Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(40)

“Deal.”

Molly stood and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. “Sorry to pull you from work.”

“It’s no problem.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “Finn. It’s summer. I know how busy you are. I’m good. I appreciate you coming over so we could talk. But you don’t need to stay. And while the kids are gone, you can forget my yard.”

Was she kicking me out? “You don’t want me over here?”

“No, it’s not that. But you’ve been here a lot. I’m sure you’re swamped.”

“I am.”

“Then take the time. Get caught up when you don’t have to do extra laundry or cook or run the kids around.”

“I don’t know how you do it all,” I admitted. “How you work at the restaurant and manage to keep everything so clean.” I stood up and leaned against the counter. “My place is a wreck most of the time, and I feel like laundry piles up while I’m asleep.”

She giggled. “Welcome to the life of a mom.”

“I don’t say it enough. Thanks for all you do. I know you do most of the laundry for the kids so I don’t have to. I know you make sure they’ve got their stuff for school. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed before she shrugged it off. “They’re my kids.”

It was more than that. Even after the divorce, when I’d been an asshole to her, she’d always done her best so I wouldn’t struggle on the nights when I had the kids alone. It had taken me a lot of years to develop a better routine. To figure out how to do dinnertime, bath time and bedtime without one or both kids having a meltdown. Or without wanting to pull my hair out.

Everything suffered for a while, my business and sanity mostly. For years, it had been a shit show. But I’d gained respect for Molly. I’d always thought things were easier for her because she’d been staying at home while I worked. She’d never complained.

I had no idea how hard it was.

“I took you for granted.”

She blinked up at me. “What?”

“You. I took you for granted. I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh, um . . . thank you.”

“I should have said it sooner.”

She dropped her gaze to her water glass, blinking quickly.

My phone rang in my pocket, breaking the moment. There was more to talk about with Molly. I still needed to get to the bottom of why she didn’t come to Alcott and my house. If she’d resented me when she’d stayed at home with the kids.

But she was right. I was fucking busy and needed to get back to work.

“I’m planning on coming over tonight to work on the yard.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” I said. “I want to spend time with the kids before they leave. And you.”

She nodded, following me to the door. I waved at her as I opened it, but she stopped me. “Finn?”

“Yeah?” I turned over my shoulder.

“Do you think we would have made it if Jamie hadn’t been killed?”

My shoulders fell. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Do you?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “But it doesn’t matter now.”

“No, I guess not.”

We were broken.

Because everything had changed.





Nine





Molly





“So, are you still . . .” Randall’s eyebrows shot up as he trailed off.

“Being foolish?” I asked and he nodded. The kids were in Alaska and Finn hadn’t spent a night in his own bed all week. “Yes.”

His frown made me feel worse than the time I’d gotten a speeding ticket in high school with my mom sitting in the passenger seat.

Randall was as close to a grandparent as I’d ever had. Mom’s parents lived on the East Coast, both too old to travel. I hadn’t been close to them as a child and wasn’t as an adult. They’d never even met my kids.

My father’s parents had lived in Bozeman, but they’d both passed when I was young. My father was twelve years older than my mother. In a lot of ways, he’d been more like a grandparent than a father. He’d spoiled me with treats behind her back. He’d let me stay up past my bedtime when she was away. I couldn’t remember a time when he’d punished me. But we weren’t close either. He was a retired professor at Montana State. He’d always been more interested in spending time with his grad students than with his daughter.

I think Mom had wanted a child and had given Dad an ultimatum. He never argued with Mom. He did what she wanted then disappeared to his library before she could ask for something else.

I saw him every couple of months when Mom would force him to visit the kids, but I’d given up on building a close father-daughter relationship with him years ago. I didn’t interest Dad, and we didn’t have anything in common.

It made me wonder how life would have been if Randall had been a parent. Or my parent. Maybe I would have had someone’s shoulder to cry on during the divorce. Instead, I’d kept my tears hidden, not wanting to burden Poppy with them. She’d been swamped trying to get the restaurant open, and given how close she was to both Finn and me, both of us had fought hard not to make her choose a side.