“So you’re divorced?”
“No. Never married. I was going to college in Reno when my girlfriend got pregnant. Long story short, she wasn’t interested in marriage or in having a baby, for that matter. She’s from New Jersey and went home to her family and decided to have Molly adopted. That’s before we knew she was Molly. If she’d had the paperwork sent to me right away, I might have signed off—but some time passed and I brooded. I wasn’t ready to be a father, that’s for sure, but I was less ready to have someone else raise my child.”
“And how old is Molly?”
“She’s almost ten.”
Shock settled over Clare’s features as she did the math.
“That’s right—I was all of eighteen. Nineteen when she was born. And I had to fight to get her.”
“Your girlfriend’s family?”
He sat at the end of a chaise, facing Clare but not reclining. “This is just for you, okay? I haven’t exactly explained this part to Molly. Can’t figure out how. Her mother and grandparents didn’t want to keep her, they wanted her adopted. Gone. Out of the picture.”
“But you got her.”
“My mother cashed in everything she had to help me fight a legal battle out of state, but yes, I’ve had her since she was two months old.” He pulled the coffees out of the bag and handed her one. She leaned back on the lounger and carefully lifted her legs up. “That’s life, huh?” he said. “How one stupid, irresponsible mistake can somehow turn into the best thing that ever happened.”
They talked a little about their kids; she asked how he managed to work full-time and raise a child. With a lot of help, was the answer—his mother, a Realtor, was pretty flexible. And he worked four ten-hour days, giving him three off each week. They had a dog, Spoof, and Molly’s best friend lived down the block—so they always had a safe place for her to go if Dad and Gram weren’t home.
All the while he talked, the dispatcher sent messages by way of his radio, the receiver attached to his right shoulder, which was turned down, but she could see his eyes dart now and then toward it, keeping tabs on what was going on. And in the back of Clare’s mind came this startling reality—in the past six months and in the previous times she’d been separated, she had never really been on her own. It was more of a respite before going back into that marriage.
This young man was doing so much better by himself than she, so much older and with so much more experience, had done.
“I have so much to figure out,” she finally said.
“Figure out getting on your feet. There’s plenty of time for everything else.”
“My biggest problem is that my son, Jason, is furious with his father. I mean livid. He won’t even speak to him.”
Sam whistled. “Ouch. Well, I hope they work that out. A young man needs a dad. Mine died when I was so young.”
Just as she was about to offer her condolences, the front door to the house flew open with a bang and she heard Jason. “Mom! Mom!” And Dotty. “Clare! Oh, Clare!” The sound of running and shouting caused her to sit upright and Sam to stand by the time Jason and Dotty found them on the patio.
“Are you all right?” Jason, red-faced, demanded.
“Jason. Yes,” she said, confused.
“The patrol car,” Sam said. He stuck out a hand. “You must be Jason. I just brought your mom some Starbucks.”
“Who are you?”
“Jason, this is Sam. He was the police officer at the accident.” Dotty came up behind Jason before the handshake could be completed. Her hand twisted her sweater closed over her ample chest and there was a look of terror on her face. “Dotty, this is Sam. He was the police officer at the accident.”
“Starbucks,” he said, lifting his paper cup.
“Oh my Lord, I thought something had happened to you—and you called the police!”
“Everything is fine. Jason, it turns out I know your grandfather. Sort of. I go to his hardware store all the time.”
Clare struggled up, getting to her feet slowly. “Sam has been kind enough to check on my progress since the accident. And today he surprised me with coffee.”
He looked at his watch. “And my coffee break is more than over. Good thing we’re not having a crime wave around here—I’d better get going.”
“Let me see you to the door,” Clare said.
“You don’t have to. I know the way and I hate to make you move around too much.”
“I’m supposed to be walking. Good for me, they say.”
As they went to the door, they could hear Dotty and Jason settling their nerves with exclamations and deep sighs.
“You didn’t tell them about me,” Sam said.
“I guess I didn’t,” she said. “It never occurred to me that the police car would throw them into a panic. Sometimes I just don’t think ahead.”
When they got to the door, Sam looked at her and said, “Look, I don’t want to throw any curves while you’re trying to recover—but are you absolutely sure I’m being kind? Or thoughtful and sensitive? And that there’s not another reason I’ve been in touch?”
The questions threw her. What would a handsome young man like Sam want with an older woman like Clare? came to mind. But all she said was, “I have a cracked pelvis.”
He put his thumb and forefinger under her chin, looked into her eyes and said, “Well, it won’t be cracked forever.” And then he left her to think about that.
Four
“Clare, I can barely hear you,” Maggie said into the phone.
“Because I’m in the closet,” Clare replied in a low voice.
“Did you say you’re in your closet? Get out of your closet! So I can hear you!”
“Just a minute. Just a minute, it isn’t that easy.” The closet in question was not a walk-in closet. It was a mere cubbyhole with a sliding door. But she had to talk to somebody, and it was imperative that Jason and Dotty not overhear.
Once out, behind the closed bedroom door, she realized she’d gone over the top by trying to hide. This was her cell phone so there was no extension and Jason was probably either watching TV or in his room with his stereo turned up.
Clare sat on her bed. Still, she kept her voice down. “Did you hear anything I said?” she asked Maggie.
“You said the police officer who was at the accident came to see you?” she repeated by way of a question.
“The young police officer. Very young. Twenty-nine.”
“Okay…?”
“He brought coffee. And…” She was momentarily speechless. She couldn’t go on. It sounded so ridiculous even in her mind, it was impossible to comprehend.
“Clare! What?”
“He asked me if I was sure he was just being thoughtful. Was I sure it wasn’t something more than that. Maggie, I think he’s pursuing me!”
“Well now,” Maggie said. “Any chance you might have sex again before you die?”
“Sex,” she said in a slow, shocked breath.
Maggie burst into laughter. “For God’s sake, Clare. You’re just coming into your prime! You could teach the boy a few things.” Silence answered her. “You haven’t forgotten how, have you?”
“How can you talk about sex?”