“Dad asked me if we’d had a chance to talk,” Molly said evenly, carefully broaching the subject.
Jordan stopped eating and his gaze narrowed.
“Was there a particular reason he seemed so curious about us talking?”
He mulled over the question, and Molly didn’t press him. She knew Jordan well enough to realize that when and if he offered an explanation it would be in his time, not hers, and certainly not her father’s.
The doorbell chimed again. Jordan growled, stood and answered it. Paul Phelps, one of his site superintendents, strolled casually inside, then did a double take when he saw Molly. His face lit up in a broad grin.
“Molly! Hey, it’s good to see you.” He walked over and gave her a hug.
Molly had always liked Paul, who was as much of a friend as an employee. “How’s the family?” she asked.
“Brenda had another girl last year,” Paul boasted.
“Congratulations.”
He turned to Jordan. “I saw your truck parked outside and wondered if you’d gotten back,” he said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “What happened to your arm?” he asked, gesturing toward the sling.
“Nothing a little time won’t fix,” Jordan muttered. “If I’m going to have a parade marching through here, I might as well get dressed.” He didn’t look happy about it, but Molly welcomed the time alone with Paul.
“How’s he been?” she asked as soon as Jordan had left the room.
Paul shrugged. “Better in the last year or so since he—” He stopped abruptly and glanced guiltily at Molly. “Since, well, you know, since he hasn’t been killing himself working every hour of the day and night.”
“If this house is any indication, that’s exactly what he has been doing.”
“What happened to his shoulder?” Paul asked, and Molly wondered if it was a blatant effort to change the subject.
“He was shot,” she said, “twice.”
“Shot.” Paul almost dropped the mug.
“It’s a long story,” Molly said.
“Longer than either of us has time to explain,” Jordan said gruffly, appearing in the doorway. Judging by the frustrated look in his eyes, Molly realized dressing was more than he could handle alone. He needed help, but she doubted he’d ask for it.
Paul glanced from one of them to the other, then set his coffee cup on the counter. “I can see you two have lots to talk about. Great to see you again, Molly. Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?”
She nodded and walked him to the door. He seemed anxious to leave, but she stopped him, her hand at his elbow. “What is everyone trying to hide from me?”
Paul looked decidedly uncomfortable. “That’s something you need to ask Jordan.”
Molly intended to do exactly that. Her husband’s eyes met hers when she returned to the kitchen. “Tell me,” she said without emotion.
His eyes briefly left hers. “There was more than one reason I went to Africa,” he said. “For one thing, your father asked me to bring you home.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I came to ask for a divorce.”
Four
Molly felt as if the floor had collapsed beneath her, sending her crashing into space.
Divorce.
Jordan had come to Africa to ask for a divorce.
Since Jeffrey’s death, Molly had learned a great deal about emotional pain. The numbness came first, deadening her senses against the rush of unbearable heartache that was guaranteed to follow. Only later would she expect the full impact of Jordan’s words to hit her. For now she welcomed the numbness.
“I see,” she managed, closing her eyes. She’d made such an idiot of herself, suggesting they vacation together on a tropical island as if they were lovers, as if their marriage had been given a second chance. Her face burned with humiliation, but she resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. “You might have said something sooner, before I made a fool of myself.”
“If anyone’s a fool, it’s me.” Jordan’s voice was filled with self-condemnation.
“No wonder you were in such a rush to get back to the States.” It all made sense now, a painful kind of sense.
“I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.” He walked to the far side of the room, his shoulders slumped.
“I’m glad you did. Otherwise, who knows how long I would’ve continued making a complete idiot of myself.” Another thought occurred to her. “My father knows, doesn’t he?” An answer wasn’t necessary. Paul did, as well. That explained the awkward way he’d answered her questions and his hasty exit.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jordan muttered.
“I doubt that.” How could he when she didn’t know herself?
“You’re wondering about what happened between us in the supply shed.” His mouth tightened as if he dreaded bringing up the subject. “If you’re looking for an apology I can’t give you one. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and I’m not sorry.”
“I’ll admit it was a curious way of saying goodbye,” she said with a small laugh. She appreciated his honesty, knowing what it had cost him. “I … I don’t regret it, either.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
She nodded and turned to leave. Walking to the front door required an incredible effort. She paused, her back to him, when the realization hit her. “You’ve met another woman, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. In fact, it seemed to take him a long time to formulate a reply. Long enough for her to turn around to face him, preferring to hear the truth head-on. His eyes held hers. “Lesley Walker.”
The name slid over the surface of Molly’s memory and caught. “The architect?”
“We worked together a lot over the past year.”
She nodded. Other than the name, Molly had no clear picture of the woman. “She must be very special.” Otherwise Jordan wouldn’t love her.
“Stop it!” Jordan exploded, his good fist tightly clenched. “You don’t need to be so understanding. I should’ve told you up front. Instead, I left you hanging, thinking there might be a chance for us, when there isn’t. You have every right to be angry. Throw something,” he shouted, reaching for an empty vase. “You’ll feel better.”
She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “You mean, you’ll feel better.” She removed the vase from his hand and set it back down. “Don’t look so guilty. I was the one who walked out on you, remember?” Her hand trembled slightly as she opened the front door. “Whatever arrangements you make are fine. Just let me know when you need me to sign the papers.”
* * *
Jordan would rather have taken another bullet than have Molly look at him the way she had when he’d said he wanted a divorce. First her eyes had widened, as she dealt with the shock his words inflicted, then they’d gone dull and empty. It was all he could do not to reach for her with his uninjured arm, pull her close and comfort her.
He’d never meant to tell her about Lesley like that. He’d wanted to sit down and explain that he hadn’t intended to fall in love again. It had simply happened. But his good intentions had taken the proverbial road straight to hell.
His attempt at following the doctor’s instruction—to stay at home and rest—lasted all of an hour. He needed to get down to the job site. He needed to talk to Paul. He needed to escape his own thoughts before he questioned what he was doing. What he really needed, Jordan decided, was to have his head examined.
Lesley met him at the job site. He’d been back nearly twenty-four hours before he’d contacted her. He’d called her cell and left a message without including any details. Hardly appropriate, considering this was the woman he planned to marry. He wanted to blame Molly for his inadequate behavior, but he honestly couldn’t. Still, at the moment, he’d rather not see any woman, even Lesley.
“I can’t believe you’re working,” she said, stepping into the construction trailer, looking as wholesome and sunny as a spring
day. Her eyes lit up with concern when she saw his arm in the sling. “I went to the house first. Shouldn’t you be in a hospital or something?”
“Probably,” Jordan muttered, allowing her to kiss his cheek.
Paul took one look at him and made a convenient excuse to leave. Jordan didn’t need to ask his friend’s opinion; it was there for him to read in Paul’s eyes.
Jordan didn’t need his best friend in order to feel guilty. After the morning confrontation with Molly, no one could make him feel like more of a jerk than he already did.
“How did everything go in the East African Republic?” Lesley asked.
“Great.”
“Molly wasn’t hurt?”
“No.” He kept his responses brief, hoping she’d realize he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“How did you feel when you saw her? I mean, it’s been years, so you must have felt something.”
“I did.”
The pain in his shoulder grew worse and he slumped into a chair and closed his eyes until the worst of it had passed.
“Jordan, are you okay?” Lesley asked. “In your message, you said it was minor. You’ve been badly injured.”
“It’s just a flesh wound.” Another understatement, but he didn’t want her gushing sympathy all over him. She’d make him sound like some hero, and he wasn’t.
“How long will you have to wear the sling?”
“As long as it takes,” he answered shortly.
If he wasn’t in such a crappy mood, he’d appreciate Lesley more. She understood his need for work and was ambitious herself. They were a perfect match. An ideal couple. It was time to cut the ties that bound him to Molly.
“I realize this probably isn’t a good time to ask, but did you mention the divorce to Molly?”
Talking about the divorce left an ugly taste. He ignored the question, stood and pretended to be absorbed in some blueprints.
“Naturally you didn’t get a chance to talk to her, not with the country involved in a revolution,” Lesley said, answering her own question. “You were lucky to get out with your lives.”
“I talked to her about it this morning,” he told her impatiently. “She’s agreed. There won’t be any problem.”
Lesley went still. “I know this was difficult for you, Jordan.”
She didn’t have a clue, but surprisingly neither had he. A divorce seemed the natural progression for him and Molly. It was the right thing to do, but Jordan hadn’t expected the bad feelings that came over him when he told her he planned to formally end their marriage.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
Lesley had a way of reading him that was sometimes unnerving. Was he? “No,” he said without a pause. The time for second thoughts was over. “I want the divorce.”
* * *
Michael Rife wasn’t keen on divorce cases. He took them occasionally, generally for a change of pace. He’d met with Jordan Larabee three or four times now and his client had assured him this was a friendly divorce. There was no such thing, but Michael didn’t see the point of saying so. Larabee and his wife would discover that soon enough on their own, he suspected.
From what Michael understood, Mrs. Larabee had yet to retain an attorney, and had indicated she saw no need to do so. Apparently she’d read the agreement he’d drawn up and was satisfied with the settlement offer her husband had proposed.
That in itself was highly unusual, but then very little about this divorce was typical. Larabee had bent over backward to make this as easy for his wife as possible. Frankly, Michael couldn’t help wondering what had gone wrong in their marriage.
His intercom beeped, and his secretary said, “The Larabees are here to see you.”
Michael stood when the couple entered. He exchanged a handshake with Jordan, and everyone was seated. Michael studied Larabee’s wife. She was attractive, a bit too thin and fragile-looking. But appearances were often deceiving. A delicate woman wouldn’t have spent the past two years as a nurse in an unstable and poverty-ridden African country.
Michael picked up the file and asked Molly, “You’ve had the opportunity to read the settlement offer?”
“Yes, I have,” she answered quietly. “And I found Jordan to be more than generous.”
“It’s highly unusual for you not to have an attorney look this over on your behalf,” Michael felt obliged to explain. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with this aspect of the divorce.
“I don’t see why. There’s nothing here I take exception to, and I see no reason to prolong this.”
“As long as you understand the terms of the settlement.”
“Everything is perfectly clear to me.”
Larabee was unusually quiet. “He’s right, Molly. It might be a good idea if you had your own attorney look at it.”
“If that’s what you want, but I don’t see why. You want your freedom, and that’s reasonable. You’ve waited long enough.”
Larabee crossed his legs in what seemed a nervous movement. “I don’t want you to feel that I’ve cheated you in any way.”
“That’s the last thing I’m worried about. You’ve been very generous. Why don’t we leave matters as they are?”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Michael couldn’t remember any couple who were so caring toward each other about the details of a divorce. He flipped through the file again, hoping for some indication of what had gone wrong between two decent people.
“There are no children involved,” he muttered to himself, although he already knew this.
“No children,” Jordan repeated.
“There was a child,” Mrs. Larabee added, and Michael swore the color of her eyes changed when she spoke. When she walked in the door, he’d been struck by their clear shade of blue, but when she mentioned the child, they darkened. “A son…he died of SIDS. His name was Jeffrey.”
Jordan hadn’t spoken of this before, and he said nothing now.
Michael made a notation in the file. It was all coming together. The divorce wasn’t based on the usual grounds of irreconcilable differences, a couple having grown apart or infidelity. It was rooted in grief.
“Did you need me to sign something?” Molly Larabee asked, breaking into his thoughts. She sounded eager, wanting this over as quickly as possible.
“Yes, of course.” Michael took out the papers and handed her a pen. “I’ll file these papers this afternoon. The divorce will be final in sixty days.”
“That soon?” Jordan asked.
“That long?” was his wife’s question.
Michael studied the couple sitting across from him. Over the years, in most of the divorces he’d seen, the couple hated each other by the time they filed the final papers. It was disconcerting to represent two people who continued to love each other.
* * *
Sitting beneath the weeping willow tree in her father’s yard seemed the thing to do after meeting with the attorney. Molly hadn’t anticipated the emotional toll the appointment would take. She was grateful her father was away for the afternoon, because she needed time alone to sort through her feelings.
She expected tears. None came. How could she weep for a marriage that had been dead all these years?
The spindly branches of the willow danced in the wind about her feet. With her back against the trunk, she stared at the meticulously kept gardens that had been her mother’s pride and joy. But her mother, like Jeffrey, like her marriage, was dead and forever gone.
In the week since Jordan had asked for the divorce, Molly had made discreet inquiries about Lesley Walker. Everything she learned about the other woman was positive. Lesley was a talented architect with a promising future. She was energetic and well-liked. Difficult though it was for Molly to stomach, Lesley was exactly the type of wife Jordan needed.
Admitting that produced a sharp pain, and the tears that had refused to come earlier now rolled down her face.
“I wondered if this was where I’d f
ind you.” She heard her father’s voice behind her.
Molly hastily wiped the tears from her face. “I thought you were going to be away for the afternoon.”
“I was,” Ian Houghton said, awkwardly sitting down on the grass beside her. He looked out of place in his expensive suit. “But I thought you might be feeling a little blue after signing the final papers.”
“I’m fine.”
Ian handed her his crisp white handkerchief. “So I noticed.” He placed his arm around her shoulders. “You used to come here when you were a little girl. The gardener’s been telling me for years I should have this old tree cut down, but I could never do it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Things aren’t as bleak as they seem, sweetheart. I know that from experience, from losing your mother. Someday you’ll look back on all this and the pain won’t be as deep.”
Her father had said something similar after Jeffrey died and she hadn’t found it to be true. The ache would never leave her.
“Would you rather Jordan had never been a part of your life?” Ian asked.
Her immediate instinct was to tell him yes, she wished she’d never met Jordan, never loved him, never given birth to his son. But it would’ve been a lie. Jordan was her first love, her only love, and how could she ever regret having had Jeffrey? It wasn’t in her to lie, even to herself.
She’d failed Jordan, Molly realized, and he’d failed her. They’d been equal partners in the destruction of their marriage. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she should have pursued counseling, even if Jordan refused. He’d believed, or claimed to believe, that talking about their loss would only perpetuate it.
And yet, he was the first one to recognize that their marriage was over. He was the first one to make a new life for himself.
“I remember when Jeffrey died,” her father said with some difficulty. She knew it was hard for him to talk about his only grandchild. “Grief leaves you feeling hopeless. It turns you hollow inside and makes you wonder about God.”
Molly was well acquainted with the toll grief demanded. “Whenever I’m hurting that badly, I ask myself why God doesn’t do something,” she said.