No Regrets (22 page)

“I have an idea, honeybun,” Alex said with the calm reassurance that had once made him such a successful police negotiator. “Why don't you and I go out and water your mama's garden? I always found that a garden is a real good place to talk to people in heaven.”

“Really?” Grace turned toward the older man with obvious confidence in his veracity.

“Absolutely.” Despite his artificial legs, he picked her up as easily as if she were a feather. “And sometimes, if you listen real closely, you can hear the butterflies and the honeybees passing along messages.”

“Do you think my mommy will send me a message
from heaven?” Molly heard Grace ask as Alex carried her out of the room.

“Absolutely,” he said with the same certainty as when, so many years ago, he'd assured two terrified little girls who'd just witnessed a double murder that everything would be okay.

 

Since Reece refused, it was left to Molly and Theo to choose Lena's clothing for the funeral home.

“I never would have imagined how difficult this is,” Molly murmured to Theo as they stood in Lena's walk-in closet later that day.

“It's definitely one sad chore,” Theo agreed, pausing to admire a garnet knit suit with gold braid epaulets. The color, which could have clashed with Lena's auburn hair, had suited her perfectly, making her look like a slender scarlet candle topped by a brilliant flame.

“It's more than that. What if we choose wrong?” Molly imagined Lena's spirit haunting her forever, asking her why on earth she'd forced her to spend eternity in
that
.

“Lena looked wonderful in everything. This is nice.” Theo fingered a short silk dress. The bright hues brought to mind the magnificent sunsets that so often turned the ocean outside the French doors of the bedroom to molten gold and copper. “She bought it to wear for Reece's surprise birthday party.”

Molly noticed the price tag still hanging from the dress and decided that there was something too sad about burying her sister in a party dress she'd never had a chance to wear. Especially one she'd planned to wear on the night she was killed.

“What about this?” Theo said after Molly had revealed her feelings. “I suppose, in a way, it's appropriate.”

Molly shook her head as she studied the tasteful Chanel dress. “It's too somber. This may be a funeral, but Lena loved life too much to be consigned to wear black for all eternity.”

She moved on to another plastic bag. “Oh, I like this,” she breathed. The dress in question was a full-skirted cloud of white silk, tea-length and embroidered with flowers.

“That was one of her favorites.” Despite the sadness of their duty, Theo smiled. “Reece loved it, too. He said it made her look like the gardens at Versailles come to life.”

Molly made her decision. “It's this one.”

“Good choice,” Theo agreed robustly. “I couldn't have done better myself.”

While Alex and Theo took the dress, shoes and shimmery stockings to the funeral parlor, Molly busied herself in the kitchen, putting into the freezer the various casseroles, cakes and pies that had begun arriving from friends and neighbors. Reece was holed up in the library and Grace was next door at a neighbor's. Although at first Molly had worried that the little girl should stay at home, the mood in the house was so somber, she and Theo had decided that it might be good for her to play dolls with her best friend.

Molly was grateful to have some time to be alone, but before a half hour had passed, a phone call came from the neighbor saying that the girls had been playing when Grace had suddenly run out of the house in
tears. Molly had no sooner hung up the receiver when Grace burst in through the kitchen door.

“What's wrong?” Molly asked, then inwardly cringed at the stupid question. What wasn't wrong?

“You and T-T-Theo told me that M-M-Mommy was an angel.” Grace's face was as white as paper and hectic red flags flew in her pale cheeks.

“That's right.” Molly squatted down and gathered the stiff, miserable little girl into her arms, mindful of the time when Alex had held her close and buried her face against his broad strong chest to keep her from looking at her parents' blood splattered all over the living room wall. “She's in heaven.”

“Mary Beth's crummy b-b-brother Kenny told me that she isn't really going to go to heaven,” Grace sobbed into Molly's shoulder. “He said that my m-m-mommy's going to be put in the ground.”

The wail of anguish, emanating from the very core of that delicate young body caused scalding fury to flood through Molly. Although she knew it was an uncharitable thought, she would have dearly loved to smack the nasty little boy who could tell a child such a horrid thing. The anger burning through her veins and throbbing deep in her bones made her legs unsteady. She managed to sit down on one of the antique Windsor kitchen chairs Lena had lovingly refinished, holding Grace on her lap.
Please Lord,
she begged silently, as she rested her cheek atop her daughter's ebony head,
help me through this one.

“Remember a few weeks ago, right before Aunt Theo and Uncle Alex's wedding, when we all went to Disneyland?”

Grace didn't answer. But she managed a faint, almost imperceptible nod as she hiccuped.

“Remember we passed that pretty place with the velvety green lawns and flowers and those tall white stone angels?”

Another nod.

Encouraged, Molly continued. “And remember when you asked if it was a park where you could play?”

“Uncle Alex said we couldn't because it was a cem…cemtry…or something like that,” she said in a small dead voice.

“A cemetery, that's right.” Molly forced into her tone encouragement she was a long way from feeling. “It's a place where people's bodies rest after they die. But their souls, which God put inside them before they were even born, go up to heaven and become angels.”

Grace said nothing. The only sounds in the room were the hum of the refrigerator motor, the steady
tick tick tick
of the kitchen clock, a little girl's sniffling and the occasional hitch of her breath.

“Is it like the tulips?” she asked finally.

“The tulips?”

“When Mommy and I planted tulips, we put them in the ground, then covered them up with dirt.” Her young face, surrounded by hair that shone blue-black in the bright light flooding into the kitchen, was thoughtful beyond her years.

“Mommy said that they needed to sleep for a while and the dirt was like a warm blanket. Then, when spring came, they'd wake up and make everyone happy when they bloomed.”

“It's just like that. I just know everyone in heaven will be happy because your mommy's with them.”

“I still wish Mommy was here with me.” Grace's eyes, fringed with thick sooty lashes, overbrimmed with tears again.

Having run out of pithy explanations and ineffectual excuses, Molly could only hold her close while she wept.

 

The vigil the evening before the scheduled mass was held in the funeral home. Wanting—needing—to be alone with his wife, Reece remained behind. Looking down at Lena, lying in her casket, he wondered how so much wonderful wit, beauty and sweetness could be reduced to something that appeared like wax in the subdued lighting.

Someone, he supposed either Molly or Theo, had chosen his favorite dress—the flowered one he'd loved to see Lena wearing and loved even more to take off. Had it only been last month when she'd laughingly warned him that if he didn't slow down he'd rip it to shreds? It seemed as if that night was an aeon ago, light-years away in another world.

He reached out and cupped her breasts with his palms, as he'd done so many times before. But it wasn't the same; he imagined he could feel Lena's body turning to dust beneath his impotent caress. Molly had been right, Reece realized. Whatever life force had flowed through Lena's veins was gone, making it impossible to connect her with this frozen, waxy-faced mannequin.

Although he couldn't recall the last time he'd prayed, he knelt beside the gleaming white casket and begged God to make his beloved wife alive again.

Hours later, when He still hadn't answered the desperate prayers, Reece cursed God's cold black heart in words he knew would shock Molly and unfortunately didn't make him feel any better.

There was a gaping hole in the pit of his soul. His entire world had turned as cold and black as an arctic winter's midnight, and as he sat beside his wife's lifeless body, Reece wished that he'd die, as well.

He considered going to the nearest gun store, buying a shotgun and ending it all. But then he recalled Grace. And how Lena had been orphaned, and the subsequent pain it had caused her, and knew she'd never forgive him if he left their daughter with such a deadly legacy.

“I'll try to take care of her,” he whispered into the artificially chilled air. He felt something hot splash onto his fisted hands and realized the moisture was from his own tears. “But goddammit, Lena, how do you expect me to handle this without you?”

And as the night grew longer, Reece, who already hated God and that drunk driver, found himself unable to forgive his wife for deserting him and the young daughter she'd wanted so desperately.

I
t was late—nearly ten o'clock, when the doorbell rang. Dreading the idea of making polite conversation, or accepting any more of the food that had filled the freezer or flowers that were already overflowing the house, Molly almost ignored it. But afraid of waking Grace, she sighed, pushed herself off the sofa and opened the door.

“Joe?” She stared up in disbelief at the man standing there.

“I know,” he apologized, “I should have called. But I was afraid you'd tell me not to come. And you can send me away if you want, Molly, but I couldn't stand the idea of not being with you when you're in pain.”

“Don't be foolish.” She moved aside, inviting him into the house. “I can't think of anyone I'd rather see right now.”

Joe brought a much welcome, palpable energy into
the dark and quiet house of mourning. He was no sooner in the door than he put his bag down, turned toward her and gathered her into his strong secure arms.

Having been forced to remain strong for Grace's sake, Molly didn't think about the propriety of her behavior as she clung to him, immensely grateful for the comfort he was offering.

 

There were more arguments about whether Grace should be allowed to attend the funeral. Finally it was decided that she would attend the mass but skip the interment. Before they left for the church, the little girl picked a handful of crimson, saffron and purple tulips, and prior to the funeral mass, the sight of the solemn child placing the tulips on the white-draped coffin at the front of the church caused an outbreak of silent weeping among the mourners.

Although she'd been living under the same roof with Reece, Molly had been too preoccupied with comforting Grace and with her own grief to take much notice of him. Now that she did, she was shocked at the change. As they rode back to the house in the limousine after the interment, she took a good long look at him and was shocked by the change. He looked like a dead man himself, a mere shadow of the vibrant man who'd changed her sister's life. His eyes, ringed by deep purple shadows of sleeplessness, were sunken, and his handsome face was painfully haggard. And she knew he had been chewing gum to disguise the scent of whiskey on his breath.

When she'd introduced Joe to him earlier in the day, Reece had merely looked through her friend as if he
were invisible. Another of the ghosts haunting him, perhaps. Molly began to worry that Reece was walking on a very ragged razor's edge.

When they reached home, Molly's head was throbbing from stress and sorrow, but her heart lifted slightly at the sight of Grace running out to meet them.

“Aunt Theo bought me new crayons, Daddy,” she said, holding a piece of paper toward him. “I drew a picture of Mommy in heaven for you. So you'd feel better.”

Molly caught a glimpse of a stick figure of a woman in a flowered dress with fiery hair and golden wings jutting from her shoulders. She was standing on a puffy white cloud and handing a bouquet of colorful tulips to a smiling bearded stick figure of a man obviously intended to be God.

As sorrow almost caused her knees to buckle, Molly was grateful for Joe's steadying hand on her waist.

Reece studied the drawing for what seemed like an eternity. Strangely, this primitive crayon picture seemed more real to him than the sight of his bride lying so still and as waxy as a gardenia in that overpriced white casket.

Reece shook his head to clear it, like a dog shaking off unwanted water after a bath. “It's beautiful, sweetheart.” He reached down and, in a familiar, fatherly gesture, ruffled the ebony cloud of hair. “I'll treasure it forever.”

He bent down and hugged her, as a loving father should, but it escaped no one's attention that although he'd said the right words, and acted appropriately, he'd emotionally distanced himself from the situation.

As soon as they'd entered the house, Reece disappeared into the library. Even as the rest of the adults did their best to keep Grace occupied with a seemingly endless game of Candyland, there was no escaping the pall of gloom that had settled over the house like a shroud.

 

A week after Lena's funeral, Joe, who was staying in a nearby hotel, finally talked Molly into leaving the house—and Grace—long enough to take a walk along the cliff. The morning was unnaturally still. With only the soft sigh of the distant surf washing up onto the golden sands, Molly imagined she could hear the feelings that Joe had been trying to put into words.

“This isn't going to work, you know,” he said finally. He was standing beside her, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, looking not at Molly, but out toward the horizon where fishing boats chugged along, laying their long orange nets.

Molly pretended ignorance. “What?”

“Your staying here indefinitely, pretending to be Grace's mother.”

Although his tone was as gentle as ever, the words stung. “A week is not an indefinite stay. And I
am
her mother.”

“No.” He turned and looked at her and his eyes were sad. “Not really. Oh, biologically, you are. But Grace thinks of you as her aunt.”

“An aunt who loves her.”

“I'd never suggest otherwise.” He took his left hand out of his pocket and linked his fingers with hers. “But you're not helping her, staying here, letting her hover next to you like some pale, ghost child.”

“That's not fair!” She tried to back away, but his fingers tightened, effectively holding her hostage. “I'm her closest relative. She needs support right now.”

“Her father's her closest relative. She needs his support.”

“He isn't capable of providing it right now.”

“Because he doesn't have to. Because Saint Molly's here to pick up the pieces and keep everything running smoothly, so he can wallow in self-indulgent grief instead of trying to shore up the hole in his daughter's life.”

Joe's tone, as he referred to her as Saint Molly, held none of the sarcasm Reece's had only last week. Although the words made her angry, she knew they were spoken with honest concern.

“That's not a very nice thing to say.”

“No.” He took a deep breath, turned toward her, framed her cheek with his free hand and looked down into her sad, mutinous face. “But it's the truth. You've kept her so busy with games and trips to the zoo and planting those damn flowers that she hasn't had any time to grieve the loss of her mother.

“And meanwhile, Reece is sinking deeper and deeper into depression because you're allowing him to abdicate his responsibility.” His fingers were warm on her skin. His tone was warmer still. “You can't fix the world, sweetheart.”

“I don't want to fix the world,” she said in a small voice that sounded pitiful even to her own ears. “Just my little corner of it.”

“Aw, Molly.”

He fitted her face into the side of his neck and held
her, wishing he could stumble across a bottle on the beach and release a magic genie who would make everything all right for her. And, Joe decided, since the genie would already be out of the bottle, it'd be nice if he could also make Molly fall in love with him. As he was, and always would be, with her.

As they stood there on the edge of the cliff, bathed in the clear bright light of a late-spring morning, neither Joe nor Molly saw Reece, standing at the library window, grim-faced as he observed their embrace.

Molly was disappointed, but not overly surprised, when the other adults in the house sided with Joe.

“Reece and Gracie have to figure out some way to be a family without Lena,” Alex said gently. “And as much as we understand you're trying to prevent her from emotional pain, we can't continue to pretend her mother's just off frolicking with God in some fanciful tulip bed, and encourage her to stuff her feelings of loss beneath layers of denial. Because somewhere down the line, she has to deal with any painful emotions she's suppressed.”

The way he was looking at her, as if he could see all the way inside her, gave Molly the feeling that Alex was no longer talking about Grace, but about her.

“Losing a loved one is a lot like breaking a bone.” Joe entered into the conversation. “If the bone isn't set properly, it'll heal on its own, but it'll cause pain for the rest of the patient's life. If Grace isn't allowed to grieve for her mother, Molly, she'll never feel emotionally whole.”

Like she'd never allowed herself to grieve for the loss of her daughter, Molly thought, angry and miserable at
the way all of them were ganging up on her, seeming determined to separate her from Grace again, just when they were establishing a bond.

“We know you mean well, darling,” Theo said. “But this can't be good for you, either. If you allow yourself to become too close to Grace, it could prove wrenching when you have to go back to your own life.”

The quiet words hit home. They were right. Especially Theo. It would be hard enough to leave Grace now. If she stayed any longer, she might be tempted to destroy the comforting fabric of well-meant lies they'd wrapped around her daughter.

“I need to talk to Reece,” she said after a long, thoughtful pause.

“That's a good idea,” Alex agreed as the others nodded. The relief in the room was palpable.

When he didn't answer her light tap on the closed door, she gingerly entered the dimness of the library, feeling as if she were braving a lion in its den.

Unlike the rest of the house, which Lena had decorated in soft, shell-like colors of pink, ivory and sea mist, this room had been designed as a masculine retreat. The walls, lined with bookshelves, were paneled with a deep red mahogany, the furniture oversize and comfortable.

Reece was sitting in an oxblood leather wing chair, his back to the door, staring out over the vast sun-gilded waters.

“Go away.” He had never thought of himself as rude. Oh, he could be brusque on occasion, but one thing he remembered from his childhood was his mother teaching him that politeness was a virtue all properly brought up Southern boys should acquire.

“I need to talk to you.”

“There's nothing to say.” He reached out, picked up the crystal decanter of brandy from the table beside him and refilled the Waterford balloon glass—one of a set he and Lena had received as a wedding gift from Mercy Samaritan's chief of staff and his wife. As he watched the level of amber liquor rise, Reece vaguely recalled the couple attending Lena's funeral, as well.

“Weddings and funerals,” he muttered, thinking how they seemed to be the two occasions that brought people together. That and christenings.

Not wanting to think about that day when Lena had been so happy and their future had looked so golden, Reece downed the drink in long, thirsty swallows.

“Actually, I came to see what you'd think about me going back to Arizona.”

“With that guy? Jim?”

“Joe.” She wondered at the edge in his voice, then decided if she were Reece, she'd be angry at everyone right now. Including strangers. “And yes, I guess with him, although we don't really work together all that much—”

“So your relationship is mainly personal?”

He made what she and Joe had sound dirty. And wrong. “I didn't say that.”

“I saw you.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “Out on the cliff.”

Although she had done nothing to feel ashamed of, unbidden color rose in Molly's cheeks. “It's not what you're implying.”

“That's your story.” His tone was gritty, his eyes as hard as stones. Where was the gentle, caring man who'd
once been her best friend in the world? “I don't give a flying fuck what you do with the guy, Sister Molly.”

He ignored her slight cringe at the uncharacteristic obscenity. “I also don't care if you break your vow of chastity and go to bed with every quack doctor in the BIA and the entire Navajo nation. But the one thing I don't want is having my daughter exposed to your blatant behavior.”

He turned away, refusing to look at her shocked, pained face. “So, I think you're right. It's time for you to go.”

Molly was stunned. By his condemnation and his coldly devastating anger that she couldn't understand. She was tempted, yet again, to remind him that Grace was her daughter, too, and she'd never do anything to hurt her in any way, but realized that it would be impossible to break through the icy shield he'd surrounded himself with.

Unwilling to leave things like this, she walked the few feet between them and touched his back lightly. His back became as rigid as marble.

“Take care of yourself.” She swallowed past the lump of anguish and loss in her throat. “And be gentle with Grace. She'll need you now, more than ever.”

He didn't answer. Nor did he turn around. Her heart heavy in her chest, she left the dark room. And the man she'd chosen—hopefully not mistakenly—to be the father of her child.

Reece waited until he heard the door click behind her. Then cursing, he threw the empty glass into the fireplace, where it shattered into thousands of crystalline pieces.

 

Molly returned to the reservation and threw herself into her work with a dedication that was unheard of, even for her. When Sister Benvenuto professed concern about her eighteen and twenty-hour days, she reminded her superior that part of the reason she'd been assigned to the Navajo nation in the first place was that the BIA's health services were woefully understaffed.

When Joe complained about her obvious weight loss and the shadows beneath her tired eyes, she responded tartly that since she wasn't one of his patients, her health was none of his business. He'd shouted back, in front of an entire clinic of wide-eyed patients that it sure as hell was his business, “Because I'm in love with you, goddammit!”

But either he was more fickle than she would have believed, or he'd given up on a lost cause because when her schedule brought her back to his clinic three weeks later, he didn't say a personal word to her, other than to ask how Grace was doing.