by Devney Perry
Or had I chased her away?
I managed to pay three bills before the front door chimed again. I dropped my head, blowing out a long breath. The chances of me getting out of here on time to get to Molly’s were dwindling with each interruption.
The footsteps down the hallway were hesitant. It was probably a customer or potential customer coming in to visit. Hopefully they’d spend enough time looking at the photos in the hallway of our past projects to buy me another minute.
“Come on back,” I called, barreling through one last bill.
I had just clicked the submit button when Molly appeared in the doorway. “Hi.”
I did a double take. “Hey. What are you doing here? Is everything okay with the kids?”
“They’re fine. Do you have a second?”
“Yeah.” I stood as she crossed the room. “Want some water? Or coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She took a seat in one of the chairs across from my desk and clutched her purse in her lap as she looked around the office. “It hasn’t changed much in here.”
I grinned and sat down. “No, I guess not. I was thinking earlier that you haven’t been here in a long time.”
Her eyes dropped to the edge of the desk. “It’s been a while.”
“Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Why did you send them?”
“Send what?”
She looked up. “The letters.”
Letters? We sent out letters to customers in March reminding them that mowing season was right around the corner. Bridget had been ambitious last Christmas and sent out holiday cards. But besides those, I couldn’t think of anything I might have sent Molly.
“What letters?”
She gritted her teeth and dove into her purse. Then she whipped out two white envelopes. “These letters.”
I reached across the desk and took them from her hand. The handwriting on the envelopes wasn’t mine. “These aren’t from me.”
Molly didn’t say a word as I pulled out the folded paper from one. The minute the lined sheet was in my hand, an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. There was something familiar about it. I peeled the ends apart and that sinking feeling turned to a lead rock.
“Where did you get this?” No one, especially Molly, was ever supposed to see this letter.
“It came last week.”
“Last week?”
“The other one came today.”
I tore into the other envelope like a madman, yanking out the paper and spreading it flat. It was the letter I’d written the night before proposing.
Oh, fuck. “How did you get these?”
“What do you mean, how did I get these?” Molly snapped. “You sent them to me. Why?”
“I didn’t send these to you.”
The word liar was written all over her face.
“Molly, I did not send these.”
“But you wrote them?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I wrote them.” For me. I’d never had any intention of giving Molly these letters.
“I don’t understand.” She sank deeper into the chair. “You wrote these but didn’t send them? So how did they show up in my mailbox?”
“I don’t know.” I ran a hand over my face, rubbing my jaw. The letters were in my closet—or were supposed to be—in a box I hadn’t opened in years. The last time had been after the divorce. I’d dumped my wedding ring in there, shoved it on the top shelf and pretended it didn’t exist.
“It really wasn’t you?” Molly asked.
“It really wasn’t me.”
“Oh.” Something flashed across her face, but before I could make sense of it, she was out of her chair. With her hair swishing across her shoulders, she raced out of the office and down the hallway.
“Molly.” I stood and chased after her, but it was too late. She’d already flown out the front door.
“I’m late for work,” she hollered before getting into her Jeep and driving the hell off Alcott property.
“What the—” I dove for the phone in my pocket, pulling up her name. She couldn’t just leave like that. We had to figure this out. We had to find out who was sending my letters.
My letters. She’d gotten two.
There were more.
Many more.
My knees buckled. Someone had found my letters. Someone was sending them to Molly.
I played it out, each and every letter.
“No. Oh, fuck. No.”
I spun on a heel and sprinted for my office. I swiped the keys off the desk along with my sunglasses, then I bolted outside, locking up the office before running to my truck. I broke every speed limit on my race home.
I tore through my house, rushing to my closet and the box on the top shelf. It was in the exact same place as always. It didn’t look like someone had gone through my house and stolen my most personal belongings.
“Please be here.”
I took it down, tossing the top to the floor. Then fear turned to reality. It wasn’t just those two letters missing. They were all gone. The only thing remaining was my silver wedding band and a photo of Molly and me kissing after the pastor had pronounced us man and wife.
The box fell from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. The ring rolled out and got lost between a pair of tennis shoes.
All of the letters I’d written were gone. Letters I’d written over the snap of almost a decade. The two Molly had gotten were good ones, written in a time we were happy.
But there were more.
If someone was sending her my letters, it was just a matter of time before she received the ones I should have burned. The ones that were raw and angry. The ones I never should have written in the first place and sure as hell never should have kept.
“Fuck.” I punched at the wall, then shuffled backward from the closet until my knees hit the bed and I collapsed on the edge.
I had to find out who was sending these letters and stop them.
Fast.
Chapter Six
Molly
“What’s wrong?” Randall asked me as I set down his dessert and a fresh spoon.
“Nothing,” I lied.
He frowned. “That’s my third berry crisp. You normally only let me have two before lunch.”
“Maybe I’m feeling generous today.”
“Maybe. But there’s still something bothering you.”
I leaned against the counter. “Maybe there is.”
This morning had been a roller coaster. First, I’d woken up happy because Finn had been in my bed. He’d hurried out early so the kids wouldn’t see him, like he’d done after all our nights together.
But this morning was different. He’d kissed me before he left. A long, slow kiss that stole my breath and put a dreamy smile on my face. I’d smiled while showering and dressing. I’d smiled while making the kids breakfast. I’d smiled while stopping at the mailbox.
Then I’d found the letter.
Good-bye, smile. Hello, tears.
It was a feat of sheer willpower to dry them up and hold more at bay while I drove the kids to school. If not for their extreme excitement for the last day of school, they would have noticed my red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks.
It wasn’t just the words or the sudden appearance of his letter that had rocked me. It was reading the words and being thrown backward in time.
Finn had been so nervous that night. Once we’d discovered we shared a birthday, our celebrations had been spent together. Normally we planned a party with friends or a special dinner at a cool restaurant. We’d been together for two and a half years by that point so I hadn’t expected our birthday celebration to be any different.
But Finn insisted we spend the evening alone. He cooked dinner, though I suspected Poppy had a hand in it. He fully admitted she was responsible for the birthday cake.
After we ate our lasagna, he brought out the double-layer, double-chocolate creation. Instead of a heap of candles for us both to blow out, there was only one
. It was white. At its base sat a diamond ring.
Finn got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I immediately said yes. He was so excited to see the ring on my finger, he slid it down, chocolate frosting and all.
We were married two months later.
We didn’t live together before the ceremony because I wanted to save the shared bathroom, the shared closet and the shared space with my husband, so our engagement was short. I still had a month left of my senior year when we married in April in a small, simple ceremony—much to my mother’s dismay. Poppy was my maid of honor. Jamie was Finn’s best man.
I moved into his apartment, spent the next month finishing school, then donned my cap and gown for graduation before we took a weekend honeymoon camping. We barely left the tent.
Those had been some of the happiest days of my life. That was why the letter made me cry. Those tears? They were grief. Grief for a life that had long since passed.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I guess?” Randall asked.
“Don’t guess.” I walked around the counter and took Jimmy’s empty stool. Jimmy hadn’t come to The Maysen Jar this morning because he had a summer cold. He’d been avoiding everyone for three days, convinced he was contagious.
The restaurant was empty except for two people in opposite corners who had headphones on and were working on laptops. The only one working was me. Poppy was taking a day off to get the kids enrolled in summer swimming lessons and then spend a special day with them. Rayna had opened for us but had left shortly after I’d arrived. So, I was here alone until three, when Dora was coming in for the evening shift.
If I was going to confess, now was the time.
“This stays between us,” I told Randall.
“That goes without saying.”
“I’m sleeping with Finn.” I set those words loose and a huge weight came off my shoulders. It was freeing, even though Randall wasn’t pleased. He couldn’t quite repress the tic in his jaw. “I know you don’t like him much.”
“The man’s a fool for letting you go.”
My heart. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It’s the truth. He’s a fool. And so are you.”
Okay. That wasn’t quite as nice. “There’s the Randall I know and love. I was worried you were going soft on me.”
He didn’t laugh at my joke. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know that I am,” I admitted. “It just sort of happened and we haven’t talked about it. He’s . . . Finn. He’s the father of my children. I was in love with him for years. Those feelings didn’t simply shut off the day we signed our divorce papers. There’s history there.”
Randall dug his spoon into his berry crisp, taking a large bite. “Did I ever tell you I was divorced?”
“Uh, no.”
Randall didn’t talk much about his life, not even after sitting on that stool for nearly six years. I knew that as a younger man he’d helped build this building. He was from Bozeman and had lived here his entire life, just like me.
He had chosen to sell his home years ago and move into The Rainbow because it was easier. He claimed it was for the food and on-site cleaning crew. I think he’d been lonely—something he’d never admit.
But I’d never known he’d been married.
“I was married for twenty-one years. My wife and I never had children, so it was just the two of us. Twenty-one years, and then one day we realized we were miserable together. But I never stopped loving her.”
“Did she love you?”
“She did. I’d say she doesn’t anymore. I talk to her a couple of times a month. She moved to Arizona because she hates the snow.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mary James.”
James. She’d kept his last name. All I wanted to do was give this wonderful man a hug, but I kept my seat. I listened because there was a reason he was opening up.
“The thing about divorce is, there isn’t always one mistake. One nuclear bomb dropped on a couple that destroys their marriage. Sometimes, it creeps up on you slowly. And one day, realization hits and all you know is that you don’t want to be married anymore. Maybe a nuclear bomb would have been better than slowly burning to death. Maybe that wouldn’t make you feel like such a failure. It kills you to give up, but you know it’s the right decision. Because if you keep going, you’ll hate each other. That’s why Mary and I stopped. Because I didn’t want to hate her. I didn’t want her to hate me.”
The air left my lungs. Randall sat here nearly every day and I hadn’t known how close his story was to my own. Someone who really understood.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with Finn,” I whispered.
“If I had to guess, I’d say you two have more love than me and Mary ever did. You might even have some passion left in you. That’s all good. But you got divorced for a reason. Probably more than one. Have those reasons gone away?”
“No.” Those reasons were still there, floating under the surface. “He’s been sending me letters.” Well, someone was sending me his letters.
“What kind of letters?”
“There’s only been two, but they’re both from ages ago. The first one he wrote after our first date. The second was written the night before he proposed.”
“And they’re bringing up feelings,” he guessed.
I nodded. “I was happy. We were happy.”
“And you’re not now.”
“No, I’m happy. But it’s not the same. It doesn’t run as deep.”
Randall took another bite, chewing as slowly as humanly possible. Then he did it again. I was sure there was a point to his silence, and he’d deliver it eventually, so I sat and waited.
Finally, he spoke. “That boy was terrible to you when I first started coming here.”
“I know. But he was hurt.”
“You always defend him,” he grumbled. “The man was an asshole and you didn’t deserve that.”
No, I did deserve it. But I wasn’t going to expand on the dirty details for Randall. Finn had been acting out of pain. The cold shoulders, the blank stares. I’d earned every single one.
“He hasn’t acted like that in a long time,” I said.
“He’s still a fool.”
“Thank you.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “I’m sorry about your wife.”
He shrugged. “It’s been a long time. And don’t go gossiping about this. I don’t need everyone putting their noses into my business. It’s ancient history.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“It’s not a secret,” he muttered. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Got it. Not a secret. But keep my mouth shut.”
“Right.”
Randall finished his dessert while I sat by his side. When he was done, he pulled on his driving cap and picked up his cane. “I’d better get home. Check on Jimmy. The big baby thinks he’s got the damn plague instead of just a runny nose.”
“Let me send some stuff with you.” I hopped off my stool and hurried around the counter to fill a paper bag full of chicken noodle soup and some apple pies. “This is for Jimmy. You get one of these pies. He gets two. And I’m going to check that he receives them both.”
“Fine.” He scowled. Without another word, he took the bag and turned, shuffling his way to the door.
“Randall?” I called before he could leave. He paused but didn’t turn back. “Thank you.”
He lifted the cane in acknowledgement as he continued out the door.
I made a quick round of the restaurant, checking on the other two customers and making coffee for a woman who came in for a to-go order. Then I settled in at the counter, my purse beneath my feet.
Normally, I kept my purse in the office, but today I’d brought it out front because of the letter. Carefully, I fished it out to read again.
There were no tears this time. I felt more numb than sad. It was the same feeling I’
d had walking into Alcott Landscaping. I hadn’t set foot there in years, not since that night. It was eerie, like returning to the scene of a crime.
But I’d had to confront Finn. I’d worked up the courage because I needed to know why he’d sent the letters. One I could ignore. But two? Impossible.
Hope was a funny thing. I’d spent six years dousing it. Stomping it out so it was well and dead. But that second letter had flared my hopes to life.
Did he think there was a chance for us again? Did he want to try?
Randall was right. I was a fool.
Finn hadn’t sent those letters. He’d hidden them away. He’d put his feelings down on paper not to share, but to live in a box or a folder or wherever the hell he’d kept them all these years.
I was mad at Finn for hiding them. More so, I was mad at myself for believing he wanted me again for more than a romp in his former bed.
I folded up the letter and tucked it away. The trash can next to my feet was tempting, but I couldn’t throw it out. In those pages, written in blue ink, was happiness. Maybe one day Kali would want to read it. Maybe Max would want to know the kinds of things his father had felt about his mother. I’d save them, for the kids. I’d put the letters in a safe place and cross my fingers that these were the only two.
If Finn wasn’t sending them, then who was putting them in my mailbox? My money was on Poppy. Maybe she thought it would bring us back together. Or Rayna. Tomorrow when we were all together, I’d ask. I’d make sure their hopes were as crushed as my own.
A customer came through the door, followed by another. The lunch rush was starting, saving me from my thoughts, and I worked with a smile, replaying Randall’s story in my head one hundred times.
He’d given me a different perspective on the divorce. Finn and I had called it quits at the right time, before our anger and frustration with one another had turned to hate.
The last six years had been good for me. I’d found the me I’d lost when I’d given everything to Finn.
I’d worked for his business. I’d lived by his schedule. I’d gone on his hikes and mowed his lawn. I hadn’t done enough for myself during our marriage. And at the time of our split, I’d been a stay-at-home mother who’d lost herself in the lives of those she loved.