Molly gave in to the tears and wrapped her arms around her daughter, who held her as tightly. She became aware that Cait was swaying on her feet, instinctively rocking her mother. That made Molly cry harder, and laugh, too. My fifteen-year-old daughter is comforting me as if I were a distraught child. The realization of the astonishing role reversal blazed through her.
“I love you,” Molly blubbered, laughed again, then cried some more. Cait had begun to giggle, too, although Molly caught a glimpse of her wet face and knew she was also crying.
It was a completely ridiculous scene, and wonderful, too. It had to be five minutes before Molly pulled herself together enough to straighten.
“I have to blow my nose.” More like, I ab doo bo by dose.
They both went into the bathroom, both blew, both mopped and washed their faces and giggled a little more at the absurdity and the marvel of sharing so completely.
And finally they sat on Molly’s bed, limber Cait cross-legged at the foot and Molly leaning back against a heap of pillows at the head. They looked at each other.
“What did Trevor really say?” Molly asked.
Cait’s face was blotchy and Molly suspected hers was worse. She had a redhead’s skin. Plus her eyes were way puffier than her daughter’s.
“When I first told him yesterday, he was freaked. That’s when he told his dad. But I guess he thought about it, and he’s really okay with the idea. If…well, we were both thinking maybe you and his dad might get married, and if you did Trevor would have to get used to thinking about the baby as, like, a sister or brother. But if you don’t, he won’t see the baby any more than if she was adopted by someone else. Unless, well, we stay, um, friends. You know.”
Molly wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She’d been trying not to think about Cait and Trevor’s relationship. They’d obviously grown close. But were they sleeping together again? She’d decided not to ask. It was a little late to worry about an unwanted pregnancy, wasn’t it? Not to mention a little late to worry about any impact on her own relationship with Trevor’s father.
She made a noise that could be taken as vague agreement.
“The thing is…Mr. Ward said he was in love with you.” Cait looked strangely stern. “Are you in love with him?”
Molly couldn’t do anything but nod. She hurt too much.
“Then…you should have talked to him. Why didn’t you?”
Why hadn’t she? These past weeks, they’d talked about everything else under the sun. What if he had made the same decision? Asked Cait and Trevor if he could keep the baby and raise it, without once having mentioned to her that the possibility had even crossed his mind?
Her heart cramped. I would have been hurt, of course. Worse than that—I’d have felt rejected. Ignored. As if I was inconsequential to him.
Which, she realized, was exactly what he’d felt.
Cait was watching her. “So?”
“So what?”
“Are you going to go see him and explain?”
Those knife blades were still embedded in her. She needed to pull them out, but was afraid of how much she’d bleed.
“No.” Her voice was dull. “I’m not.”
“Why?”
“You heard him.”
“He was mad.” Cait frowned. “I’ve said really awful things to you when I was mad, and you forgive me. Because you love me no matter what. That’s what you always say. Don’t you love him enough to forgive him?”
“This is different.”
“Because you think he doesn’t want the baby?”
Molly laughed, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “Think?”
“Because you might have to choose between him and the baby,” Cait said slowly.
The words stole Molly’s breath. Was that why she hadn’t talked to Richard about what she was thinking? Because she’d known he wouldn’t want to keep this baby? Because…she’d been afraid that, if he forced the choice, she would choose him?
Oh, God, she thought—I would have. I would have chosen him.
So…why hadn’t she?
Because…I never let myself acknowledge that the choice might have to be made. No, she’d told herself that he was an uncertain factor in her planning. After all, he hadn’t asked her to marry him, had he? Now, feeling as if she’d been stabbed again, and this time she’d rammed the blade into her own belly, Molly faced a truth. Of course he was going to ask her to marry him. He wasn’t a man to say “I love you” and not mean it wholeheartedly, with all that followed. She was the one who’d put off having that conversation. Because… She wasn’t absolutely sure. Maybe because she’d wanted to present him with a fait accompli. Had she thought once it was done, he’d hide his reluctance and accept her decision, because he loved her?