Craig Smith - Cold Rain

I was still looking at her thighs, and I guess I forgot to tell her that I wouldn’t. In fact, I didn’t have a whole lot to say until I was pulling my pants up afterwards.

When I got home, I took a shower. I felt better after that but still guilty. Molly showed up as I was getting dressed. She asked me how my day had been. I told her it had been okay, nothing special. She saw the light on my answering machine and punched the button.

Beth Ruby’s voice was distinctive even on a cheap answering machine. ‘Hey! I can’t believe we did it in your pickup! Thanks for the first, Davey, and by the way, I was right and you were wrong. You’re definitely not cut out for monogamy.’

Molly stood there for several seconds without speaking. Then she just turned and walked away.

I tried calling. I went by her house. For several days she wouldn’t talk to me, but I finally wore her down.

I said I could explain if she just gave me a chance.

Of course I couldn’t, and I think Molly agreed to see me just to hear what I would come up with. We went to the best restaurant in town. We had a couple of mixed drinks and talked about our lives as if we had not seen each other for several years. In fact, it had only been a couple of weeks, the longest and most miserable of my life.

There was no explanation for what I had done, so I settled with saying I was sorry. I didn’t think there was anything I could do to make up for it, but if Molly could forgive me I would do anything. It was stupid, irresponsible, the biggest mistake of my life.

Molly listened politely, but I wasn’t sure I was making progress, so I fell back on an old standby: ‘…it didn’t mean a thing.’

Very quietly but with a firmness I knew meant business, Molly answered me. Was she supposed to feel better because it didn’t mean anything? I tried to explain that. Beth had wanted to prove to herself she could have me if she wanted.

‘Well, she had you.’

What could I do to make things right? Molly looked at me for a long time without responding. Finally she said, ‘Nothing. That’s the thing. There’s nothing you can do to ever make up for it.’

She wondered if I could I forgive her if I had heard something like that on her answering machine right after she had told me she had a boring day. I said I could. I wouldn’t mind sounding like a joke between her and her lover? I tried to argue this, but Molly wouldn’t give it to me. Beth Ruby had turned her into a joke.

I agreed that I would hesitate. But that didn’t mean it would be over! If I thought it would never happen again, if I really believed it, nothing would keep us apart.

Molly considered this quietly. ‘Easy to say, David.’

‘I mean it!’

‘Listen to me,’ Molly said. ‘No matter what you say, I know you believe there’s a difference. Men are excused, women are stained.’

That wasn’t true, I said. There was no difference.

Things like that could happen to men or women!

‘Do you want to marry the town tramp, David?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Neither do I.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Be honest.’

‘It was exactly like that.’

‘And if I wanted one last fling, how would you handle that?’

‘Molly…’

‘It wouldn’t mean a thing.’

She was smiling, baiting me with my own words.

‘If that’s what you want,’ I said morosely.

‘It’s not what I want.’

I drew a deep, satisfied breath.

‘You see? It’s okay because you know it won’t happen!’

What did she want me to do? She thought for moment and shook her head. ‘Give me a couple of days to think about it.’

And that was it. Two, maybe three nights later I heard Molly’s key in my door and looked at the clock by my bed. It was after three. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Molly appeared at the door to my bedroom backlit by the light in the front room. I could not see her face, but I could tell by the way she moved and by the stink of cigarettes on her clothes she had been out. When I spoke, she came toward me and pulled up the hem of her dress. Touching her thighs I understood at once what had happened.

‘Who?’ I muttered.

‘I didn’t get their names.’

Molly called me the next morning, about two hours later, actually. ‘You still want to get married?’ she asked cheerfully.

‘More than anything,’ I told her.

According to our custom, we never spoke about that night – never again mentioned the name of Beth Ruby.

We heard a car coming off the pavement late the following afternoon. It was too soon for Lucy to be home from school, so I went to the window and looked down on the driveway from the third floor.

In summer you could not see who was coming until the car burst out of the heavy foliage and pulled into the circle before the house. In late fall, the leaves almost all gone, I got a glimpse of the vehicle as it crested the hill. Two men sat inside a brown and tan late model Jeep Wagoneer. I didn’t know them. By their age and the clothing they wore, I was fairly sure they were not selling religion. In fact, I was fairly sure they weren’t selling anything at all.

Molly and I went downstairs together and met them as they were getting out of their vehicle. I thought cops, though I could not have said why. Maybe it was the way both men locked in on me. Most men noticed Molly first. I offered the standard country greeting,

‘Help you?’

They reached into their jackets slowly at the same time and pulled out badges with picture IDs. I felt no satisfaction in being right. I looked at Molly for some kind of explanation, but she was looking at me. I think we both thought of Lucy at the same time. Supposed to be in school, out for a drive instead: a parent’s worst nightmare.

‘Is something wrong?’ Molly asked, an unfamiliar tremor in her voice.

The older man shook his head, apparently understanding our fear. ‘We’d just like to ask Professor Albo a couple of questions, if that’s all right. I’m Detective Dalton. This is Detective Jacobs.’

As he said this, he extended his badge and ID for me to inspect.

I took a long hard look at his identification, trying as I did to figure out what they might want to talk to me about. Harassment? Stalking? An assault charge from the funeral home? What came next?

Kip Dalton was about average height, pleasantly thick through the middle, with neatly oiled black hair just starting to turn. In his late-forties, I guessed. He had the tranquil brown eyes of a preacher or a psychologist, a confidence I would have associated with a prosperous businessman.

Dalton’s partner, whose identification I just glanced at, was easier to comprehend and less interesting. He was so ramrod straight and uptight he might as well have been wearing a uniform. In his mid-thirties with thinning light brown hair, Detective Jacobs was a couple of inches over six feet and exceedingly thin. His eyes were deep set, small and quick. He had a jaw you could break your fist on.

Molly stepped forward aggressively the moment Kip Dalton announced their purpose. What did they want to talk about? Dalton was reluctant to explain himself in the driveway. It would just take a few minutes.

Molly looked at me as she might have in the old days, reading my expression at a glance. Why not? She smiled at both men, the good country wife who has just remembered her manners. ‘You care for some coffee?’

Dalton said that sounded like a mighty fine idea.

We took them through the back porch and into our kitchen. Molly made coffee while Dalton complimented us on the restoration. He was especially interested in the enormous fireplace where the cooking had originally taken place when the house was newly built in the 1820s.