Page 60 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

“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.

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.