No Regrets (12 page)

Glancing around, she realized that she was the only person of her age in the church on this Saturday afternoon. All the others were either elderly women, uniformly dressed in black, wearing lace mantillas and clicking their way through their rosary beads, or children obviously impatient to get the weekly chore over with so they could run outside to play in the California sunshine.

Lena chose a pew near the back of the church, knelt down and folded her hands. Although she appeared to
be praying—contemplating her sins in order to make a good and truthful confession was how it had been put to her in her school days—she was resorting to a juvenile trick taught to her by a younger, unrepentant Molly.

Although she kept her eyes downcast, she was able to watch the lines of people on either side of the church. Before long, she'd determined which priest was more lenient. The dual lines to the right moved swiftly; penitents entering the red velvet-draped confessional remained only a brief time, after which they'd return to a pew, kneel down, make the sign of the cross, speed through the required prayers and be on their way again.

In contrast, the line on the left side of the church, beneath the stained-glass window depicting the Sacred Heart, inched along at a snail's pace. Not only was this line moving much more slowly than the line on the other side, the exiting penitents did not look the least bit overjoyed to be resolved of whatever sins they'd committed, and spent a much longer time on their knees.

No fool she, Lena immediately joined the right line, but by the time the ancient woman in front of her entered the confessional, her heart was in her throat and she was wondering how a sweating hand could be ice-cold. Nervous perspiration slid down her sides; she could smell its acrid aroma over the scent of incense, melting tallow and the cloying fragrance of the overblown pink and white roses on the altar.

The elderly woman, who must have lived a sin-free life, exited the confessional in less than three minutes. And although she'd been taught by a rigid third-grade teacher that looking back in church would turn you to
salt, like Lot's wife, Lena dared to glance back over her shoulder and desperately considered escape.

But she'd come too far to run now.

Dread hanging over her like a shroud, she entered the small booth that at first seemed as dark as a coffin. Over the pounding of her heart in her ears, she could hear the priest murmuring something to the person in the confessional on the other side of him. And then there was the sound of the wooden slide between them opening and she was facing a dark shadow on the other side of the screen.

He said something her troubled mind could not process. But when the indiscernible words stopped she realized it was her turn. Old habits, not easily forgotten, came back.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Lena whispered in the hushed sanctity. “It has been—” she paused, trying to recall the last time she'd taken part in this ancient sacrament “—a very long time since my last confession,” she finally said.

“And your heart is heavy,” the calm male voice suggested.

“Oh, Father.” She leaned her forehead against the screen and closed her eyes. Tears welled up behind her closed lids. “You have no idea.”

Silence settled over them. Lena waited for him to speak, to pressure her to come clean, but he seemed willing to wait until doomsday, if that's what it took. So much for getting out of here swiftly.

“I've committed a grievous sin.”

“And you've come here seeking absolution.”

“Yes.” Lena swallowed painfully. “But I'm not sure I deserve it.”

“Our Lord died for all of us sinners, my child,” the deep voice echoed in the private darkness. “There is nothing He will not forgive. And you must believe the fact that you've come here today has already gladdened many hearts in heaven.”

His words, meant to reassure, brought to mind her mother, causing Lena's tears to flow. Once again, with a patience that reminded her of Reece, the priest waited her out.

And then, feeling a need to fill that lingering silence, Lena began to talk. The words poured out of her, like an out-of-control river bursting through an ancient dam. She told him everything, about the night her father had murdered her mother, then killed himself, about losing Tessa, and finally Molly.

She told him about her previous promiscuous lifestyle and how she'd married a man she'd respected but did not love.

“But I do now, more than anything in this world,” she assured him.

She went on to describe her desire for children, and her inability to conceive. She related Molly's horrendous experience and told about the resultant pregnancy, then took a deep, shuddering breath. Finally she had come to her reason for being there today.

“And, although I know this has to be a horribly painful time for her, I can't help being jealous.” There. It was finally out in the open, in all its dark ugliness.

“Because she's carrying the child you want so badly,” the priest surmised accurately.

“Yes.” Lena literally hung her head in shame.

“That's not unexpected,” the priest surprised her by saying.

“It's not?”

“God may have created us in His image, but He made us human. Envy, even jealousy, is a very human emotion. It's how we act on that emotion that's important.”

“I'd never wish Molly any harm,” Lena insisted with a burst of heartfelt emotion. “She's my sister. I love her.”

“Which is why these feelings are proving so painful for you,” he suggested. “Surely you've felt envy when you've seen other expectant women in the supermarkets, or mothers playing with their children on the beach.”

“All the time,” Lena admitted.

“Yet you didn't feel the need for absolution then.”

“I didn't think those feelings were all that sinful.” As the contrast sunk in, she realized exactly how right she'd been to come here today. “You're a very wise man, Father.”

He chuckled at that. “Believe me, my dear, I'm not so wise at all. But I receive a great deal of help in this job. Otherwise I doubt I would have lasted a week.”

While she was still stunned at that admission—so unlike the unyielding priests she remembered from childhood—he said, “Now, as for your penance…can you cook?”

“Cook?” Lena stared at the screen, wishing she could see his face. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because not all women do in this modern age.” He sighed. “Even we priests no longer have housekeepers
to tend to such things. I, myself, can manage a meat loaf that's heavy as a stone, but filling, nonetheless….

“But I'm getting off the point. For your penance, I want you to go home, hug your sister and assure her that she'll have all your support during this difficult time.

“And then I want you to cook a romantic dinner for your husband. Candles are a nice touch, too, I believe. And assure him that you'll always love him, even if it's God's will that you spend your lives together without children.”

It was the absolute truth, Lena realized. “Are you saying my penance is to make a romantic dinner for Reece?”

“Exactly. Your feelings have undoubtedly hurt him, as well. It would behoove you to make amends.”

Once again he was so, so right. “Thank you, Father,” she said, grateful to be spared the Our Fathers and the Hail Marys of her childhood Saturday confessions.

“Well, then, let's make a good Act of Contrition, shall we?”

He had to help her through it, but by the end, the words, committed to memory so many years ago began coming back and as she received absolution, Lena felt the burdens lift from her shoulders.

Although the young girl who'd been standing behind her in line gave Lena a curious look as she exited the confessional—she had, after all, taken far more time than the others—Lena barely noticed. The formerly faint glow from the sanctuary lamp suddenly seemed to gleam brighter—like a gilded promise from on high.

As she walked out of the basilica into the bright sunshine that was streaming down on the City of Angels
that warm winter day, her heart felt so featherlight, she was amazed it didn't float out of her body into the clear blue sky.

Everything would be all right, Lena assured herself. Her marriage, which had strengthened in the past months, would grow more solid now that she was focused on celebrating the love she had been given, rather than bemoaning the fact that she might never be a mother.

With warm feelings of joy flowing through her veins like liquid gold, Lena realized that, as horrible as Molly's situation was, there was even a positive side to that. Because now, for the first time in their lives, she had the opportunity and the inner strength to help her sister.

She'd be there for Molly these next four months, providing whatever emotional—and even financial assistance—she required. And in doing so, she'd finally repay her older sister for all those years of undying devotion.

D
ays, weeks, then months passed in a blur as Molly struggled to balance the demands of work with her advancing pregnancy. Fortunately, Lena and Reece provided support in ways she never would have guessed she'd need. Molly didn't know what she would have done without them. Indeed, after a time she even stopped looking for an affordable apartment and allowed herself the luxury of being pampered in their oceanfront home after a long day.

At the end of May, although summer was still nearly a month away, Los Angeles was hit with a blast of heat that caused suffering all over the city. Everyone—from the privileged glitterati of Beverly Hills to the hookers strolling Sunset Boulevard on their stiletto-heeled sandals—was sweating.

Unsurprisingly, business in the ER boomed as the staff dealt with numerous cases of heat exhaustion, a
dozen cases of bona fide heatstroke and varying degrees of sunburn ranging from uncomfortable to serious.

Shortly before Molly's shift ended, she noticed Tina Alvarez, a floater sent down from the surgical floor to assist with the overload, arguing in Spanish with a young Chicana who couldn't be more than seventeen. The girl, known on the street as Rubia—for her dyed blond hair—was a prostitute who hadn't let her pregnancy get in the way of her work.

Although Molly had done her best to talk the girl into leaving the dangerous life on the streets, her arguments had fallen on deaf ears. And the police, who had enough serious crime to deal with without trying to settle the social problem of runaway children, hadn't been all that interested, either.

“What's the matter?” Molly asked.

“I'm handling it,” the nurse snapped.

“I'm hurting real bad, Sister,” the young prostitute complained to Molly in English. “I think I'm having my baby. I need something for the pain.”

Tina scowled darkly. “The baby's not due for another three months. She's trying to con us out of drugs.”

“That's not true!” Rubia's face was wet with perspiration. Just like Molly's own. Unfortunately, a citywide brownout had caused Mercy Sam's ancient air-conditioning to all but shut down. “I really hurt, dammit. And this bitch—”

Tina broke in with a stream of furious Spanish as fast as a round of bullets from the automatic rifles that were all too common in the area. Although Molly was fairly fluent in the language, the nurse was speaking too rapidly for her to keep up.

“This isn't getting us anywhere,” she interrupted calmly. She glanced down at her watch and sighed, realizing that it was too late to call Lena—who insisted on picking her up every afternoon—and let her know she'd be running late. “Let's take a look at what's going on.”

She'd no sooner gotten Rubia onto the examination table than the girl began to bleed copiously.

“Oh, my God,” the young prostitute wailed in a voice choked with pain and fear. “What's happening?”

“This is your lucky day,” Tina answered before Molly could. “You're miscarrying.”

“I'm losing my baby?”

Even Molly was surprised by Rubia's obvious distress. Considering her age and lifestyle, she would have suspected this pregnancy would be less than welcome. She came around from the end of the table and brushed some lank wet hair off the girl's clammy forehead. “I'm afraid it appears you might.”

“But I want it.” Fake fingernails painted the reddish black hue of old dried blood, dug painfully into Molly's arm. The needle tracks running up the thin arms told their own tragic story. “She's going to be the first thing in my life I've ever had that was all mine.” Tears began to overflow doe brown eyes rimmed with kohl liner. Mascara streaks made dark tracks down her gaunt face. “And I'm going to love her so much.”

Molly had heard this too many times to count. She also knew that Rubia was naively counting on her baby to automatically love her back. Unfortunately, if the fetus survived, and managed to escape being born drug addicted, the too-young mother would soon discover that adorable sweet-smelling babies also messed their
diapers, demanded constant attention and cried when they didn't get it. Such maternal disillusionment was often the reason for the battered children she was forced to treat on an almost daily basis. Children like Benny who, according to the hospital grapevine, was flourishing in his new home with the Moores.

“We'll try our best,” she said, prying the fingernails from her arm and patting the girl's thin shoulder. Even though Dr. Muchnick, the resident on duty was a very good doctor, Molly wished Reece was there.

“The doctor at the free clinic gave me one of those ultrasound exams. She's a little girl. I'm going to name her Eden.”

“That's lovely.” Since her own ultrasound had revealed that she, too, was carrying a daughter, Molly experienced a tug of maternal bonding.

No one in the ER was surprised when Dr. Muchnick couldn't save the premature baby girl. The horrible thing was that the negative Tina may have been right. Miscarriage might have been the best thing for the young drug-addicted prostitute. And for the child.

Feeling horribly depressed, Molly signed out, then went to find Lena.

“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting all this time,” she greeted her sister, who was seated in the outer waiting room looking disgustingly clean and cool in a white linen dress. “By the time I realized we had a problem, it was too late to call.”

“I didn't mind waiting. I've been sitting here reading all your pamphlets.”

“You're probably the first person who's ever bothered.” A defeated tone crept into Molly's voice.

“Bad day?”

“Let's just say it wasn't exactly a stellar one.”

“Since Reece is at that medical conference in New York, I was going to suggest the two of us have a girls' night out on the town. Dinner, then a movie perhaps. But if you'd rather go straight home…”

“If you don't mind, I think that is what I'd rather do.” Even discounting her exhaustion, Molly knew she'd feel guilty enjoying herself after another expectant mother—no matter how ill prepared—had just lost her own child.

“Terrific.” Lena changed gears with alacrity. “We'll call out for pizza and have a slumber party. That sounds like a lot more fun, anyway.”

Molly agreed. Especially since she couldn't remember them ever sharing any innocent childhood pleasure as prosaic as a slumber party.

As they walked out of the hospital, Molly wondered when, exactly, the tables had turned. She'd always been the strong sister. These days, Lena had definitely taken over the supportive role in their relationship.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” she said honestly.

“Oh, Molly.” Lena stopped in the act of opening the car door, turned and hugged her. “Believe me, anything I've done is nothing compared to what you've done for me over the years.”

Before Molly could answer, they both felt it. A faint fluttering inside Molly's expanding stomach.

“Oh, my God,” Lena breathed, leaning back to look up at her older sister. “Is that…?”

“The baby.” Molly's exhaustion vaporized as she felt
another faint, fluttery movement like butterfly wings. “Here.” She took Lena's hand and splayed it across the front of her blouse. “Feel.”

This time they both felt a definite kick. “It's a miracle,” Lena said, her eyes misting.

Molly's own eyes were suspiciously wet. “Yes,” she said with a sense of wonder that expunged the last of her painful feelings about how the child she'd been carrying for the past five months had been conceived. “It is.”

Later that night the two sisters were stretched out on Reece and Lena's wide bed watching a videotape of
Peggy Sue Got Married.
The comedy about a woman's second chance at love was just what Molly needed to take her mind off the exhausting and depressing day at work.

“I have a confession to make,” Lena said suddenly, after the movie was over. She pressed the remote, darkening the screen. “I've been trying to get up the nerve to tell you for months.”

Molly looked at her sister in surprise. “If I'm in your way here—”

“Oh, no. That's not it. Reece and I love having you stay with us. It makes us seem even more like a real family,” Lena said. “It's just that when I first discovered you were pregnant, despite the terrible way it happened, I couldn't help being horribly jealous of you.” She was so eager to get the words out, they tumbled over one another.

“Jealous?” The moment she heard herself repeat the word, comprehension dawned on Molly. “Oh, honey, I've been so wrapped up in my own worries, I didn't
take time to think about yours. I never realized how my having a child, and your not being able to…”

Her voice drifted off as a thought flashed through her mind, so clear and bright Molly was amazed she'd never thought of it before.

“Lena.” Her fingers tightened on her sister's. “I'm going to suggest something, but I don't want you to answer yet. Not until you've had lots of time to think it over. And discuss it with Reece… You know I've been planning to give the baby up for adoption.”

“Of course. It's the only thing you could do.” Lena's heart took off on a series of somersaults as she began to follow Molly's train of thought. “Are you saying…?”

“I'm saying that I think, if you're both willing, that you and Reece should adopt this baby.”

“Are you certain that's what you want?”

“Only if you both do. I've understood from the beginning that there was no way I could keep this child, but that hasn't stopped me from worrying about what kind of family she might end up with. And all the time, the perfect parents were right in front of me.”

Having witnessed Lena and Reece's strengthened marriage, having seen firsthand all the little signs of how much the couple loved each other, Molly knew they'd provide not only a comfortable, but a loving, caring home. Something neither Lena nor Molly had ever known.

“Oh, Molly, I don't have to think about it.” Lena's beatific smile could have lit up the entire Los Angeles county. “And I don't have to ask Reece. Because I know he'll love the idea as much as I do. And I promise that no one would ever love your daughter more than we will.”

“I know that.”

Laughing and crying all at the same time, the two sisters who'd been through so much together, hugged. As if casting her own vote of approval, the baby chose that moment to turn another somersault.

 

“Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Reece asked Molly over lunch in Mercy Sam's cafeteria.

They'd spent the first ten minutes of the lunch hour discussing the paper on ER triage and Fast Track treatment he'd presented at the medical conference he'd attended. Understanding that he was deliberately avoiding a discussion of he and Lena adopting her baby, Molly forced herself to bide her time and let him bring the subject up. Which he eventually did. Abruptly and with a great deal less enthusiasm than Lena had predicted.

“Only if you think you'd like being a father,” she said carefully. Nervously, she pressed the back of her spoon against a bloodred gelatin square on her plate that had to be three days old. “I certainly didn't intend to put any pressure on you, Reece.”

“Hell, Molly, that's not the problem. I love the idea of being a father. Even more, I love the idea of Lena being a mother. We've both wanted a child. But Lena isn't the only McBride sister I have strong feelings for, and I'm worried this might prove too hard on you.”

“I've thought about that,” Molly admitted. After her impetuous offer, she'd spent a long and mostly sleepless night considering all the aspects of the decision. “And I've come to the conclusion that it would be easier watching my baby growing up with two loving parents than spending the rest of my life wondering what happened to her.”

Reece remained silent for a time, fiddling with his cutlery, lining up the edges of the stainless-steel knife, fork and spoon as if he were preparing to do surgery. “You said ‘my baby,'” he pointed out quietly.

She got his point immediately. Loud and clear. “It was just a phrase, Reece. I'm well aware that if you agree, she'll be yours and Lena's child.”

He gave her a long look rife with both tenderness and concern. And, she felt, lingering questions. “I'm tempted to jump at the opportunity to have a daughter. But I'm still worried—”

“You needn't be.” Molly reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I'll admit that I blurted the idea out to Lena when I should have given it more thought. But I
have
thought about it almost constantly since then and I'm extremely comfortable with this solution.”

He gave her another long look, then turned his hand, linking their fingers together. “You're a helluva woman, Saint Molly.”

Strangely affected by the warmth in his husky tone, Molly lowered her eyes to the table and didn't, as she'd always done in the past, protest the nickname he'd teased her with for so many years.

 

She truly had made the right decision, Molly told herself a week after signing the preadoption papers at the attorney's office. So why did she feel strangely let down?

“You've obviously bonded emotionally with your unborn child,” Sister Benvenuto assured her. “It's only natural to suffer misgivings.”

Molly's gaze drifted to a print of an oil painting de
picting the Assumption. “It crossed my mind, in the middle of the night, that perhaps, I could keep the baby. After all, I do have a good career, and—”

“Impossible.” Sister Benvenuto looked at her with the same stunned amazement she might reveal were Molly to suddenly announce that she'd taken up striptease dancing at one of the nudie clubs on Hollywood Boulevard. “Nuns cannot have children.”

“But if I were to leave the order—”