Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Hello?”
I turn toward the woman’s voice behind me, an older, blonder, caked-on makeup version of Molly.
“Hi.” I stand, adjusting my shorts. “I’m Francesca, Steven’s aunt. I was just returning some of Molly’s belongings that I found in his closet.”
“Oh.” Her overly shiny Botox face makes a sad attempt at showing emotion, like reeling in a kite when there’s too much wind. “I’m Corinne, Molly’s mother. Our family is so sorry for your loss.” She shifts her attention to Molly. “Moll, would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”
She doesn’t have to ask her twice. Molly shoves her feet into flip-flops and hugs the box while practically sprinting into the house without so much as a “nice to meet you” or “goodbye.”
“Listen,” Corinne twists her diamond earring, “Molly has yet to accept what happened. To my knowledge, she has not shed a tear except for the day of the funeral. We’ve tried to get her to talk to a therapist, but she’s refused. I think the wound is too deep. And I fear she will let reality in and completely fall apart one day. So you’ll have to excuse her if she seems unaffected. Everyone knew how much she loved Steven.”
Did they? I could make a case for the opposite. However, I should leave. Steven is dead, and nothing I say or do will change that. But … I can’t. Life isn’t fair. I get that, but what she did is unforgettable and unforgivable.
“Yes.” I smile. It’s hard to do without gritting my teeth. “I can’t tell you how being with Molly helps me. It’s surreal. Otherworldly. It’s like I’m with a part of Steven again.” I rest my hand over my heart. “I’m going to stay in town for a while. There’s just so much stuff to go through. I’d love to stop by and see Molly again.”
Corinne glances at her watch. “Uh … yeah. I’m sure that would be fine. Molly’s a busy young lady, but we’d happily accommodate you.”
Only people with this much money would call spending time with a grieving person an “accommodation.”
“Do you have other children?”
Her brow tightens for a second. “Just Molly. I’ll walk you out.”
I guess I’m leaving now.
“So you can imagine how devastated Steven’s mom was after losing her only child.”
“Of course. It would be hard to move on after a loss like that.”
“Impossible.” I turn toward her after she opens the door. “Is your husband around? I’d love to meet him, too.”
“No. Archer works long hours. I barely see him. I’m afraid it’s unlikely you will meet him.” Corinne folds her long fingers with pointy nails in front of her and blinks unnaturally fast.
“Oh. A shame. Here’s my number. Tell Molly to call me when she gets some free time.”
Corinne takes my business card and reads it. “You’re a professor?”
“Was. Long story. But that’s my cell phone number.”
“Thanks. I’ll give it to Molly. It was nice meeting you,” she says absentmindedly before catching herself. “Well, as nice as it could be under the circumstances.”
Corinne’s right. It’s not every day that your only daughter convinces her boyfriend to take his life. It’s certainly not the best circumstances.
CHAPTER THREE
JACKSON
Jackson Knight squints against the setting sun's glare while pulling into the gravel driveway. Along the side of the garage, there’s a pile of split wood that wasn’t there when he left earlier this morning. He told Eloise he’d split it for her; he just hadn’t gotten around to it. And being June in the Midwest, it’s unlikely she’ll want to start a fire for at least three or four months at the earliest.
He inspects the perimeter and finds no one except the dead neighbor’s relative sitting on the front porch steps, chugging a water bottle. His glance is enough to bring her to her feet. She makes her way to him.
“Shit,” he mumbles, ducking his head and reaching for the door handle.
“Eloise said you wouldn’t mind if I chopped that wood.”
Frankie looks like his wife did when they met. But, unlike his wife, Frankie has a confidence akin to his twin sister. Her blue eyes hold his gaze. She walks with her chin high and shoulders back. But he’s not in Boone, Kansas, to make new friends. Eloise is the necessary exception. So while Frankie’s eye-catching, he needs to stay focused.
Her blond hair blows in her eyes as she approaches in frayed denim shorts, toned legs smudged with dirt, a gray tank top, and brown hiking boots. It's worth noting … she’s not wearing a bra. His sister shares Frankie’s disregard for social decency.
“You don’t say much.” She wipes her arm across her sweaty forehead. “Eloise thinks you might be a serial killer.” With a wry grin and a chortle, she shrugs a shoulder. “I guess that makes you the silent but deadly type.”
The corner of Jackson’s mouth curls at her astute observation. “That’s fascinating.”