Vintage Rob

Chapter 3 - Be Sweet

After Molly left, Rob thrust his hands into his coat pockets like they were punching bags. She just alluded to his affair with her mother and to Samantha's belief that Molly was his child. He looked straight up at the tree branches reaching across the overcast sky and suppressed a mighty howl. Samantha wasn't lucky, but she missed out on all the messiness.

A calico cat on a wooden fence squinted at him. "What?" When the cat didn't reply, Rob ground sidewalk gravel with his sneaker and pondered skipping dinner.

No matter what a lab might report, Paul was Molly's father. Rob blinked back tears and rubbed his temples. The cold, December air burned his lungs.

Rob had to show. Paul expected him, and Paul might be able to wrangle Makiko's contact information out of Molly. If not, Rob would locate Makiko's grandparent's house in Tokyo and go from there.

***

Dusk arrived early in December, even earlier under the narrow, tree-lined streets of Brookline, Massachusetts. A blue Volvo sat in the shadows next to a small house. Behind the Volvo, bony trees pressed against a tiny, weather-beaten garage where Paul hid his baby, a white 1935 Jaguar.

Paul opened the storm door and came onto the front porch. He cradled the phone he had used to guide Rob to the house. Over a blue and red argyle sweater, he wore a plain green apron.

Trim. Vigorous. A bit stiff.

Rob unlatched the gate. "Professor, I have no idea what happened."

"You two never get along." Paul stepped off the porch and hugged him. "The news reports didn't look good. I'm glad you made it." After letting Rob in, he pulled the metal storm door shut. "Molly didn't elaborate."

Rob just shrugged and bugged out his eyes. He didn't plan to elaborate either. Family photographs lined the wall by the worn staircase. One of the highest - he recognized its oval frame immediately - showed Samantha holding baby Molly. "Does Molly have any weapons in her room?"

Paul laughed and took his coat. "You've been back from Afghanistan for over a month. Where you been?"

"Resting... photographing a rock band, my father's death-"

"Sorry to hear about your father." Paul hung Rob's coat on a hook.

The distinct smell of fish grew stronger as they walked toward the kitchen in the back. From a bar stool, Paul's second wife, Sarah, watched a talk show on a small television. She turned down the volume but did not get up. "Lovely to see you, Rob. Same ol' same ol' with Molly unfortunately."

"She's warming up to me."

Paul had married one of Samantha's rivals. Rob could not get over it, even now.

Sarah put down her drink. When they hugged, their bodies barely touched. Very few women treated him like that. He was cute and charming, damn it.

"I'm glad you're safe and sound," she said.

"Thanks. And congratulations, I hear you're a dean."

Her butt hit the stool again and she flexed her bare feet. She held up her white wine as a toast. "And you're alive," she said. Her high heels rested at the foot of her stool like puppies. Her earrings glinted on the table like discarded teeth. "Congratulations."

At the counter, Paul dropped ice into two glasses. "Hang on. We'll finish the toast in a moment." He handed over a whiskey. "Rob should be dead. We're in the presence of..."

Sarah's restive eyes hovered above the oily surface of her wine.

"A devil," Rob said.

Sarah laughed. Then, she frowned. "No. Honestly Rob, you're incorrigible." Her body shifted as she turned up the volume on the television.