Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(37)

But depending on the letter, those meetings might have to be rescheduled.

“It was the letter you wrote after Jamie . . .”

Died.

My knees weakened, and I sank into the chair.

Of all the letters I’d written, that one I remembered the clearest. It was also the one I’d never opened after the day I’d folded it in thirds.

I found the strength to stand again. “I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“See you in a few.” I hung up and rushed out of my office door.

“Finn,” Bridget called as I walked past her open door.

“What’s up?” I stepped back, not going inside.

“Are you leaving? I thought we were going to go through those applications before lunch.”

“Shit.” I checked my watch. “Sorry. Something came up.”

She frowned. “A lot has been coming up lately. What’s going on with you?”

“Just some personal stuff.”

My relationship with Molly had never been Bridget’s business. That didn’t stop her from inserting herself. When we’d been going through the divorce, Bridget had sided with me. She was one of the few. I’d made the mistake of telling Bridget about Molly’s one-night stand. Bridget had labeled Molly a cheater and said nothing nice about her since.

It wasn’t often, but occasionally Bridget would make some comment running Molly down. Molly hadn’t understood the business. Or Molly hadn’t understood the commitment and hours it took for me to run Alcott.

Bridget was wrong but it wasn’t worth the drama to tell her so.

The two women had never gotten along, even when Molly had worked at Alcott and Bridget had been one of her employees.

But I had enough to deal with. I didn’t need to hear Bridget’s opinion on the added time I was spending with Molly. Ultimately, it was none of her damn business.

“Well, are you coming back?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

“Fine.” She scowled. “I guess we can go through them after your client visits tonight. We can get some food delivered and work in the loft. Like old times.”

“Actually, I can’t stay late. I’ve got plans.” I’d moved on to the backyard at Molly’s and tonight I was taking out the fountain. The kids had asked me if I’d grill cheeseburgers for us all once we were done working.

Bridget didn’t like that answer either. “So when?”

“How about this? You go through them all, pick your favorites, then I’ll review them with you in the morning. Maybe we could meet early?”

“I can’t tomorrow. I’ve got client meetings back-to-back starting at eight.”

“Meet you at seven? I’ll bring your favorite coffee.”

She fought a smile. “My favorite coffee is the kind I make here every morning.”

“Exactly. I’ll deliver it personally, all the way from the coffee pot to your office. I’ll even make sure to use our cleanest mug.”

“Go.” She waved me away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re the best,” I called as I walked down the hallway to the front door.

My phone was dinging with emails in my pocket and the list of things I needed to do was enormous, but all I could think about on the drive to Molly’s was that letter.

God, I’d been heartbroken. Jamie’s death had destroyed us all.

The trip to Molly’s took longer now than it had years ago. Bozeman had grown too fast for the existing infrastructure, so streets were constantly busy. Even now, with the college kids gone for the summer, the influx of tourists to our popular town made traffic slow.

Finally, I turned off the main roads onto less crowded side streets. Kids rode their bikes, enjoying the summer sunshine. Sprinklers were whirling, keeping yards a lush green, and the sun was streaming through my window.

It all screamed happy. It normally would have made me smile. But my mind wasn’t on this beautiful June day. It was on a day in May, years ago, that had been black as night.

I pulled into the driveway at Molly’s, jumping out and running for the door. Gavin was outside and he waved from his spot on the porch. His phone was pressed to his ear as he sat outside, his computer on his lap.

I waved back then dismissed him. I didn’t bother knocking on the door. I opened it and raced down the entryway. I found Molly at the dining room table, the letter on the wood next to a box of tissues.

“Hey.” Her eyes were red. “You didn’t need to come here.”

I went right to her side, took her hand and pulled her from the chair.

The moment my arms were wrapped around her, the tears came again, soaking the front of my shirt. This was how we’d gotten through those days after Jamie had died. We’d held on to one another, mourning the death of our brother and friend.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

“So do I.”

“I feel like every time I go to the mailbox, I’m going to get blasted back into the past. I already cried these tears. I don’t want to do it again.”