Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(41)

Mom had smiled like a Cheshire cat when I’d told her about our separation, so I didn’t share my tears with her either.

Maybe if I’d had a Randall, I wouldn’t have made such a horrible mistake. I wouldn’t have slept with that other man.

“Be careful,” Randall warned.

“I am.”

It was nice to have his warning. And I was being careful. Even though this affair had come out of nowhere, I was keeping up my guard. I didn’t need Finn’s affections to bolster my confidence anymore. I could end this at any time.

I could end it today if I wanted.

I didn’t want to, but I could.

“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked, his cheeks puffing out with a bite of cornbread and chili.

“None of your damn business,” Randall muttered before I could dodge the question.

“Fine.” Jimmy finished chewing and swallowed. “You two always have your inside jokes and hushed conversations. It’s damn annoying. And kind of rude. But it gives me and Poppy something to talk about behind your backs.”

“What?” My eyes bulged, a smile tugging at my lips. “You do not.”

He nodded. “We do. We talk about you two all the time. How you two can’t keep up with our jokes. That’s probably what you’re talking about. We figured you’ve been explaining them to Randall here for years.”

Randall’s face turned magenta as he scowled.

Jimmy met my eyes, his own twinkling as he fought a smile by shoving another bite of chili in his mouth. He didn’t care a bit if Randall and I had our own language. We’d had it for years. He and Poppy had their own too. But any excuse to rile up Randall and Jimmy would hit those buttons faster than a kid playing whack-a-mole.

“Your jokes are so damn simple, Brady could understand them,” Randall snapped.

“Brady might only be one, but he’s brilliant. Sure, he could understand them. He’s my great-grandson, so he’s got superior genes.”

Randall ripped his cap off his knee and tugged it on his head. It was the end of June and plenty warm outside, but not a day went by when he didn’t wear that cap. With it secured and his cane in hand, he stood from his stool.

“Hey.” Jimmy had just shoved another bite in his mouth and with his shout, little crumbs went spraying. “Where are you going?”

“Find your own ride home. Maybe Brady can drive you on his plastic tractor.”

I giggled, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. My laughing would only make it worse.

“Get back here,” Jimmy ordered. “Poppy made fresh apple pie this morning and I’m not missing it.”

“I’ll leave if I damn well want. And you’re not getting rides from me anymore.”

In six years, that was the 729th time he’d made that threat. Poppy and I had a running tally beneath the cash register. I bent down, slowly grabbing the pencil on the notepad and crossing out the old number to add in the new.

Poppy poked her head through the swinging door from the kitchen. “What’s going on out here?”

“I’m leaving,” Randall barked, shuffling closer toward the door. “I don’t need to deal with this harassment every day.”

“Oh, okay. Bye.” She smiled at Jimmy. “I was just experimenting with the chocolate mousse. I made a raspberry compote to spoon on top. Want to try one?”

Randall’s body stilled, his ears perking up. He didn’t just have a sweet tooth. Every bone in his body was addicted to sugar. Mention chocolate and the man practically vibrated.

“I’ll have one,” I told Poppy. “If there’s any extra.”

“I just made a small batch. Only four jars until I know that people like the recipe.”

“What are you waiting for?” Randall spun back around, his sight set on his stool. “Get those jars.”

Poppy disappeared into the kitchen, I went to get four spoons, and Jimmy polished off his lunch while we waited for the mousse. Randall was on his stool, today’s bickering forgotten as quickly as it had started.

Four chocolate mousses later, we all agreed that Poppy’s raspberry concoction would be a hit.

“I think I’ll go whip up some more before I forget what I did. Then we can freeze it and have it for the anniversary celebration next week.”

“Want some company in the kitchen?”

“Sure. Dora just clocked in so she can take over out here.”

We left Randall and Jimmy at their stools and went into the back. Dora was at the sink, washing her hands to begin her shift. I said hello, then chatted with her about her classes before she left Poppy and me alone in the kitchen.

“Any more letters?” Poppy asked, measuring sugar into a bowl.

“Nope. Nothing.” I hadn’t told her much about the letter Finn had written for Jamie’s funeral. I’d simply left it that I’d received another letter and it had made Finn and I talk about some things.

“And you still have no idea who’s sending them?”

“It’s not you.”

“It’s not me,” she promised.

“It’s not your parents. Do you think it could be Cole?”

She shook her head. “I asked him about it when you guys first asked me. He was just as confused as I was.”