Once Around (4 page)

#

"I'm fine," Molly managed as the stranger swooped her up into his arms. "There's no need for this." What was his name? He'd told her, but she hadn't been listening. She wished she could remember what it was, especially since he had her cradled against his chest, so close that she could hear his heart beating beneath her right ear. The last time she'd been this close to a man was the night she and Robert conceived the baby. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until right this minute. "You can put me down now.'

"
And watch you drop like a rock? Just hang on, and I'll find you a chair,"

He had a husky
, very male voice and right now he sounded unbearably kind. She wasn't in the mood for kindness. She wished he would just go away and leave her to her misery the way her husband had.

He carried her into the foyer.
"He didn't take your stairs," he said, then placed her carefully on the second step. "I'll get you some water."

"
I wish you wouldn't do this."

"
Save the thanks for later;" he said, softening the words with a quick smile. "Just point me toward the kitchen."

She didn
't have the energy to argue with him. She pointed him toward the kitchen, then leaned back against the carpeted steps. She couldn't see much of the living room from there, but then there wasn't much left to see.

Robert had
stripped pictures and paintings from the walls, taken embroidered pillows, the crystal jar of potpourri, and the chunky candles from the mantel.

All that was left was the pale cream-colored carpet and the stack of magazines that had rested on one of the now missing end tables. She was surprised he hadn
't tried to pry the house from its foundation and cart it away in a giant U-Haul.

The top of her head felt ready to explode. Her
, ears throbbed with the sound of her blood pulsing through her body. She could feel her heart beating loudly in her throat, her chest, her temples. The baby shifted position then kicked sharply, and she placed her hand against her belly and willed herself to calm down. "You're all that's important," she said out loud. "You're the only thing that matters."

The helpful stranger—if only she could remember his name—walked back into the hallway then handed her a glass of orange juice.
"You still have a fridge."

"
That's good to know." She took a long sip of juice, closing her eyes as the cool liquid slid down her throat. "Listen, this is very kind of you, but I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

"
No," he said, crouching down in front of her. "I don't."

His face was inches away from hers. His eyes were a shade of blue that bordered on navy. She
'd never seen eyes like that before. His lashes were thick and straight and inky black. A woman would kill for lashes like that. He wore his dark hair long. It brushed the collar of his denim work shirt. He had a small crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek, a wide and sensual mouth, and a strong jaw. She'd never seen anyone like him. He certainly didn't look like the kind of man you'd see walking the streets of Princeton. There was something vaguely uncivilized about him, as if he didn't know the rules and wouldn't play by them if he did. "You don't have a wife holding supper for you someplace?"

"
She's holding supper for her second husband somewhere west of the Grand Canyon."

"
Sorry to hear that," she said.

"
I stopped being sorry about two years ago," he said. "Only took me eight years to get there."

Eight years? He might as well have rolled an eighteen-wheeler over her. The thought of feeling this pain for eight more years was overwhelming. Labor couldn
't possibly hurt more than Robert's betrayal did.

She took a long sip of juice. The man in front of her looked appealingly unc
omfortable. Very protective and very male.
Your wife must have been a fool,
she thought.

Robert had never been this solicitous of her. Not even back when they were ne
wly married and still happy. It had always been about Robert's comfort and Robert's needs and Robert's expectations. Not that she had complained. She knew the score when she signed onto the team. The most important thing was that the team stayed together.

"
I'm sorry I can't help you about the basement," she said, standing up. "I'm also sorry you can't return the money,"

"
So am I."

"
I almost believe you mean that."

"
I do mean it."

"
Well, there's nothing we can do about it now, I suppose."

"
Your lawn's overgrown," he pointed out. "Your shutters need fixing. I could work off the money that way."

"
I don't know," she said. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. I don't know what's going to happen next." Her laugh held more than a touch of fear. "Want to hear something funny? I don't know how I'm going to pay next month's mortgage." She didn't know why she'd said that. It wasn't something she liked to admit even to herself.

He didn
't look shocked or judgmental. Maybe in his world not being able to pay .the rent was as commonplace as :a summer cold. "Do you work?"

"
Part-time."

His eyes followed the movement of her hands as they instinctively cradled her belly.
"You're pregnant."

She nodded.
"Fourth month. The doctor doesn't think I should commute to Manhattan on a daily basis, so I've been freelancing." She waited for him to ask what exactly she was freelancing, but he didn't. "I'm looking for some local work." She forced a smile. She was good at smiling. People didn't look too closely when you smiled at them. "Need an editor?"

He blew right past her question.
"How many rooms have you got here?"

She blinked in surprise. That wasn
't the response she'd been expecting. "Five bedrooms, three baths, full basement. What does that have to do with anything?"

"
You could rent out a few rooms to help pay your mortgage ."

"
To boarders?" She sounded horrified.

"
Yep." He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. "Good way to make some money without doing much of anything."

"
I couldn't live with strangers."

"
Just an idea," he said easily, watching her with a combination of curiosity and something uncomfortably close to pity. She hated that look in his eyes. It made her want to turn away in embarrassment.

"
Not a very good idea," she said.

"
So forget about it."

"
I will."

"
What do you want to do about me?"

"
I can't do anything right now," she said. "You're throwing questions at me, and all I can think about is whether or not I still have a bed to sleep in."

"
Then you'd better find out."

"
Listen," she said, "I know what you're doing and I appreciate it but I'm fine. I'm not going to pass out on the floor or dissolve in tears the second you leave."

"
You're not going to call the cops?"

"
Why would I call the cops?" she countered, puzzled. "You didn't do anything wrong." So what if he couldn't return the money. That was Robert's loss, not hers.

"
Somebody around here did something wrong," he said. "You were robbed."

She felt heat rise up from her chest.
"Don't worry. I'm not in any danger."

"
How do you know?"

"
Believe me, I know."

"
Why don't I check the house for you?"

Her temper flared up.
"Why don't you—"

"
Molly, oh, my God, I can't believe what—" Gail from across the street burst into the foyer and stopped dead. Gail of the three perfect children and the adoring husband who showered her with Land Rovers and trips to Paradise Island. Gail thought Molly was just like her, a matron-in-waiting, a mother-to-be who would do all of her being right there in a big, beautiful house where she was queen of all she surveyed. A woman who believed she'd been born to be served.

"
Who are you?" Gail demanded, staring at the man whose name Molly wished she could remember.

He turned his slightly amused gaze on Gail.
"Rafe Garrick. Who are you?"

Molly watched
, amazed, as Gail's cheeks reddened.

"
Who
is
he?" Gail asked Molly: The righteous tone in her voice got under Molly's skin.

"
Rafe Garrick," Molly said. Good thing she'd been paying attention this time. "He just told you."

"
I mean, what is he? To you, that is."

"
Did you want something, Gail? I'm not in the mood for social chitchat right now."

"
I'm not surprised, after what Bob did. I never thought I'd live long enough to see a husband do this to his pregnant wife."

Rafe Garrick met Molly
's eyes. "Your husband did this to you?"

She was too angry to be embarrassed.
"You didn't think a stranger would be so sneaky, did you?"

Gail
's beady little eyes didn't miss a trick. Molly knew the woman was filing away every word, every detail, so she could pass the gossip on to the neighbors. "We couldn't believe what was happening," Gail confided to Rafe, as if Molly weren't even there. "Bob was the nicest guy ... just the nicest. He helped me with the fiat tire I got down on Route 1. When Edie and I saw him pull up in that big U-Haul—well, it just about broke my heart."

"
You saw him do it?" Molly asked. "You actually saw him stealing the furniture?"

Gail shifted her weight and glanced away for a second before answering.
"I don't know that I'd call it stealing.

"
He took the furniture out of my house," Molly snapped. "If that's not stealing, I don't know what is."

"
I'm just telling you what he said."

"
You spoke to him?"

Gail looked as if she wished she were anywhere but in Molly
's foyer. "Just for a second. I had to make sure you weren't being robbed. I mean, not being robbed by a stranger."

"
You should have called the police for me," Molly said, struggling to keep her tone as even as possible. Molly knew that Gail Lockwood had disliked her from the first moment she and Robert moved in. "Maybe then I'd have some furniture."

"
Oh, I don't think he took everything," Gail said in a cheery voice that rang as false as her helmet of blond hair. "I'm sure he left you more than enough."

Something in
Molly snapped, and she grabbed the woman by the forearm and marched her to the entrance of the empty living room. "Still think he left me more than enough?"

Gail
's cheeks were stained an ugly liver red, and the corner of her left eye twitched rhythmically. Twitch . . . twitch-twitch . . . twitch . . . twitch-twitch. Molly smiled in grim satisfaction. At least she wasn't the only one feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable now.

"
It's just one room," Gail managed, pulling away from Molly's grasp. She rubbed her arm with elaborate, melodramatic gestures. "You have the rest of the house."

But Molly knew better. She
'd noticed the dirty footprints on the center staircase, seen the nasty scrapes where furniture had crashed against the bannister and railings. She'd been cleaned out.

This was the stuff neighborhood legend was made of. Thirty years from now they
'd still be talking about Molly and Robert and the way he'd moved out after only a handful of months and taken everything with him but the house itself. She'd be an old woman, pushing her shopping cart through Super-Fresh, and the young ones would point at her and whisper, "That's the one who was dumped."

She dragged Gail across the foyer to the dining room. The
empty
dining room. "What would you call it, Gail? How does minimalist sound?"

Gail stared at the empty room.
"The bastard really did clean you out."

"
You knew that before you came over," Molly said with deadly calm. "You and the rest of your pals watched as he stripped this house of every piece of furniture, didn't you?"

Gail looked
toward Rafe Garrick for help. "What was I supposed to do—throw myself in front of the moving van and stop him?"

"
Mrs. Chamberlain's right. You could've called the cops," he said.