Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(25)

Neither Molly nor I had gotten vindictive throughout our divorce. We hadn’t squabbled over material things. I’d wanted her to have the house. She’d wanted me to keep Alcott Landscaping.

We’d both been completely dedicated to sharing custody of the kids.

Yeah, I’d been furious with her at the time. I’d been heartbroken over her one-night stand. In truth, I’d been an asshole. But I’d told my lawyer during our first meeting that this wasn’t about revenge. I’d given him an order to treat her fairly. And he’d worked with her attorney to make that happen.

“I’m sorry,” I told Jeff. “I really am. I got divorced a while back and I understand how stressful it is. Especially when you throw kids into the mix. But I have employee policies for a reason, and I can’t give you an advance.”

“All right. I knew you said during my orientation that you guys don’t do overtime. If that changes, would you keep me in mind?”

“I will.”

I wasn’t going to tell Jeff, but I hadn’t paid overtime in five years. Overtime wages were the fastest way to send Alcott’s expenses through the roof. Instead, I managed the crews’ hours and didn’t commit to projects we couldn’t fit into the schedule.

“Thanks, Finn. I’d better get out of here. The guys are waiting.”

“Before you go.” I held up a finger as he stood from his chair. I dove into my desk drawer, taking out a sticky note. I scribbled my lawyer’s name on it and handed it over. “This was my lawyer when I got divorced. He’s not cheap. But he’s good. Really good. If you can swing it, try to get a meeting with him. He does some pro bono work too. Tell him you work for me.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Jeff nodded, tucking the note in his pocket.

“Anytime.” I stood from my chair and followed him out of the office. One of our navy trucks, emblazoned with a white Alcott Landscaping logo on the door, was idling outside.

Jeff piled inside with two other guys and waved as they pulled away from the office. A quaking aspen was loaded on the flatbed along with some hostas.

As they drove away, I walked down the short gravel road to the shop. It was the heart of Alcott.

We were located on the outskirts of Bozeman on a three-acre plot. For the first couple years Alcott had been in business, Molly and I had rented a shop to store our equipment. We’d run the office from our dining room table at the small apartment we’d moved into after getting married.

But after we’d started to become more profitable, I’d found this property and we’d taken a gamble. It had paid off. We’d put up a small steel shop in the far corner of the property. After a year, we’d had to triple its size to hold the equipment and company trucks. The year after that, it was so crowded that Molly suggested we build an actual office so she could get out of the room we’d set up as an office slash storage locker.

At the entrance to the property, we’d put up a small, separate, two-story building. The offices and small conference room were on the first floor. At the rear, a staircase led to a small lounge on the second floor.

We’d planned to let the office staff use the lounge to relax or hold informal meetings. Molly had wanted a “soft” space for the kids to play whenever we were all there together, along with a bathroom.

Neither of us had planned that the lounge, with the couch and kitchenette, would become my apartment when I moved out. Neither of us had planned that we wouldn’t be working together at Alcott for years to come.

I stepped through one of the open bay doors of the shop and looked around. It was mostly cleared except for some of the larger equipment, like two skid steers that didn’t go out every day. The mowing crews had left hours ago. The last landscaping crew was out in the yard, loading up a tree from yesterday’s nursery delivery.

We used the yard as a staging ground, having all the supplies from our vendors dropped off here instead of individual job sites. There were trees and bushes in one corner. Along the far side of the property, we kept landscaping boulders and piles of pea gravel next to pallets of peat moss and manure.

“Hey, Finn.” One of the guys came out of the shop bathroom, zipping up his pants.

“Hey. Heading out?”

“Yep. We’re about loaded up. See ya.” His footsteps echoed off the metal walls and ceiling before he stepped outside and into the sunshine.

I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of dirt and oil. I didn’t get in here enough. I spent most of my days in the office. But this . . . this was the reason I’d started Alcott. I had to find a way to spend more days in the fresh summer air, not under the vents of my AC.

I spun in a slow circle, taking it all in.

We’d built so much. I wouldn’t have even thought this was possible without Molly dreaming at my side. She’d supported me completely those early days. She’d stuck it out, working the long hours. It was only when we’d had Kali that she’d taken a step back.

As a breeze from outside rushed into the shop, a doubt came with it.

Did I take this from her? Did Molly feel like I’d shut her out of our business because I’d suggested she stay home with the kids?

I’d thought it would make life easier if she was at home and not working. But as I thought back, I couldn’t remember asking her what she’d wanted. When she hadn’t put up a fight, I’d assumed we wanted the same thing, much like the yard that I’d learned a decade too late she hated.