Caged (Mastered, #4)(27)
Reverend Somers smiled at her. “Of course you’re entitled to see the paperwork.” He opened his notebook and handed her the first loose sheet of paper. “Erma had this drawn up last year.”
Molly scrutinized the text. For once Grams had made a sound decision, although she hated that Grams was planning ahead for her own death. “It appears to be in order. Thank you.”
“We’re not a bunch of rubes, Molly,” Brandi said snottily.
“Neither am I.” She looked to the reverend. “You’ve been entrusted to lock up?”
“Yes.”
When her cousins asked a question, Molly fled outside.
It hardly seemed fair the day was so beautiful when she was so filled with sadness. It should be gloomy, cold, and rainy. Rather than wait for more attacks from her cousins, Molly wandered to the end of the lane—Grams’s term for the dirt track that connected to the main road.
Early summer in Nebraska meant the scents of dirt and diesel. The air hung heavy with humidity. Bugs buzzed around her feet and head. Birds chirping and the occasional croak of a frog drifted up from the ditches. When she reached the tractor-shaped mailbox, she tipped her head back, letting the watery sunlight heat her face.
A sharp pang jabbed her heart.
Erma Calloway had come to this farm a blushing bride of nineteen. After Grandpa Pete died, Grams had sold off what land she could and rented out the rest. As a widow with no skills outside of being a farmwife, she’d needed the income. Now they had to pack up sixty years’ worth of stuff accumulated over a happy, well-lived life.
Mostly happy. One child had given her joy; the other, trouble. Molly’s mother, Pauline, had skipped town with the carnival the day after she graduated from high school. Almost twenty years passed before Pauline had returned, unmarried, with a two-year-old and addiction problems. Molly’s memories of her mom were of stale cigarette smoke and the sour scent of booze. Within a month of being back on the farm, her mother had bought the farm—she was killed by a train at an unmarked railroad crossing in the middle of the night. During her teen years, Molly suspected her mom had parked her car on that railroad track on purpose. But Molly’s grandmother insisted it was an accident—not suicide.
But the truth was, as she grew up, Molly understood why her mother might’ve done it. Life on the farm wasn’t Norman Rockwell idyllic. Neither was living in small-town Nebraska, where everyone knew everyone, their dirty laundry, family secrets, and shame. Where your relatives judged you, shunned you, hated you, and made your life hell.
Growing up, her cousins Jennifer and Brandi had been the bane of her existence. Being the quiet, shy type, she’d suffered their insults and attacks in silence. The one time she’d complained about their excessive meanness, her grandmother had snapped that they were her family—the only family she’d ever have—and she’d better be grateful that she wasn’t living in foster care. Then she’d told Molly to find a way to deal with it. So she had. She’d become invisible.
In high school her outstanding grades had earned her a full-ride scholarship to University of Nebraska at Lincoln. She’d chosen business accounting—a smart, safe, employable major.
Following college graduation, Molly had returned home for a temporary visit while waiting to see where she’d been accepted to grad school. It had shocked and dismayed her when she’d overheard Grams asking Uncle Bob to find a position for her in his insurance business. One, because nothing could ever make her stay in her hometown permanently. Two, because both Jennifer and Brandi worked there—if sleeping off hangovers in the conference room was considered working. The rest of her life played out before her as a nightmare.
Then the acceptance letter for the graduate program at University of Denver arrived and saved her from that life. And she hadn’t looked back.
“Molly,” Jennifer yelled. “Pull your head out and get back here.”
Lovely. She wandered back to the house.
A bicycle chain had been strung across the front door, locks on both ends.
“The back door is locked too,” Brandi informed her.
Molly walked the reverend to his car. Before her cousins could waylay her, she took off.
As she hit the edge of town, she debated on driving another thirty miles to Norfolk for a hotel room. But it’d be convenient to have a place to escape when everything overwhelmed her over the next few days.
The exterior of the Motor Inn Motel had been remodeled. She parked beneath the carport and entered the reception area. The space smelled like new paint.
A young woman slid behind the counter. “Welcome to Motor Inn.”
“I need a room for at least three nights. Possibly more.”
“Would you like a single room? Or I have a room with a kitchenette available.”
“The kitchenette would be great.” Molly handed over her credit card.
“Are you just passing through?”
“I’m here for a funeral. Then there’s all the legal stuff to deal with, which is why I won’t know how long I’ll need to stay.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” She looked around while she waited for the paperwork. “The place looks a lot different.”
The young clerk beamed at her. “My husband and I took it over last year. Lots of sweat equity, but it’s coming along. Room by room.” She slid the paper and a pen across the counter. “Sign in the boxes and fill in your vehicle information.”