Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(27)

“I’m late for work,” she hollered before getting into her Jeep and driving the hell off Alcott property.

“What the—” I dove for the phone in my pocket, pulling up her name. She couldn’t just leave like that. We had to figure this out. We had to find out who was sending my letters.

My letters. She’d gotten two.

There were more.

Many more.

My knees buckled. Someone had found my letters. Someone was sending them to Molly.

I played it out, each and every letter.

“No. Oh, fuck. No.”

I spun on a heel and sprinted for my office. I swiped the keys off the desk along with my sunglasses, then I bolted outside, locking up the office before running to my truck. I broke every speed limit on my race home.

I tore through my house, rushing to my closet and the box on the top shelf. It was in the exact same place as always. It didn’t look like someone had gone through my house and stolen my most personal belongings.

“Please be here.”

I took it down, tossing the top to the floor. Then fear turned to reality. It wasn’t just those two letters missing. They were all gone. The only thing remaining was my silver wedding band and a photo of Molly and me kissing after the pastor had pronounced us man and wife.

The box fell from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. The ring rolled out and got lost between a pair of tennis shoes.

All of the letters I’d written were gone. Letters I’d written over the snap of almost a decade. The two Molly had gotten were good ones, written in a time we were happy.

But there were more.

If someone was sending her my letters, it was just a matter of time before she received the ones I should have burned. The ones that were raw and angry. The ones I never should have written in the first place and sure as hell never should have kept.

“Fuck.” I punched at the wall, then shuffled backward from the closet until my knees hit the bed and I collapsed on the edge.

I had to find out who was sending these letters and stop them.

Fast.





Six





Molly





“What’s wrong?” Randall asked me as I set down his dessert and a fresh spoon.

“Nothing,” I lied.

He frowned. “That’s my third berry crisp. You normally only let me have two before lunch.”

“Maybe I’m feeling generous today.”

“Maybe. But there’s still something bothering you.”

I leaned against the counter. “Maybe there is.”

This morning had been a roller coaster. First, I’d woken up happy because Finn had been in my bed. He’d hurried out early so the kids wouldn’t see him, like he’d done after all our nights together.

But this morning was different. He’d kissed me before he left. A long, slow kiss that stole my breath and put a dreamy smile on my face. I’d smiled while showering and dressing. I’d smiled while making the kids breakfast. I’d smiled while stopping at the mailbox.

Then I’d found the letter.

Good-bye, smile. Hello, tears.

It was a feat of sheer willpower to dry them up and hold more at bay while I drove the kids to school. If not for their extreme excitement for the last day of school, they would have noticed my red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks.

It wasn’t just the words or the sudden appearance of his letter that had rocked me. It was reading the words and being thrown backward in time.

Finn had been so nervous that night. Once we’d discovered we shared a birthday, our celebrations had been spent together. Normally we planned a party with friends or a special dinner at a cool restaurant. We’d been together for two and a half years by that point so I hadn’t expected our birthday celebration to be any different.

But Finn insisted we spend the evening alone. He cooked dinner, though I suspected Poppy had a hand in it. He fully admitted she was responsible for the birthday cake.

After we ate our lasagna, he brought out the double-layer, double-chocolate creation. Instead of a heap of candles for us both to blow out, there was only one. It was white. At its base sat a diamond ring.

Finn got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I immediately said yes. He was so excited to see the ring on my finger, he slid it down, chocolate frosting and all.

We were married two months later.

We didn’t live together before the ceremony because I wanted to save the shared bathroom, the shared closet and the shared space with my husband, so our engagement was short. I still had a month left of my senior year when we married in April in a small, simple ceremony—much to my mother’s dismay. Poppy was my maid of honor. Jamie was Finn’s best man.

I moved into his apartment, spent the next month finishing school, then donned my cap and gown for graduation before we took a weekend honeymoon camping. We barely left the tent.

Those had been some of the happiest days of my life. That was why the letter made me cry. Those tears? They were grief. Grief for a life that had long since passed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I guess?” Randall asked.

“Don’t guess.” I walked around the counter and took Jimmy’s empty stool. Jimmy hadn’t come to The Maysen Jar this morning because he had a summer cold. He’d been avoiding everyone for three days, convinced he was contagious.