Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(58)

His entire right side was extremely tender. The bruises had lasted longer than I’d ever expected, turning half his body a dark purple before fading to lime green. I grimaced just thinking about how he’d looked that first week, all puffy and blue.

I took a deep breath, bending for the cord to get the mower going, but stopped when a car door slammed shut. Then another.

I left the mower in its place and walked along the side of the house toward the front as three guys were piling out of a navy Alcott truck parked along the street. Behind it was a mowing trailer.

“Hi.” I waved as I walked their way, getting their attention. All three guys waved back, though I only recognized one of them. They were probably here to see Finn, but I didn’t want them waking him up. “Finn is taking a na—”

“Hey, guys.”

My head whipped to the side. Finn was in his wheelchair on the front porch.

“Hey, boss.” One man grinned as he hooked a thumb at the van. “New ride? It’s sexy.”

Finn chuckled. “Thanks for coming over so soon.”

“Not soon enough.” He surveyed my freshly mowed grass. “Sorry.”

“The back needs to be done,” Finn told them. “You can hit it today. And then put it on the rotation for every Friday.”

All three men nodded, turned and went for their equipment.

I watched with my mouth hanging open as one of them backed a riding mower off the trailer, another unloaded a push mower and the third grabbed an edger.

“Can I get to the backyard this way?” one of them asked.

I nodded, sliding out of the way as they went toward the fence. Each of them smiled as they passed me.

When the machines started up, I went to the porch. I stopped two steps from the top so I was eye level with Finn. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a hell of a long time ago. Alcott has the lawn from now on.”

How many times had I mowed this lawn, wondering why Finn didn’t have his crew here to do it for us? I’d always assumed he wanted to save the money. Or that he didn’t have time in the rotation to fit it in. When we got divorced, I figured it would be strange to have a crew mow his ex-wife’s lawn. But here they were.

A small gesture. But one that touched my heart. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.” His eyes were full of remorse as he stared at me. His frame, though broken, was poised in determination to make it right.

Kali came outside, interrupting the moment. She leaned against Finn’s chair, something that had become her new kind of hug. “Dad, do you want to help me with my puzzle?”

“I’d love to, sweetie.”

She smiled at him, kissed his cheek and darted inside. Finn shot me a grin, then steered his chair back inside too.

I stayed on that step for a few long minutes, marveling at how much had changed in such a short amount of time. How my feelings were so different now.

The power of fear was terribly magnificent.

I turned on the step, descending to the sidewalk, then walked to the mailbox as the sounds of whirling blades snipping grass buzzed in the distance.

I was lost in the sunshine and the way my stomach wasn’t in knots for the first time in weeks. Having Finn home was a relief I hadn’t let myself hope for, at least not in the beginning. Those first few days in the hospital, I’d prepared myself for the worst.

Enjoying that relief, savoring that we were out of the woods, I didn’t pay much attention to the mail. Finn’s old letters had stopped.

Finn had asked me last week if there had been more, and I’d told him no. We were both glad to be done with them. We had enough to deal with, and the past, well . . . it needed to stay there. I thumbed through the stack, sorting junk into one hand and bills in the other.

But then a familiar curve of handwriting caught my attention.

We weren’t done with the letters after all.





- LETTER -





Darling Molly,



I’m failing you. I know I’m failing you, but I’m not sure how to fix it. Max is six days old, and maybe because I’ve been home, it hit me that I haven’t been doing enough. I disappear to work and leave you here. You handle it all. The house. The kids. You greet me with a smile when I get home.



But I see it now. I see that I’m not doing enough. You’re exhausted. You cried in the shower this morning. I fucking hate that. I hate that I’m letting you down.



What should I do? I don’t know how to even ask you that question. I’m scared that your answer will be nothing. That no matter what I do, it won’t be enough. That you know I’m failing you and you’ve given up on me.



I think I need to push harder. Work harder. I can work harder. Once things at Alcott are set and I know that no matter what, you and the kids will be okay if something happens to me, we’ll be better.



You fell asleep on the chair across from me. I’d planned to sit down and talk to you, but by the time I got Kali to bed, you were already asleep. Max is perfect. He’s sleeping in your arms. I don’t want to move him.



But you’re breaking right in front of me. Life is too heavy right now. I’m taking another week off to help. I hope I can help. I want more than anything to give you this letter. To talk to you. But I’m scared. I’m scared it will just add to your burdens.