Page 53 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

She gave me a flat look. “If it is her, she’s not just going to come out and admit it. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to hide this.”

“It’s her. I know it’s her.” There was only one person more devastated by the divorce than the kids, Molly or me, and that was my sister. “She’s at my house on a regular basis. She probably stumbled on the box where I was keeping them and thought . . . well, I’m not exactly sure what she thought.”

“Probably that the letters might get us back together.” Molly sighed. “I don’t want to get her hopes up. The letters might force us to deal with some old wounds, but we’re not getting back together.”

“Right,” I agreed, but something about her declaration didn’t sit well. We weren’t getting back together. So why did her words sound so wrong?

“How are my lips?” Molly asked as she applied some lip gloss. “Does it look like we were kissing?”

“No, you’re fine. Let’s go.” I shook off the strange feeling and led the way out of the office and into the kitchen.

Poppy was right where I’d left her, standing at the table with a smile on her face as she filled small jars with cornbread mixture.

“Hey, you got a sec?” I asked her.

“Sure. What’s up?”

I looked at Molly. She gave me a nod to go ahead. “We need to talk to you about the letters.”

“Letters?” Poppy’s forehead furrowed. “What letters?”

“The ones you’ve been putting in my mailbox,” Molly said. “The ones from Finn.”

“Uh . . .” She shook her head, clearly not tracking with us. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Poppy. Just fess up so we can talk about it.”

“I’d love to ‘fess up,’” she said, adding the air quotes, not happy that I’d all but called her a liar. “But I swear I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Really?” Molly asked.

“Yes.” Poppy crossed her heart. “Promise.”

She was telling the truth. Poppy wasn’t only my sister, she was my best friend. She’d done that heart-crossing thing since we were kids. It was sacred to her, meaning she was telling the truth.

“What kind of letters?” Poppy asked.

I ignored my sister and looked at Molly. “If she’s not behind the letters . . .”

“Then who is?”

_

Darling Molly,

* * *

I need you to tell me what to say. Jamie’s funeral is tomorrow and I’m supposed to speak. But I don’t know what to say. Here’s my problem. Well, one of them. I don’t want to ask you for help. I don’t want to put this on you. It’s hard enough to carry myself, so let’s pretend, okay? Let’s pretend you’ll read this and help me decide what to say.

* * *

Jamie’s been gone eight days. You keep saying how it doesn’t feel real. Maybe I’ll say that tomorrow. I’m sure everyone will relate. Except here’s the thing. It does feel real.

* * *

He’s gone. I had to call his parents and tell them. I’ll never get his mom’s scream out of my head. I’ll never forget the sound of his dad crying into the phone. I’ll never forget the look on Poppy’s face that night when I got to their house. Her light was gone. How is she going to survive this? I honestly don’t know if she will. But I can’t say any of that tomorrow, not when his family is expecting me to keep my shit together. Everything is different now.

* * *