No Matter What

chapter SIXTEEN



“THERE’S NOTHING TO SAY,” Molly insisted, and tried to escape into her bedroom.

She hadn’t wanted to talk to Cait about Richard last night, and she wasn’t going to tonight, either. There wasn’t anything to say. He’d made his opinion really clear. And he’d done it in a way that left her quite certain there was no going back, even if she’d been willing to give up the idea of raising Cait’s baby in favor of a future with him. A future they hadn’t even discussed, that might or might not have been a possibility.

Her daughter had been trailing her through the house like a yapping dog going for the mailman’s leg. “Mom, you should talk to him, even if you won’t to me.”

Molly finally stopped at the bathroom door and turned, feeling almost frozen inside. “You saw him. You heard what he said. If you were me, would you call him? And what would you say?”

“Well…I don’t know.” Cait faltered. “But I think you hurt his feelings.”

“I hurt his feelings?” Oh, that was funny, considering what he’d done to her. She felt as if he’d stuck several particularly well-aimed skewers in her.

Tell me you aren’t planning to torture us for the rest of our natural lives.

Dear God, was that really how it seemed to him? That she wanted to keep the baby even though its very presence would forever be a torment to Cait, Trevor and Richard?

She hadn’t slept last night. She didn’t know how she’d be able to tonight, either, but she was desperate to be alone.

“He was wrong,” Cait said urgently. “Trevor and I talked about it today. We both like the idea of you keeping the baby.”

That made Molly blink, not a pleasant sensation when she felt as if she had sand on her eyeballs. “Trevor likes the idea,” she repeated slowly. Carefully.

Cait’s flush was a giveaway. “Maybe not like. But he’s getting used to it, Mom. He is.”

Her thoughts had slowed down, too. Her brain felt grainy and thick. “You weren’t so sure you liked the idea.”

“But I do.” Cait nibbled on her lower lip before going on in a burst. “I hated the idea of giving the baby away. This is, well, it’s scary, too, but in a different way. But once I thought about it, I knew it was right. You’ll love the baby, and I always wanted a sister or brother. Plus, I never knew how much you wanted another baby. I can tell you really do want her, and it makes me feel…I don’t know, like I’m giving you a gift. And that feels good.”

A sob escaped Molly. It came from nowhere. She hadn’t even felt it rising to her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared over it with blurry vision.

“Oh, Mom!” Cait flung herself at her mother.

Molly gave in to the tears and wrapped her arms around her daughter, who held her as tightly. She became aware that Cait was swaying on her feet, instinctively rocking her mother. That made Molly cry harder, and laugh, too. My fifteen-year-old daughter is comforting me as if I were a distraught child. The realization of the astonishing role reversal blazed through her.

“I love you,” Molly blubbered, laughed again, then cried some more. Cait had begun to giggle, too, although Molly caught a glimpse of her wet face and knew she was also crying.

It was a completely ridiculous scene, and wonderful, too. It had to be five minutes before Molly pulled herself together enough to straighten.

“I have to blow my nose.” More like, I ab doo bo by dose.

They both went into the bathroom, both blew, both mopped and washed their faces and giggled a little more at the absurdity and the marvel of sharing so completely.

And finally they sat on Molly’s bed, limber Cait cross-legged at the foot and Molly leaning back against a heap of pillows at the head. They looked at each other.

“What did Trevor really say?” Molly asked.

Cait’s face was blotchy and Molly suspected hers was worse. She had a redhead’s skin. Plus her eyes were way puffier than her daughter’s.

“When I first told him yesterday, he was freaked. That’s when he told his dad. But I guess he thought about it, and he’s really okay with the idea. If…well, we were both thinking maybe you and his dad might get married, and if you did Trevor would have to get used to thinking about the baby as, like, a sister or brother. But if you don’t, he won’t see the baby any more than if she was adopted by someone else. Unless, well, we stay, um, friends. You know.”

Molly wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She’d been trying not to think about Cait and Trevor’s relationship. They’d obviously grown close. But were they sleeping together again? She’d decided not to ask. It was a little late to worry about an unwanted pregnancy, wasn’t it? Not to mention a little late to worry about any impact on her own relationship with Trevor’s father.

She made a noise that could be taken as vague agreement.

“The thing is…Mr. Ward said he was in love with you.” Cait looked strangely stern. “Are you in love with him?”

Molly couldn’t do anything but nod. She hurt too much.

“Then…you should have talked to him. Why didn’t you?”

Why hadn’t she? These past weeks, they’d talked about everything else under the sun. What if he had made the same decision? Asked Cait and Trevor if he could keep the baby and raise it, without once having mentioned to her that the possibility had even crossed his mind?

Her heart cramped. I would have been hurt, of course. Worse than that—I’d have felt rejected. Ignored. As if I was inconsequential to him.

Which, she realized, was exactly what he’d felt.

Cait was watching her. “So?”

“So what?”

“Are you going to go see him and explain?”

Those knife blades were still embedded in her. She needed to pull them out, but was afraid of how much she’d bleed.

“No.” Her voice was dull. “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“You heard him.”

“He was mad.” Cait frowned. “I’ve said really awful things to you when I was mad, and you forgive me. Because you love me no matter what. That’s what you always say. Don’t you love him enough to forgive him?”

“This is different.”

“Because you think he doesn’t want the baby?”

Molly laughed, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “Think?”

“Because you might have to choose between him and the baby,” Cait said slowly.

The words stole Molly’s breath. Was that why she hadn’t talked to Richard about what she was thinking? Because she’d known he wouldn’t want to keep this baby? Because…she’d been afraid that, if he forced the choice, she would choose him?

Oh, God, she thought—I would have. I would have chosen him.

So…why hadn’t she?

Because…I never let myself acknowledge that the choice might have to be made. No, she’d told herself that he was an uncertain factor in her planning. After all, he hadn’t asked her to marry him, had he? Now, feeling as if she’d been stabbed again, and this time she’d rammed the blade into her own belly, Molly faced a truth. Of course he was going to ask her to marry him. He wasn’t a man to say “I love you” and not mean it wholeheartedly, with all that followed. She was the one who’d put off having that conversation. Because… She wasn’t absolutely sure. Maybe because she’d wanted to present him with a fait accompli. Had she thought once it was done, he’d hide his reluctance and accept her decision, because he loved her?

Yes. Dear God, yes, she thought, misery gripping her. That’s exactly what she hoped.

“Mom?

“He shut the door, Cait.”

“Mom, talk to him!”

She heard his voice. His cruelty. Even if you don’t give a damn about me, make some effort to think about your daughter and my son, will you? And a little less about yourself?

“No,” she said. “No.”

* * *

“SO, WHAT’D YOU SAY TO HER?” Trevor leaned against the doorjamb, blocking the exit from the kitchen.

Hateful things. Richard’s gut knotted when he remembered. The look on Molly’s face… A look he’d put there. Eyes closed, he squeezed the bridge of his nose until the cartilage creaked. “I was angry.”

“Why?” Trev sounded genuinely puzzled. “I mean, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea, but now that I’ve thought about it I think it might be good. Instead of always wondering, you know, Cait and I won’t have to. Because he’ll be part of our family.” He hesitated. “I guess you didn’t want another kid.”

Richard was ashamed that he hadn’t even thought it out that thoroughly. It had honestly never occurred to him that keeping the baby, for either him or Molly, was an option. No, in general he wouldn’t have said he wanted to start a new family. But if he’d married Molly, in the normal course of events, and she’d desperately wanted a baby—would he have been willing?

Maybe, he thought, then had to suppress a groan. Yeah, probably. He guessed there’d been a fear factor for him. He’d loved his kids desperately, and had lost them. He wasn’t sure he could survive a loss like that again.

But he’d just suffered one, anyway, and it was his own fault. He hadn’t known he could love a woman as much as he did Molly. He didn’t even know why her, why now. It was, that’s all. And he’d gone over to her house and told her she was so selfish, to get what she wanted she was willing to hurt everyone else, including her own daughter.

His stomach heaved and he turned away from Trevor to face the kitchen sink. In case.

“I said unforgivable things,” he said dully.

“Cait said maybe she could talk her mom into getting another job and moving away, so you don’t have to see the baby.”

Bracing his hands on the counter, Richard swallowed back another surge of nausea. “No,” he managed to say. “I don’t want that.”

“But you hate the idea. And…you might run into her sometimes. Wow. What if I want to spend time with my kid?”

My kid. Trevor had moved from terror and rebellion to a full sense of responsibility and even emotional acceptance, while his father… God. While I told Molly—in Cait’s hearing—that keeping our grandchild would torture all of us.

How could I say that? Mean it, even for one, enraged minute?

Richard didn’t know.

“This really sucks!” Trevor paced across the kitchen and back, his steps agitated. “Things were good. It’s me that messed them up. Again.”

“No.” God help me. “I did that all by myself.”

“If I hadn’t told you. If Ms. Callahan had come to you herself.”

“If she’d come to me and said, ‘I’ve decided to keep the baby, and Cait and Trevor have agreed’?” Richard shook his head. “It wouldn’t have made any difference, Trevor. I thought…” Damn, this was hard to say. His throat and tongue weren’t cooperating. “I thought we had an understanding. We weren’t engaged yet…”

“Because of me,” his son said desperately.

“Partly,” he conceded. “Partly we just hadn’t gotten there yet. But we had gotten far enough that, if she felt the same about me as I do about her, she should have talked to me. And that’s the bottom line. She wouldn’t have cut me out like this if she had been thinking marriage. Seems I was kidding myself.”

Trev stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. “But…shouldn’t you talk to her?”

Richard grunted and ran a hand over his face. “I think I’ve done enough talking,” he said, and held up a hand when Trevor’s mouth opened. “Then and now.”

He stepped into the utility room, started the washing machine and began dumping dirty clothes in heedlessly.

Irritatingly enough, the door opened behind him. “Uh, Dad?”

His shoulders tensed. Teeth gritted, he stuffed a pair of jeans in. Shit, he’d forgotten to put the laundry soap in first.

“I was wondering.”

“What?” Richard snapped.

“Well, I know I took off not that long ago. So maybe I haven’t earned driving privileges again.”

If he’d been capable of humor, this would be funny. “But you want your car back.”

“Well…yeah.”

He closed his eyes again. The washer began churning. Still no soap. White briefs spun by, tangled in a denim pant leg. Richard sighed. “All right. Fine.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to his kid. “You know which one it is. Screw up again and I’ll be taking it back.”

“Awesome!” Trevor declared with enthusiasm. Keys rattled. “Did you keep up the insurance?”

Richard’s shoulders shook. Okay, a sense of humor was buried deep in there somewhere. Not dead after all. “Yes,” he said. “You’re good to go.”

“Awesome,” Trevor repeated, and went.

Richard stood staring at the clothes swirling in the washer—still no soap—and wondered if he’d always been this lonely.

* * *

“WE HAVE TO GET THEM BACK together,” Cait said passionately. “But Mom is so-o stubborn.”

“Dad is, too.” Trevor took a slurp of his milk shake. He’d called her the minute he left and she’d come running out of her house as he was pulling up. He was always hungry, but tonight even she decided some French fries and a root beer float would be good, so they’d gone to Tastee’s. He almost wished now they had left town, maybe driven to Marysville or someplace, because everyone working the counter went to their school. And they’d all looked funny at Trevor and at Cait especially, and now were whispering and sneaking looks toward their table.

Cait, he saw, wasn’t paying any attention. First he thought she hadn’t noticed, but then he realized that she was probably already used to people whispering about her. He didn’t get it that much, but it must happen to her every day now that the word was out. There was probably even an element of meanness in it, with her mom being Vice Principal for discipline.

“Don’t worry about them,” she said suddenly, jerking her head toward the cretins behind the counter. She stared a challenge at them, and they hurried to look busy.

“I still can’t tell you’re pregnant,” Trevor said.

She shrugged and picked up a French fry. “I’m having trouble with the snaps on my jeans. I’ve had to ditch a couple pairs of skinny jeans.”

“Oh.” While he ate, he made a cautious survey of what he could see of her, sitting on the other side of the table. She had really great breasts—too big, she’d told him in disgust, for a ballerina. She might get by with them in modern dance, but probably not. Would they get even bigger as the pregnancy went along…?

Trevor frowned. He did like Cait. A lot. But the more he thought about it, the weirder the idea of the two of them together seemed. Given the baby, and their parents. He’d pretty much resolved to stay friends, at least until… He didn’t know. Maybe when they were both in college. If the chance came.

“Forget me,” she said impatiently. “What about Mom and your dad?”

“I don’t know.” He vented his frustration on the wrapping he was wadding in his hands. “They’re being stupid.”

“Maybe.” Cait bent her head. “But, see, my father really did a number on Mom. She hasn’t had a serious guy friend since.”

“You’ve never said anything about your dad.”

She jerked her shoulders. “I haven’t even seen him in…I don’t know, like four years? He pays child support because he’s an attorney, and wouldn’t it look bad if the authorities had to track him down as a deadbeat dad. I think he wanted a boy.”

She told him stuff then, about how her father was Colton Callahan the Third, and how once he’d remarried and had a son—Colton the Fourth, believe it or not—he’d lost interest in her. “I guess I didn’t cut it. Unless they’d named me Colton, and I doubt Mom would have gone for that.”

“He sounds like an…” Don’t say it. The guy is her father.

“I don’t like to think about him,” she said quickly. “And he’s not the point, anyway. Only that Mom maybe had a hard time trusting that your father really wanted her. You know?”

Trevor leaned back in the booth, thinking. “It might be the same for my dad. Mom really messed with him. She’s…um…I’ve told you about her.”

Except for Dad, Cait was the only one he’d told. About walking in on her and his coach, about the things she’d admitted to and even about Trevor’s realization that she’d probably screwed around on his dad, too. “I used to think it was weird he hadn’t married again. If he ever got close, I never knew.” He grimaced. “Not that I probably would have. I mean, we talked, but we’d go four or five months at a time without seeing each other.”

“So they’re both afraid to trust each other.”

This was uneasy territory for Trevor. Only girls talked about relationships and things like trust. He shifted in his seat. “I guess,” he said finally. “It might be something like that.”

“If your dad won’t call, do you think he’d do something like send her flowers and an apology? Write a note?”

“He’s being really stubborn.”

Frowning fiercely, Cait scooped up a gob of the melting ice cream and sucked it up. “Well, then,” she announced, “we have to trick them.”

Alarmed, Trevor stared at her. “What do you mean?”

She told him.

* * *

WHEN THE DOORBELL RANG, Molly was sitting at the breakfast bar immersed in the never-ending paperwork—state employees apparently did nothing but issue reams more of it. She sighed, rubbed her eyes and got to her feet.

She opened the front door to see a huge bouquet of flowers. A gorgeous bouquet, held at eye level. Lilies and roses and Queen Anne’s lace. She breathed in the scent of the Asian lilies and realized that a gawky kid was holding the arrangement out to her.

“For Molly Callahan.”

“Thank you. Who…?” she asked, accepting it.

“There’s a card.” He bounded down the steps, cut across the lawn and jumped into a white delivery van.

“Well.” Molly bumped the door shut with her hip.

“Who is it, Mom?” asked Cait, who was sitting on the living room sofa painting her toenails.

Molly detoured into the living room. “Somebody sent flowers.”

“Wow.” Cait took a wide-eyed look, blew on her toes and carefully set her feet on the floor. “Those must have cost a bunch.” Then she cackled. “That’s a pun. Get it?”

“I get it.”

“Who are they from?”

“I don’t know.” Molly set the enormous arrangement in the center of the coffee table and extracted a small white envelope clipped to the cream-colored ceramic vase. With Cait watching avidly, Molly opened it.

The dark scrawl was unfamiliar, but then she’d never seen more than Richard’s signature. And this was signed “Love, Richard.”





I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.





And then the “love” part.

“Can I see?” Cait waggled an impatient hand.

Numb, Molly handed over the small card.

“That’s really nice,” Cait said after a minute. “Are you going to call him?” Inexplicably, she sounded nervous, or as if she didn’t really want her mother to call. Despite all the lecturing about how she should talk to Richard, was it possible Cait was happy the two of them had broken up?

It was possible, Molly admitted. Teenagers were, by their very nature, selfish. Then she winced. Not her favorite word right now.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was nice of him, though. They smell glorious.”

“I wonder how much they did cost.”

“What? You want to be sure he wasn’t stingy?”

“No. I just… Um, I’ve never gotten flowers, so I didn’t have any idea. That’s all.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on. Cait was a lousy liar. But Molly couldn’t imagine what she could have to do with the floral arrangement. The handwriting definitely wasn’t hers. It was distinctly masculine. And why would Cait do something like this anyway? It didn’t make sense.

“Well, we might as well enjoy them. I suppose I could write him a thank-you note.”

“That would be polite,” her never-prim daughter said primly.

Had she and Trevor bludgeoned Richard into sending flowers? Cait, at least, could be annoyingly persistent. So maybe.

I didn’t mean it.

The words stuck with her for the rest of the evening and were still on her mind when she went to bed. Which part hadn’t he meant? That she’d be tormenting all of them if she kept the baby? That she was selfish?

Did it matter now?

It was an exceedingly handsome apology. She was surprised by it, on several levels. As furious as he’d been, she hadn’t expected an apology at all. And flowers didn’t seem to be his style. He’d been kind, thoughtful, passionate, even tender, but never romantic.

So I’m obsessing about it. Sue me. No one had ever sent her flowers before. Colt had brought home a small bouquet a few times, when they were first married, but they were the kind you picked up at the grocery store or a stand in a vacant lot right before Valentine’s Day. Either he wasn’t romantic, either, or she didn’t bring that out in men.

Probably the latter. Delicate, pretty, petite women stirred those kinds of feelings in men, not hefty Amazons.

The next day she wrote and mailed a quick note. Thank you for the lovely apology. Accepted. She hesitated for a long time over the salutation, but finally added, Love, Molly. She told herself it was appropriate considering he’d signed his note with “love.”

That very evening she had to attend the school board meeting to be available to discuss concerns about union demands for improved benefits for classified employees. The meeting droned on, mostly focused on changes in the elementary school gifted program. By the time she walked in the door, she was dragging. She bet she wasn’t the only person there to resent the huge waste of time this close to the holidays.

“Cait?”

No answer. Which probably only meant her beloved daughter had earbuds deafening her to anything but some kind of alternative rock. But when Molly went upstairs, she found Cait’s bedroom empty. She frowned, but it was only nine-thirty. Their unofficial curfew for school nights was ten, unless something special—and previously discussed—was happening. Molly went back downstairs and put the teakettle on.

The doorbell surprised her. Had Cait lost her key? Molly hurried to the front of the house and opened the door.

Richard loomed on her porch. Surprise robbed her of breath. He looked so good—every cliché of tall, dark and handsome. He must have changed after work, and now wore jeans, a heavy sweater and down vest, increasing his bulk. His expression, though, was closed, his dark eyebrows drawn together.

“Richard?”

“I’m here for Trevor,” he said. “He left me a message saying something was wrong with his car.”

“But…he’s not here. Neither is Cait.” Illogically, she craned her neck to look past him. The only vehicle at the curb for fifty feet either way was Richard’s pickup. “I don’t know where they are,” she added.

“Cait didn’t say?”

“No, I had a school board meeting this evening.” She saw the visible puff of his breath and realized how cold it was tonight. “Please, come in,” she said, stepping back.

He did, and shut the door behind him. His presence became even more overwhelming in the close confines of the entry.

Rattled, Molly tried to focus. “When I got home, Cait wasn’t here. I didn’t see a note.”

“Can you check?” he asked.

“I thought I had, but I’ll look again.”

The teakettle whistled, and she jumped. “Excuse me.” It was no surprise when he followed her to the kitchen and watched as she poured her tea. Wondering if she should offer him a cup, she stole a glance at his face and decided. No. He wasn’t here to chat with her.

There was no note affixed to the refrigerator with a magnet or on the breakfast bar. “Wait! My phone.” On the way back to the entry, her eye was caught by the arrangement of roses and lilies. She saw that Richard was eyeing the flowers. “By the way, thank you.”

“Thank you?” There was something strange in his voice, but she was in the act of digging her cell phone out of her purse.

“I set it to vibrate while I was in the meeting,” Molly explained.

No messages, but one text had arrived.





Mom we had an accident. Okay but at ER.





Heart pounding, she held out her phone to Richard, who looked at it and swore.

“If this was Trevor’s fault, I swear I’m yanking the car again.” His dark eyes met hers. “Damn it, Cait’s pregnant, and he couldn’t drive more carefully than this? Listen, I’ll run up there and call you when I know something.”

“I’m going, too.” She shoved her feet in shoes and grabbed a parka. “Hold on, let me make sure I turned off the stove.” When she got back, she asked, “Would you rather I take my own car?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said brusquely.

He waited while she locked up, and then opened the passenger side of his truck for her. The drive to the hospital was short and silent until he was pulling into a parking slot near the emergency room entrance.

“What were you thanking me for?” he asked. He set the brake.

“The flowers.” She’d spoken into the sudden silence after he had turned off the engine. When he didn’t say anything immediately, her heart stuttered. “I thought… That is…”

“That I sent them?” he said slowly.

“There was a card.” Oh, Lord, this was embarrassing. She knew her cheeks were heating, hoped he couldn’t tell in the diffused lighting of the parking lot.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

His stride was so long, she had to hustle to keep up. She heard the beep as the doors locked behind them. “I must have a secret admirer,” she said lightly and probably unconvincingly. Who would have done this?

Richard didn’t respond. The glass doors slid open and they walked in. Molly frantically searched the waiting room, but didn’t see either Cait or Trevor. Half a dozen people sat waiting—an exhausted-looking mother with two children, one held slumped against her shoulder, a man with a hand wrapped in a bloody bandage, a young Hispanic couple, the woman wearing one of those paper masks.

She and Richard went straight to the reception desk.

“Caitlyn Callahan?” Molly said, hearing her voice high and desperate. “I’m her mother.”

Richard’s hand settled, warm and reassuring, on her back. “Or Trevor Ward. I’m his father.”

The woman peered at her computer monitor and then leafed through several file folders that were in a graduated wooden rack. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t see either name. Are you sure they came here?”

Molly couldn’t seem to get a word out.

“No. No, we assumed. Excuse us,” Richard said.

He steered Molly away, to a quiet corner. “I tried calling him and he didn’t answer.”

“Let me try Cait. I don’t know why I didn’t.” As she was lifting the phone out of her purse, it vibrated. New text.





Mom were okay didn’t go to ER sorry if i scared you.





Looking over her shoulder, Richard growled. “All right, what the hell is going on?”

Molly was feeling shaky. “I could be wrong, but…I think we’ve been set up.”