liked homework and broccoli.
But Molly had to admit that her sharp-tongued neighbor was right. She hadn 't given property values a second thought. What had seemed like an old man's innocent stubble a few hours ago now looked like an indictment of her worth as neighbor and homeowner. Each dandelion probably reduced her property value by five hundred dollars. Maybe even a thousand. If she had to sell the house at some point, every thousand mattered.
She pushed the thought from her mind. She 'd lost her husband, her credit cards, her furniture, and a good chunk of her pride. If she lost the roof over her head, she might as well give up the ghost. A part of her wanted to call Robert on the phone and beg him to come back home. Another part of her wanted to grab the handgun they'd kept locked in the bedroom closet and shoot him dead. And then there was the part that wanted to run home to her parents and let Mommy and Daddy make everything right again.
What a joke that was. Her parents had been divorced for years now. Besides , they would push her back to Robert even if he didn't want her. They'd remind her that she probably couldn't do any better, that it was a big cold world out there, and girls without great gifts of beauty and talent should be grateful for whatever they managed to get in this world.
" He's a lawyer," her mother would say. "He has a future. That's nothing to sneeze at."
" You've got security," her father would state in his basso profundo voice. "Everything else comes second. Make allowances for him, Molly. He'll come back again." Men made mistakes. Women forgave them. That was the way of the world.
But this was more than making a mistake. Robert had found true love—whatever that was—and he couldn 't wait to leave his wife and unborn child behind in order to claim it. Besides, a man who planned to come back didn't take the mattress and box spring and feather bed and nightstands and lamps and area rugs.
If she 'd needed proof that he didn't love her anymore, she had it in the echoing emptiness of her dream house.
Maybe i t was time she called a lawyer.
Chapter Three
Rafe grabbed a Whopper , fries, and a chocolate shake at the Burger King drive-thru on Route 206 then headed for home. The radio was set to an oldies station that broadcast out of Philly. He steered with one hand and managed his supper with the other while Smokey Robinson sang about shopping around.
Smart guy , that Smokey. Maybe if Molly Chamberlain had shopped around she wouldn't have ended up with a low-life bastard like the man she'd married. The guy was slick, Rafe had to grant him that. "Your references are good," the guy had said over the phone. "I want the best for my wife."
They met the next day at the diner on Route 1 and agreed on the price. "No contract to sign?" Chamberlain had asked, amusement evident in his well-educated voice.
" I work on handshakes," Rafe said.
The bastard laughed. "Then a handshake it is."
A handshake meant something back where Rafe came from. It was a man's bond. Looked like things were different in Princeton. Chamberlain walked out on the deal the same way he walked out on his wife.
Nobody was about to nominate Rafe for sainthood , but there was no way in hell he would have walked out on the woman who carried his child. Hell, Karen had to push him out the door when the end finally came down. She'd had to lay out his shortcomings in black and white and blood red before he let her take Sarah and move on to a better life than the one he could provide. A bigger house. A newer car. A fatter bank account. All the things that mattered to her.
" It's better if you don't see Sarah," Karen had said the day she left him for another, better man. "She's only a baby. Why confuse her? It's not as if she'll remember you."
The sad thing was that he bought it. He let her walk out the door with his baby daughter. He told himself that the kid didn 't need any complications, that old Jeff or
But Molly had to admit that her sharp-tongued neighbor was right. She hadn 't given property values a second thought. What had seemed like an old man's innocent stubble a few hours ago now looked like an indictment of her worth as neighbor and homeowner. Each dandelion probably reduced her property value by five hundred dollars. Maybe even a thousand. If she had to sell the house at some point, every thousand mattered.
She pushed the thought from her mind. She 'd lost her husband, her credit cards, her furniture, and a good chunk of her pride. If she lost the roof over her head, she might as well give up the ghost. A part of her wanted to call Robert on the phone and beg him to come back home. Another part of her wanted to grab the handgun they'd kept locked in the bedroom closet and shoot him dead. And then there was the part that wanted to run home to her parents and let Mommy and Daddy make everything right again.
What a joke that was. Her parents had been divorced for years now. Besides , they would push her back to Robert even if he didn't want her. They'd remind her that she probably couldn't do any better, that it was a big cold world out there, and girls without great gifts of beauty and talent should be grateful for whatever they managed to get in this world.
" He's a lawyer," her mother would say. "He has a future. That's nothing to sneeze at."
" You've got security," her father would state in his basso profundo voice. "Everything else comes second. Make allowances for him, Molly. He'll come back again." Men made mistakes. Women forgave them. That was the way of the world.
But this was more than making a mistake. Robert had found true love—whatever that was—and he couldn 't wait to leave his wife and unborn child behind in order to claim it. Besides, a man who planned to come back didn't take the mattress and box spring and feather bed and nightstands and lamps and area rugs.
If she 'd needed proof that he didn't love her anymore, she had it in the echoing emptiness of her dream house.
Maybe i t was time she called a lawyer.
Chapter Three
Rafe grabbed a Whopper , fries, and a chocolate shake at the Burger King drive-thru on Route 206 then headed for home. The radio was set to an oldies station that broadcast out of Philly. He steered with one hand and managed his supper with the other while Smokey Robinson sang about shopping around.
Smart guy , that Smokey. Maybe if Molly Chamberlain had shopped around she wouldn't have ended up with a low-life bastard like the man she'd married. The guy was slick, Rafe had to grant him that. "Your references are good," the guy had said over the phone. "I want the best for my wife."
They met the next day at the diner on Route 1 and agreed on the price. "No contract to sign?" Chamberlain had asked, amusement evident in his well-educated voice.
" I work on handshakes," Rafe said.
The bastard laughed. "Then a handshake it is."
A handshake meant something back where Rafe came from. It was a man's bond. Looked like things were different in Princeton. Chamberlain walked out on the deal the same way he walked out on his wife.
Nobody was about to nominate Rafe for sainthood , but there was no way in hell he would have walked out on the woman who carried his child. Hell, Karen had to push him out the door when the end finally came down. She'd had to lay out his shortcomings in black and white and blood red before he let her take Sarah and move on to a better life than the one he could provide. A bigger house. A newer car. A fatter bank account. All the things that mattered to her.
" It's better if you don't see Sarah," Karen had said the day she left him for another, better man. "She's only a baby. Why confuse her? It's not as if she'll remember you."
The sad thing was that he bought it. He let her walk out the door with his baby daughter. He told himself that the kid didn 't need any complications, that old Jeff or
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