Linda Warren - The Wrong Woman

“Oh, Molly.” Ethan got up and took her in his arms.

“What did I do wrong, Ethan?” she cried. “I tried to be the perfect wife and mother. I was so happy when I could quit work and be at home full-time. I loved the cooking, running the household, entertaining. I had parties for Bruce’s associates, and I made sure our home was a place Bruce and Cole could be proud of, but—”

“Sis, you have to stop looking at the past and start looking toward the future.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t get Bruce and her out of my head. She’s only three years older than Cole and—”

“You’re dwelling on this too much,” Ethan said. The age thing was a big problem for Molly. Bruce falling for a younger woman had somehow reduced her worth as a woman. Her confidence was gone and her personality had changed completely in a few months.

“You’ve always been the rock in our family, and I know you have the strength to survive this,” he said into her hair. “When you found out you were pregnant with Cole, you held up your head and faced everyone. When Mom died, you were the one who kept us all together, even though you were hurting, too. And when I was shot, you helped us all stay sane—including me, and I wasn’t an easy person to deal with at that time.”

She straightened and wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “I can’t seem to stop crying and I don’t even like myself these days.”

“Why don’t you go back to work?” he suggested. She’d been drifting in and out of depression for months, and now was the time to do something about it.

Her face crumpled. “You don’t like having me here?”

“I love it and so does Pop, but you need another interest—something to get your mind off Bruce. And to show Cole that you’re gonna be okay.”

She shrugged. “What would I do? It’s been so long since I’ve worked.”

“You have a friend who’s got a gift shop and another who owns a boutique. Maybe you could help out until you decide what you want to do.”

Molly walked to the sink with a thoughtful expression. She came back with a dishcloth and washed down the table, which it didn’t need. “I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“Good.” He gave her another hug.

Her arms gripped him so tight he could barely breathe. “What if he marries her, Ethan?”

His heart ached for the sadness in her voice, but she had to face the truth. “Oh, Molly. You have to accept it. It’s going to happen.”

“I know, but—”

“Travis is coming home next Saturday,” he slipped in. He’d wanted Travis to tell her himself, but now he had to use whatever was at his disposal.

She drew back and brushed away a tear. “He is?”

“Yep, so you’d better dry those tears and get a room ready.”

“Oh.” She clapped her hands together. “When’s he coming? I want to fix a big dinner and have the house spic and span. I hope he brings his guitar, because I want to hear his songs. Oh, Ethan, this will be fun! Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You made him come home. I know you did, but I don’t care. It’ll be so good to see him. I’ll fix his favorite—chicken and dressing. It won’t be like Mom’s, but I’ll box his ears if he says anything.”

The transformation in Molly was amazing, and that was because she was thinking about something besides Bruce and his new love. He should’ve done this sooner. Molly had to learn that there was life after Bruce.

SERENA AWOKE with a start. She sat up, shook back her hair and turned on the lamp. She’d been dreaming and it was so real. There was a stage and she was standing on it, taking off her clothes. Men were yelling at her, but she continued to undress under their leers and whistles. Her skin still crawled with revulsion and she quickly checked—yes, she had her nightgown on. She wasn’t naked.

“I am not a stripper,” she said out loud. “It’s isn’t me.” Then why did it feel like her? Damn Ethan Ramsey for putting the idea into her head! “I am not a stripper,” she said again, and settled back in bed, trying to calm down. But it wasn’t easy. The feeling of disgust wouldn’t go away.

Her usual worry was about money. Now she was also troubled by the thought that there might be a woman who looked like her. A woman who apparently lived nearby—and worked as a stripper. She couldn’t get it out of her head. She studied the picture on her nightstand—a picture of Jasmine. She had red hair and blue eyes, as did Gran. It was a trait in their family, although Gran’s hair had gone completely white. The woman in the picture did look like Serena. Her hair was brighter and her face slimmer, but they definitely resembled each other.

If the stripper was a “dead ringer” for Serena, there had to be some kind of family connection. But what? Deciding to talk to her grandmother, she got up and went into Aurora’s room. Aurora was sitting in a lounge chair drinking coffee.

“Morning, Gran.” Serena kissed her, then sat cross-legged on the bed.

“Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

No, she’d had horrible dreams she wanted to forget, but she replied, “Yes, thank you.”

She wondered how to bring up the subject of her mother. They never talked about Jasmine, and there were no pictures of her in Aurora’s bedroom or anywhere else in the house. Serena had found the photo she had in her own room tucked away in a drawer.

“What was my father’s name?” She thought that was a good place to start.

“What?” Gran frowned at her.

“I don’t even know his name. My name’s Farrell because you and Grandfather put it on my birth certificate for obvious reasons. His name had to be something else.”

She supposed she could have researched this easily enough, but she’d never felt the need before; especially while her grandfather was still alive. And her grandparents’ feelings about her father were all too evident.

“He’s dead and it’s best to leave him there,” Aurora said in a hard tone, but it didn’t stop Serena. Ethan Ramsey had opened a door in her mind, and all she could see were empty places.

“No, Gran,” she said, her voice just as hard. “I want you to tell me about him—all the bad stuff. I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my father.”

“That’s doesn’t mean a thing.”

Serena was taken aback by her grandmother’s attitude. She’d known since she was small that her grandparents hated her father. It was one of the reasons she never asked about him, but now she had to have some answers.

“It does to me,” she replied stubbornly.

Aurora took a quick breath. “His name was John Welch. Jasmine called him Johnnie. He worked as a mechanic. What attracted Jasmine to him I don’t know. She was raised to be a lady, not to live in a one-room apartment above a garage. Henry and I laid down the law and forbade her to see him again, but she ran off to be with him. It almost killed us.”

Serena knew this part of the story. It sounded almost rehearsed. She wanted more.

“Where is John Welch’s family?”

Aurora shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Gran!”

“All right.” Aurora patted her white hair. “He lived with someone in a trailer park. After he was killed, they moved away. That’s the only family I knew about.”

“So my father doesn’t have any relatives around here?”

Aurora eyed her strangely. “Why all the questions, Serena?”

“Someone said he saw a woman who looked like me in Dallas, and it got me thinking.”

“Looks like you,” Aurora laughed nervously. “That’s ridiculous. No one’s as beautiful as you. I thought your mother was beautiful, but you’ve eclipsed her in every way.”