Molly’s white lids fell, her fingers clenched and unclenched.
“I didn’t—I couldn’t write,” she whispered, “about the baby.”
“Baby!” The word burst out like a bomb. The man stood up. “Baby!” he repeated. “You mean my—our baby?”
Molly swallowed and nodded.
“A little boy,” she said, in a low voice.
“Where is he?” demanded the man.
“Please, please don’t ask me, I beg of you. I want to forget––”
“But you can’t forget you’re married, that you’ve been the mother of a child and—and—that I’m its father.”
Molly’s tears began to flow. Virginia had never seen a woman cry before in all her young life. It was a most distressing sight. Something within her leaped up and thundered at her brain. It ordered her to venture out and aid the pretty woman if she could. Jinnie was not an eavesdropper! She did not wish to hear any more. But fear kept her crouched in her awkward position.
“I just want to forget if I can,” Molly sobbed. “I don’t know where the baby is. That’s why I want to forget. I can’t find him.”