Chapter Three
Just walking into Molly's apartment, James really began to get a sense of what she was really like. There were roses in at least 5 separate vases throughout the living room and parlor. Perhaps a sign of hopeless romanticism or she really had a passion for botany. He folded his hands neatly behind his back and began to wander aimlessly around the apartment. Meanwhile, Molly was searching frantically for tea bags. The water on the stove was no problem at all, but since she didn't drink tea she hadn't the faintest idea where to find the tea. Thankfully, she found some in a care package her great aunt had given her over a year ago. Letting it steep in the simmering water, she walked out of the kitchen and tapped James lightly on the shoulder.
"The tea will be ready soon. Would you like to sit down?" He nodded and she showed him into the parlor. This was a very nice apartment for a young woman who ran away from home. James looked at the shelf supporting dozens of pictures of what he could only assume was family. Some contained Molly, some didn't. On the shelf, there were also pictures of London and Paris: Street Scenes in black and white. He thought that a very gifted photographer took these shots. Stealing a glance at Molly, he noticed that she was gazing proudly at these pictures. Turning around, he saw a room filled with photography equipment and then it all became clear to him: She was a photographer: An artist, like himself. He respected that and felt a strong need to get closer to her.
"Why did you run away from home?" She looked like she had been slashed with a knife across the stomach, the way she was clutching it so tightly. He had obviously hit a tender area in her life, but she felt the same compelling need to get to know him better, so she answered. After all, he had told her how he came to care for the four young boys.
"There really isn't just one reason. That's like asking someone 'why did you fall in love with her?' You can't answer it very easily. For one thing, they disapproved of the way I spent a lot of my time. Taking pictures of random people wasn't something a well brought-up young woman was supposed to do in her spare time, according to my parents. They never supported me, they hardly knew who I was now that I think about it." While this reason would have been sufficient, James could tell that she was holding something back. She kept rubbing her hands together and chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, "The main thing was…" He shifted towards her on the couch, "was that I was engaged." He must have looked awfully shocked because she began trying to explain herself. "I didn't love him, I felt I was too young but my parents felt that it would be good for my image. Only they were really thinking about just themselves. So one night, I just got fed up and I left. I wrote a note, but I didn't tell them where I was going. They're back in New York. We had just moved there a bit less than a year ago, but I had always been in love with London. So I moved back here."
"I'm sorry. I think you made the right choice." She nodded, still looking ashamed. The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle and she bolted up from her seat to serve their drinks. As she placed the tray on the cherry-oak table in front of James, she sniffled a bit and added some honey in her cup. She had seen her aunt do this a million times and figured it would make her look a bit more like a tea-drinker. As they sipped their tea, the conversation turned to more friendly topics like James' writing and Molly's pictures. Whenever he said something funny (which was often) she would lightly brush his upper arm and smirk.
"I have to say," she began with a smile, "I really admire you for taking care of those boys. You seem like you do a wonderful job looking after them." He shrugged off the compliment and drank the last few drops of his tea. As he set down the cup on to the saucer, their eyes met. They were staring at each other for what seemed like hours, yet he never wanted it to end. She reminded him of innocence, of childhood, and of happiness, an emotion he hadn't truly felt in a while. He leaned closer to her but before giving into his overbearing feelings, he abruptly rose and headed for the door.
"I hope you don't get the wrong impression from this, Molly, but I think it would be better if I left." There was that hurt, stomach-clutching look again. That look of heartbreak and shame. Nevertheless, she handed him his hat and sent him out the door. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and walked quickly home, praying he hadn't ruined something he already knew was very different and very special.