Chapter Five
“Somebody should have called or texted by now.” Pru looked at her phone for the twentieth time since she and Molly had circled the large training area behind the classroom, shining flashlights, dropping treats, and listening for sounds of life.
Somebody sure should have, Molly thought. “Dad probably doesn’t want to give up,” she said. “But if you’re cold, honey, you should go back in with Gramma and Christian.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Pru said. “I don’t need to be at the ‘central command center eating cookies.’”
Normally, that would be funny, since Pru most certainly was a kid and she knew that Gramma Finnie was just making the moment palatable for a little boy on Christmas. But Molly detected an edge in her daughter’s voice, one that had been there a little too frequently the past few weeks, one that Molly didn’t really like or understand. But maybe it was the holiday or…hormones. She was thirteen, after all. PMS couldn’t be that far away.
“Well, you kind of are still a kid,” Molly said. “And this isn’t exactly how you want to spend Christmas Eve. Plus, it’s cold.”
“I don’t care about cold,” she muttered.
“We might give up earlier than we normally would,” Molly suggested, knowing there was no might about it. “Otherwise, we won’t have time for gifts and…what’s after that? A ‘light snack,’ as you put it.”
“Who cares?”
Molly stopped dead in her tracks at the question. “Are you turning into a smartass for Christmas, or are you unhappy with this particular turn of events?”
Pru closed her eyes, not answering the rare reprimand.
Yes, she’d turned thirteen this year, and yes, that made her a bona fide teenager. But nothing about Molly’s daughter had ever been cliché or standard. Pru had been born amazing, mature, organized…good. She’d never given Molly a moment’s heartache, so why would she start on Christmas Eve?
Finally, Pru lifted a shoulder. “Whatever, Mom.”
Oh boy. She’d just gotten whatevered, and that couldn’t go unnoticed. It was nothing short of a cry for help coming from this girl.
“Prudence Anne Kilcannon. What is going on with you?”
Silent, Pru kicked some snow, then made a show of looking through the fence to the training area they’d just circled.
Molly’s heart dropped, and an ancient—well, thirteen-year-old—fear resurfaced. Was this the day she’d be confronted? How much longer until Pru demanded to know who her father was and why Molly hadn’t married him or even mentioned his name? The question, the conversation, the truth—or whatever version of it Molly decided to use—loomed large.
Not on Christmas Eve. Please, Pru. Not on Christmas Eve.
But what better time than when sentiments ran high and questions about family must hang heavy in a young girl’s head? She’d ask any minute, Molly just knew it. Would she be soft-spoken? Demanding? Tearful? How would she broach the subject, and how would Molly answer?
With the truth of course, difficult as that may be.
But couldn’t someday not be today?
“January’s coming,” Pru said, earning a weird look from Molly.
“As it often does after December.”
“January is a month of new beginnings.” Pru kicked a little puff of sand.
Oh, the roundabout technique. Not Pru’s usual approach to a problem, but one Molly recognized. “We should make some reservations.” Molly grinned at her, knowing Pru would remember their inside joke of what five-year-old Pru called ‘resolutions.’
But Pru didn’t smile back. “Speaking of months, by my calculations, I was conceived in November.” Oh, Lord. Forget roundabout. She was going dead-on now. “Am I right?”
She most certainly was. The night after Thanksgiving, fourteen years ago. Molly swallowed, silent.
“And you were nineteen.”
“Gee, and here I thought math wasn’t your best subject.”
“Then how about science? I could have a DNA test, you know. I looked into it. Obviously, I have your eyes but not your hair. I mean, I know a test wouldn’t tell me my father’s name or—”
“Really, Pru? On Christmas Eve?” The question came out knife-sharp, lashing in self-defense.
“Well, it’s not a normal Christmas Eve.” No longer interested in the dog or the party or the messed-up schedule of events that had mattered so much, Pru pushed back her thick, nearly black hair. Hair that had none of Molly’s curls or hints of red. Hair that looked exactly like her father’s.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” she demanded.
Of course. Someday. Not tonight. Not yet. “There’s not much to tell.”
Pru made a dramatic fake cough. “Well, there was enough to produce me.”
Ire shot up Molly’s spine, even though she knew it was wrong and Pru had every right to ask questions that Molly had managed to avoid and ignore for more than thirteen years. The only person on earth who’d known the truth was Annie Kilcannon, and Molly had no doubt that her mother had taken the secret to her grave.
Mom had sworn she wouldn’t even tell Dad, and Molly had believed her.
With Mom’s help, Molly had been able to fend off all questions from her father, siblings, or townsfolk, and after a while, they’d either forgotten or just let it drop.
Whatever “mistake” Molly had made, the result was Pru, a sparkling, amazing, delightful addition to the family and, until Liam adopted Christian, the only grandchild of a very big clan. Molly’s mistake, her bad choice and poor timing, had turned into a blessing that no one would ever give up. Exactly as Mom had promised it would.
Wasn’t that enough for Pru?
But Pru didn’t ever let anything drop, especially if it wasn’t done according to plan. And nothing about her conception was planned. As Molly often joked in a way to shut down questions, she’d named her daughter Prudence because she hadn’t exercised any to get her. She never wanted anyone to think Pru was the result of an unwanted advance.
On the contrary, Molly had wanted it very, very much. Regret hadn’t set in until later, when he disappeared and Molly cried in her bathroom on New Year’s Day, the life she’d planned gone as she looked at a thin pink line on a stick. Her heart hammered with an old, but still tender, ache.
“Not tonight, Pru, please.” Molly’s voice cracked, and Pru slowed her step, her green-brown eyes, so much like Molly’s, softening just a little. She might want answers, but she loved her mother. That would be the battle Pru had to wage in her heart, and Molly knew it.
“Then when, Mom?” Pru put her hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Just tell me when.”
“Next year.”
She smiled just enough to reveal a peek of braces and her selection of red and green bands to celebrate the holiday. “That’s in a week.”
Damn. “So it is.”
Pru huffed out a breath and made a show of looking for the dog. “Kids at school ask.”
Oh God. Of course they did. “And what do you tell them?”
“That it’s none of their business.”
“Damn right it isn’t.”
“But it’s my business,” Pru insisted in a harsh whisper. “It’s all I think about.”
“Oh.” The word came out like a jagged sigh as Molly put her arm around her. “I…I know you deserve the truth, but this isn’t the right time, Pru.”
Her daughter’s eyes filled with tears that had nothing to do with the cold. “Just give me a date and a time.”
“That you were conceived?”
“That you’ll tell me. Everything. Every single thing.”
She might be too young for that much detail. “I have an idea,” Molly said. “After Christmas, when things settle into normal, why don’t you and I make a reservation?”
“Mom, I get the joke. I said reservation for resolution. You can stop that now.”
“No, I mean a reservation. Somewhere away. The beach, maybe? The Outer Banks is gorgeous in the winter, and we can take a weekend away, just the two of us. We’ll talk, and I’ll tell you everything, answer every question, and I’ll be completely honest.” She wanted to be, and frankly, it would be a relief.
“Okay, but—”
“Hey, you guys!”
They both turned, seeing Darcy and Ella running toward them across the training field.
“Did they find him?” Pru asked. “Do we have Jack Frost?”
“No,” Ella said, her shoulders dropping in an over-the-top dramatic sigh. “Gramma Finnie called off the search.”
“Gramma Finnie?” Pru drew back. “It’s Grandpa who is supposed to do that.”
Molly and Darcy shared a look, knowing she was right. “But it’s Christmas Eve,” Molly said. “Gramma’s taking over tonight.”
“Are we absolutely sure we can’t find that dog?” Pru’s voice rose in a wail. “He may not survive the night!”
“Oh, he will,” Darcy assured her, giving Molly a look that only a big sister could interpret—genuine guilt. “He’s a hearty little fellow, right, Ella?”
“Absolutely. I know we’ll find him when the sun comes up.”
That seemed to appease Pru, who let herself be folded into a hug from her aunt Darcy.
“I hope so,” Pru said on a sigh, including Ella in the embrace. “I hope we’ll find him Christmas morning. Can you imagine how awesome that will be?”
Molly’s heart nearly burst with love at the words. She watched these three women she loved so intensely hug and support each other, and the emotion nearly made her dizzy.
Did Pru have to know the other side of her gene pool when this one was so, so good? It wasn’t like she could ever have a relationship with her father. Would that be the hardest part of the conversation? Not just who he was, but what had happened to him?
Guess she’d find out in January, the month of new beginnings.
“Come on, Mom.” Pru swept an arm around Molly and added a kiss on the cheek, which was warm and conciliatory, as if she were satisfied with their plan. “Let’s try to save what we can of Christmas Eve. For the family. For Grandpa. He’s sad about Grannie Annie, can’t you tell?”
“Oh yes, Pru, we all know.” Molly hugged her daughter, and let the pang of missing her mother hit a little harder than usual. How she longed to have Annie Kilcannon to help guide her through these years the way she did with the first ten years of Pru’s life. “How did you ever get such a good heart?”
Pru pressed her lips to Molly’s ear. “Who knows? Maybe I inherited it from my mystery father.”
Molly heard the tease in her voice, but knew it wasn’t a joke. She inched back and looked her daughter in the eyes. “Next year, I promise.”
“I can’t wait.”
But Molly could. January.
But now, on a night that was supposed to be merry and bright, she had this sword hanging over her head. Well, she had until January…and then she’d have to tell her daughter the truth that her father had disappeared…without a trace.