. Molly had been allowed in only at the end, when they sat down to talk.
The trouble was, after that first night when Molly confronted her, Cait had retreated inside herself. Instead of defiant and angry, she was withdrawn. Molly couldn’t tell if she was practicing denial, agonizing over what she saw as a very private decision or wanting to talk to someone—anyone—other than her mother. Denial was Molly’s best guess, and it was dangerous.
I’m right to push, she told herself. If Cait were to carry the baby to term, it should be because she’d made the choice, not because too much time passed and she no longer had a choice. I can do that much for her. Really, was this any different than insisting your kid get unwanted vaccines, confess to the neighbor that she’d thrown the ball that broke his front picture window, finish that assignment tonight even if every single one of her friends was going to Wild Waves water park instead because their parents weren’t mean and said it was okay?
No. It wasn’t. Helping her daughter make a truly informed decision was her duty as a parent. So there.
* * *
RICHARD TOOK A CHANCE and went over to Molly’s the next evening. Trevor was out, God knows where, and he’d found himself unbearably restless. He didn’t like how last night’s conversation had ended. He’d blown it, saying that. I don’t totally see why you’re confused. She’d given him a chance to listen, and he’d shut it down. Scared, he supposed, for Trevor’s sake.
She might be less than thrilled to find him on her doorstep, but he had to try to talk to her. To make up for his insensitivity, to give her a chance to talk in case she didn’t have anyone else she dared confide in.
Yeah, he admitted honestly, and because I want to see her, too. Last night, listening for nuances in her voice, he’d wished he could see her face.
He was relieved when she came to the door, not Cait. “Richard?” she said, obviously startled.
“Hi.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his parka. “I was hoping you’d give me a few minutes.”
“Well, of course.” She backed inside. “Wow, it’s cold.”
A puff of icy breath accompanied Richard into the entryway. “Yeah, they’re talking about a scattering of snow Monday.”
“Oh, ugh,” she muttered, as she took his parka and hung it in the closet.