Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(3)

I rattled off my address, phone number and social security number as requested, and after a hundred clicks, the salesman finally tore his eyes away from the screen.

“Okay, I think we’re set. Let me get the finance guy in here and we can go over the terms.”

“Great.” I stayed in my seat as he left the office. When he was gone, I checked the clock on my phone.

I’d been here for two hours already, test-driving, then negotiating the price of the new Jeep Rubicon I was buying. I still had an hour and a half before I had to be home to meet the kids, but this had already taken longer than I’d hoped. I was anxious to get home with this surprise.

Kali and Max had no idea I was buying a new car and they were going to flip when they saw the Jeep in our minivan’s parking spot.

Max hated the minivan because the backseat DVD player had quit a month ago. Like most eight-year-old boys, he thought any trip longer than twenty minutes was torture without something to watch. Not only did the soon-to-be-mine Jeep come outfitted with chrome rims and tinted windows, each of the kids would have their own entertainment consoles.

Kali didn’t consider the TV a necessity like her younger brother, but she had just turned ten and was approaching the age where mean girls found their nasty streaks and anything and everything could cause debilitating embarrassment—like the minivan I was trading in today. Tomorrow I’d be rolling through the school drop-off line with new wheels, which were sure to earn me some cool-mom points.

I’d been running low on those lately. Their dad was the cool parent, not me. My areas of excellence were laundry, housekeeping and nagging until homework was done and vegetables were eaten. But at least now I’d have a trendy vehicle.

“Okay, Ms. Alcott.” The salesman walked back into his office with a younger man following behind, a stack of papers in his hand. “We’ll just go over the financing terms, sign a few papers and you’ll be all set. I’m having the guys in the shop fill up the tank and do a quick clean. We’ll have you out of here in thirty minutes.”

I smiled. “Perfect.”

An hour later, I slid into the black leather driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath of my new Jeep’s smell. It wasn’t a brand-new car. I was a divorcee with a mortgage and two kids who were constantly outgrowing their Nikes. I couldn’t afford brand-new. But I could afford a shiny three-year-old model with low miles and eighteen months left on the bumper-to-bumper warranty.

“Oh my God, I love this car.” With a happy squeal, I adjusted the seat and mirrors, then put it in drive and pulled off the lot. Excitement raced through my veins, and I fought to stay under the speed limit as I drove through town. The jitters didn’t settle until I was parked in my driveway.

As I got out to inspect the gleaming black paint, I hid my smile with a hand. This Jeep wasn’t just cool, it was badass, and so much better than the white minivan I’d left behind.

My gaze wandered to the garage where the minivan had lived and a pang of sadness hit. We’d nicknamed her Beluga and she’d been my trusty steed for years. She’d schlepped kids to soccer and me to work. She’d cared for hundreds of forgotten Cheerios and fruit snacks. She’d been there for me after the divorce, when I’d collapse into the steering wheel and let out rivers of tears before putting on a happy face to show the world.

I was going to miss Beluga. She’d been one of the last remaining artifacts from my married days.

Most of the relics from my failed marriage had been replaced over the last six years. The living room furniture Finn and I had bought together went first after Kali spilled grape juice on the upholstery and the stain had set. Next went the roof and siding of the house after a severe hailstorm. The beige home we’d bought was now white with black shutters and a charcoal tin roof. Pictures had been taken down. Memorabilia had been stowed in boxes and hidden in the attic.

And now Beluga was gone too.

It was for the best. That’s what I’d been reminding myself these past six years. I was happier now than I’d been during the last year of my marriage. So was Finn. So were the kids.

It was for the best.

I smiled again at the Jeep, then took the sidewalk to the front porch. My lawn was lush and green and long. Ideally, it would get mowed today but I doubted I’d have the time, so the chore was added to my endless weekend to-do list. It was a good thing tomorrow was Friday so I couldn’t tack on much more.

As soon as Kali turned twelve, Finn had promised to teach her how to mow lawns for extra cash. She was chomping at the bit. So was I. Mowing was one duty I couldn’t wait to delegate to the kids. I’d gladly clean and cook and wash clothes for a hundred years if it meant never walking behind my red Craftsman again.

I’d done enough mowing for a lifetime.

After Finn had graduated from college, he’d gone to work at a local landscaping company, but his dream had always been to open his own. The year we married, he took the leap and started his business. Our business.

During Alcott Landscaping’s first two seasons, I was the number-one lawn mower. While Finn did all things landscaping, from bids to design to the actual planting, sodding and whatever else that had to be done, I managed the mowing service. It was the side of the business that kept us in SpaghettiOs and corn dogs until Finn built up his reputation. Three college kids and I mowed hundreds of lawns, until finally I was able to step back from the mowing completely and run the office.