everything she could think of these past thirteen years, to no avail.
“It’s yellow, silly,” she said.
“That’s what I said. You’re wearing a yellow dress.” But, then, there was Molly, to remind him. Big, sad eyes. Clingy. His heart ached for her. She was five, and he didn’t know what she understood, or didn’t understand. And he, sure as hell, wasn’t the one who should be trying to relate to her.
“It’s not a dress,” she countered, not giving over to the giggles like she normally had when Aunt Grace had brought her along on her visits.
Sighing, Rafe thought about his aunt, a larger-than-life lady who’d squeezed every last drop out of every last day the good Lord had given her. Horsewoman, humanitarian, entrepreneur, philanthropist…and what he was going to miss the most, something very simple—her chocolate-chip cookies. Once a month, come rain, shine, or any other adversity in the universe, she’d met him somewhere on neutral ground, somewhere other than Lilly Lake, and given him a tin of her cookies. Had every month for thirteen years. He’d always looked forward to it…to the cookies, but most of all to his visit with his aunt. And they’d never missed a month, until this month.
“I didn’t say it was a dress. It’s yellow pants.”
“No, it’s not,” Molly said, stepping up right behind him.
“Shoes.”
“No.”
“Socks.”
“No.”
He’d been trying to draw her out the whole time he’d been here, without any luck. Oh, she’d respond when she had to. But that was all. Flat, polite responses. No emotion. Only rote words. “Hat. Purse. Hair ribbons.”
“Shirt. It’s a yellow shirt.” Said with polite impatience. But who could blame her? She missed Aunt Grace, at least as much as he did. Maybe more, as Grace had been all the child had ever had, ever known.
Damn, he was going to miss his aunt. The ache of not having her around any more was starting to knot inside him, threatening to choke him, or double him over with grief. But Molly couldn’t see that. She needed to see strength right now. All he could muster for her. All he could fake for what he was about to do…to give her away. “And that’s exactly what I said. A yellow shirt. I saw you sneaking up behind me in your yellow shirt.” Over the years, Aunt Grace had taken in numerous children. She’d raised them, tutored them, fostered them, cared for them, or simply given them shelter when they’d needed it—all ages, all races and nationalities. None of it had mattered when a child had been in need of a home or even a bed for a few nights. “So, Miss Molly-in-the-yellow-shirt. Are you hungry?” He asked even though he was pretty sure she was not. She’d barely eaten a thing these past few days. As her short-term, stand-in guardian, he was concerned for her well-being. As a doctor, he was worried about her health. So much grief at such a young age wasn’t good. “Can I fix you something to eat, Molly? Maybe get you an apple, or a glass of milk? Anything you want.”
She stepped around to the front of the chair and stood directly in front of him, but at a distance. She always kept her distance. She shook her head, the way she’d done every time he’d asked since he’d been here.
“Are you tired? Do you need a nap?” She hadn’t been sleeping well either.
She shook her head again.
“Are you bored? Is there something you’d like to go play with? Maybe there’s a toy you’d like for me to buy you?”
This time Molly didn’t even bother shaking her head. She simply stood there, staring at him with some kind of expectation that made him uneasy because he couldn’t interpret it. Her big blue eyes were practically boring through him, telling him he should know something, or do something. But what?
That was the way it had been since he’d arrived for the funeral, four days ago, and nothing was changing except the way he felt. Molly was making him more nervous by the day. Making him feel the inadequacy he knew she was seeing. Maybe even making him feel guilty for the way he was going to have to upset her life more than it was already upset. It was something he truly hated doing, as Aunt Grace had dearly loved this child. But what he had to do was clear. He couldn’t keep her, couldn’t raise a child, couldn’t give her the things she needed, so he’d find her someone who would.
But Rafe’s heart did go out to Molly in ways he hadn’t expected. She’d only lived in Aunt Grace’s world, that was all she’d ever known, and now it was going to be taken away from her. She was young, though. As cute as any kid he’d ever seen. And smart. So surely some nice family looking to adopt and adore a child would be anxious to give Molly the good home she needed, the one he wanted for her. He was sure of it. Although he was also sure that being ripped from her home, the way she was going to be, would break her young heart.
That, alone, had cost him a couple nights’ sleep, trying to figure out how to prevent it from happening. Problem was, there wasn’t a good solution to this bad situation. He couldn’t stay in Lilly Lake, and he couldn’t take Molly home to live with him in his world. Neither way would work—not for Molly, not for him.
“Do you have to go to the bathroom, Molly?” he persisted, not sure what he’d do if she said yes. But much to his relief, she shook her head again.
“Look, sweetheart. You’re going to have to tell me what you want. If you need me to do something for you, or get you something…anything…I will, but I have to know what it is.” He was losing patience. Not with Molly, but with himself for not being able to connect to her. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be alone, to feel that deep-down kind of isolation. But he didn’t know how to deal with it, or overcome it—not in Molly, not even in himself. On top of that, he was sure Molly wasn’t totally aware of what was really going on. Maybe she had some understanding of Aunt Grace’s death. Maybe she had a sense of what that meant or, perhaps, she’d guessed that it was a bad thing. But he didn’t believe she truly knew that her life was about to change in big ways, ways that made him feel pretty damned guilty.
Having the proverbial rug pulled out from underneath you was never good. His own rug had been pulled out so many times he couldn’t even remember most of them any more. Or tried not to remember them. Anyway, what he did recall was Aunt Grace always being there for him, being the one to save him and love him and protect him each and every time that rug had been yanked. The way she’d done with Molly when she’d been literally thrown away, abandoned at birth in a trash can in a bus station.
Except Molly didn’t remember that, of course. What she would remember, though, was the day Aunt Grace had gone away and never come back, and changed her life for ever.
It was a sadness he shared with Molly, something they had in common. A starting place for the two of them that neither one could quite reach. It was also a terrible pain he was only now beginning to feel, one that Molly shouldn’t have to deal with. But he didn’t know how to protect her from it. “Does your tummy hurt?” he asked, continuing to grapple for what was bothering her.
In answer, she sighed, which made him feel even worse for not knowing. This was when he would have asked his aunt what was wrong with the child, and she would have known instantly. Except he was on his own here. Everyone had finally gone home. Summer Adair, his aunt’s nurse, had returned to her old life, whatever that was. Mrs. Murdock, the housekeeper, was with her sister for a few days. His brother, Jess, had returned to his life in New York City after the funeral. Even Johnny Redmond, the man who looked after all Aunt Grace’s
