Last Chance Knit & Stitch (28 page)

All she could come up with as she came down the last few steps was, “What?”

He continued to study her. “You have lost your shoes, Cinderella.”

“I left them at the reception.”

“Of course you did. And you look as if you need a ride home.”

“Oh, Angel, that would be so helpful.”

Five minutes later, Molly found herself riding shotgun in Angel’s flame red Jeep as he drove right through the middle of town.

With the top down.

Flo and T-Bone, who were just opening up the Kountry Kitchen, saw her. She knew this because T-Bone waved. So did Kenzie Griffin, who was dashing into the doughnut shop. And Molly was dead certain that Lillian Bray kept surveillance cameras trained on the stretch of Palmetto Avenue running by her house.

Yup, Molly was definitely going to be dodging embarrassing questions this morning at church. Well, at least one good thing might come of this. People would quit thinking that Simon and Angel were lovers.

She turned toward Angel. “You aren’t going to gossip about this, are you?” She knew damn well he was going to gossip. Angel might be a gay Latino from California, but he’d been adopted by every last member of the Last Chance old hens’ network.

“Of course not,” he said.

“Why do I not believe you?”

He shrugged and looked handsome in a chiseled sort of way.

Angel slowed the car as he turned onto the side street where Molly had grown up. “Chica, you
do
know that Simon is not a good one for falling in love with?”

“Ha! I’m not falling in love with him. Last night I was carried away by lust.”

“Which is how you lost your shoes?”

“They weren’t my shoes. They belong to Rachel Lockheart. I also lost Rachel’s purse, with Lady Woolham’s earrings and my driver’s license in it. Which tells you just how badly intoxicated I was.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, because she was not drunk last night, at least not on beer or wine. “You know, Angel, getting dressed up and going to a ball is a really dangerous thing for a girl like me. I’m just not cut out for stuff like that.”

“Well, it’s only dangerous if you mistake Simon for Prince Charming.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mistake him for a prince. And he didn’t mistake me for a girlie-girl. So we’re good. We had fun. But now it’s over.” Which was very sad.

“That’s a good way to look at it, Molly. I’ve seen too many women break themselves on Simon’s heart.”

“But you said Gillian had broken his heart.”

His shoulders lifted just a little bit. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Well, Gillian got farther than most women get. And I think Simon was just a little upset when she finally gave up on him. But his heart is very hard.”

“You think?” Molly didn’t think Simon’s heart was hard, or cold, or anything like that. He was kind. He was
generous. And he was an extremely considerate lover. Her insides started to melt just thinking about the stuff they’d done last night.

“Chica, don’t let yourself fall. He is all of those things you are thinking about, but he is not a marrying kind of man.”

Of course he wasn’t. He’d been clear about that. And it was totally okay. “That’s fine,” she said out loud. “I don’t want to get married. I was merely looking for some fun. And he provided it. But the thing is, here in Last Chance, people aren’t supposed to just get together and have fun. If they get caught doing something like that, everyone starts planning their wedding for them. So it’s really important that you don’t say anything.”

“
En boca cerrada no entran moscas
.”

“And what does that mean?”

He grinned. “Roughly translated, it means that my mouth is so tight not even a mosquito will pass.”

“Good, keep it that way.”

He slowed the Jeep and pulled to the curb beside her parents’ house. “Nice Harley,” he commented, as he inspected the bike in the driveway. The hog was parked right beside a silver Mazda 3 hatchback.

“Thank God. Allen is alive. I was starting to wonder.”

“Allen is your brother?”

“He’s been MIA for the last week or so. The Mazda belongs to Beau, Allen’s twin, who didn’t tell anyone he was coming.” She leaned her head back on the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. She hadn’t gotten enough (any) sleep last night. The only good thing about this scenario was that Coach wasn’t sitting in the driveway with a shotgun.

“Would you rather I take you to breakfast? You and me being seen at the Kitchen would definitely throw some people off the scent.”

She snorted a laugh. “Angel, honey, no one in this town is going to believe that you and I spent the night together.”

Muffin growled the moment Les came wandering into Ricki’s small kitchen. The dog kind of crouched down, shivering. And then she launched herself at his ankles, which thankfully were covered by a pair of dress boots.

Ricki was mortified by the dog’s behavior. “Muffin, sit!” she commanded. But the dog paid her no mind.

The situation could have gotten out of hand. But Les didn’t do anything to Muffin. He just stood there letting her growl and bark at him. Not that Muffin was all that frightening, given her tiny size. But if Les had wanted to, he could have just stomped on her.

“I think you need to pick her up or something,” Les said.

Ricki wasn’t sure she wanted to get anywhere close. Muffin had tiny, sharp teeth. Where was Cesar Millan when you needed him, anyway? “You know, I’ve never seen her behave this way with anyone but you. She really doesn’t like you.”

“I kinda got that idea last night when we had to lock her in the closet. It was hard to concentrate with all that whining.” His face got red.

“It’s okay, Les. You were fine. I had a lot of fun. And I’d really like to do it again.”

Les’s expression brightened. “You do?”

Ricki knew it was crazy to encourage him. After all, he was younger than she was, and her dog didn’t like
him one bit. But Les was sweet, and even though he was inexperienced, he had turned out to be a considerate and impressive lover.

A thought that brought heat to her face. She still couldn’t believe they had ended up here, together, with the dog in the closet and the two of them naked.

“I better go,” he said, eyeing the dog and backing away toward the apartment’s door. Muffin followed him, her eyes all squinched up and her entire body radiating doggy annoyance. “She obviously hates me. It’s probably a sign.”

He reached the door and had it open before Ricki could respond. Damn it. She had wanted him to stay and have breakfast. It had been a long, long time since she’d had a Sunday morning free, and spending it getting to know Les a little better would have been all right with her.

But Muffin had ruined everything.

“I’ll see you,” he said as he bolted through the door, making a quick escape down the fire stairs.

Muffin stopped barking, turned, and trotted back to where Ricki was standing in the kitchen. The dog sat down and looked up at Ricki expecting adoration. Clearly Muffin was proud of herself for having run off the big, bad, sexy man.

Simon startled awake and knew three things immediately. Molly was gone. Coach was going to be furious with him. And he was going to be late for church.

He inhaled. Molly’s scent assailed him. She clung to him, even in her absence, and a yearning came over him, adolescent and exquisitely sweet.

One night with her was not going to be enough.

And yet her absence underscored the point that one
night was probably all he would ever get. And then it occurred to him that it was really strange to be on the receiving end of a one-nighter.

Simon was a master at those. But he had rules about them. He never brought a lady home. He always left before dawn. He never left a note.

He had certainly broken all his rules last night, not to mention his word. He’d even known he was breaking the rules, and that made the encounter that much more fun. That much more dangerous.

He wanted that woman. It was an urgent, almost desperate, crazy kind of feeling. He’d never wanted a woman that much. He’d never enjoyed a woman that much.

Damn.

He got up, threw on a robe, and checked in on Mother, who for all her dementia was already dressed and waiting for him to take her to church. When she saw him in his robe, she gave him what for, accusing him of being shiftless, lazy, and a pervert.

Then she fired him—again.

Satisfied that she was all right, and that Molly and Angel were gone—which probably meant that Angel had driven Molly home—he headed off to shower and shave.

They made it to Christ Church just after the processional. Mother was not happy at being seated in the back. And Simon was disappointed to discover that Molly wasn’t there at all.

Molly prepared herself for World War III as she let herself in the garage door, which was rarely locked. But Coach wasn’t waiting for her in the kitchen, as she expected.

Hope blossomed inside her. Maybe she could pull off this whole teenager-sneaking-around thing without being discovered. She tiptoed through the kitchen and out into the living room.

Busted.

Coach was there. But so were her brothers. And the moment she set foot in that room, she knew that no one was worried about where she’d been last night.

Beau was sleeping on the couch. Only this was not her real brother; this was some caricature of him. He looked pale and gaunt, his cheekbones almost painfully jutting from his face. And his hair looked all patchy and mangy, like he was losing it.

Coach and Allen sat in the adjacent wing chairs, both of them looking like they’d pulled all-nighters.

Coach turned his gaze on Molly. She braced herself for the inevitable interrogation, but instead of asking her where she’d been all night, he simply said, “Beau has cancer.”

“What?” A toxic mixture of adrenaline and guilt and God knew what else spilled through her. It poisoned the high she was riding, and she crashed to earth in truly painful fashion.

“It’s non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma,” Allen supplied in a gruff-sounding voice. He looked up at her with such pain in his eyes. His face was identical to his twin’s, or at least it had been. “The idiot thought he’d keep it to himself,” Allen said. “He went into the hospital about a week ago for his first chemo treatment. But it knocked him out. Apparently he’s been losing weight for weeks.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Because Beau never wants to be a burden. Because
I’m a fuckup. Because you’re always busy with your cars and stuff. And Daddy’s busy with football. And Momma …” Allen couldn’t say another word. He just got up, stalked down the hallway, and slammed the door to his room.

Beau stirred and looked up at her. “Hey, Mol,” he said, taking in her slightly rumpled appearance. “Nice dress, kiddo.”

Molly sat down on the sturdy coffee table and took his hand. “You idiot. You should have told us. If you had, maybe Momma—” She bit off the rest of her words as reality came down on her. In Momma’s absence, she was going to have to take charge. “So are you still trying to work?”

He shook his head. “I withdrew from the internship. And I don’t know if I’ll be well enough for classes in the fall. The docs told me the chemo would make me weak and sick to my stomach, but I didn’t realize how weak and sick. I called Allen when I knew I couldn’t do this on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have felt like you needed to do it on your own.”

“I’m sorry, Molly,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I know I’m screwing up your life right now.”

“Forget it, Beau. I’m here for you. I only wish Momma was here, too.”

Beau closed his eyes and seemed to drift off. Molly looked up at her father and realized that she was still in a big mess of trouble.

“Now is not the time,” he said quietly, “but imagine how Beau and Allen felt when they showed up here last night and you were out partying.”

M
olly read the front of the postcard. It said “Greetings from San Sebastian” and showed a gigantic, white sand beach with a crescent of blue-green ocean. On the back, in Momma’s curly script, was a one-sentence message: “The Canary Islands rock, having a great time.”

Molly stared down at the writing. Usually if Momma sent letters they closed with X’s and O’s, or at least a “Love, Momma.” She’d done nothing like that. And even though there was only a tiny space for writing on the back of the card, she still could have squeezed in a couple of X’s.

But the postcard hadn’t been addressed to Molly, or Coach, or the twins. It was addressed to the Purly Girls in care of the Knit & Stitch. Ricki had picked it up at the post office and brought it right up the street to Molly at the Coca-Cola building.

“Do you have any idea where the Canary Islands are?” Ricki asked.

“They’re off the coast of Spain. Momma used to talk
about going there all the time. I think it’s the place where Columbus started his trip across the Atlantic in 1492.”

Molly swallowed back the knot that was forming in her throat. She didn’t know if that constriction was because she missed Momma or if she was incredibly ticked off at her.

Momma should be home right now. She should have at least left a forwarding address. Beau needed her.

Not that Molly wasn’t willing to take care of Beau. That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, Molly was so determined to take care of her younger brother that she’d used Momma’s recipe cards to plan a week’s worth of meals. She’d taken off her party clothes and gone grocery shopping and then made a meat loaf that was edible, even if Beau had only picked at the food. After dinner, Molly had sat down in the living room and read
One Minute Meditations.
And this morning, before she came to work, she’d spent fifteen minutes in the meditation corner in the spare bedroom where she worked doubly hard trying to get Simon out of her brain.

Even so, a few things were much clearer now that she’d thought things through in a purposeful way.

Molly handed the postcard back to Ricki and told her to post it on the corkboard behind the cash counter at the Knit & Stitch. “We’ll show it to the girls when they come tomorrow.” It was amazing how calm she felt—how resigned she’d become to Momma’s defection.