Page 92 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

The mailbox was yards away, not miles. She’d brought those binoculars out here as a joke during the last mailbox stakeout, the one before the accident. I guess she’d kept them close.

She was seated on the top step of the porch. It was twilight, the last lingering rays of sunshine fighting to hold on to the day for a few more minutes. She looked beautiful, sitting there with her hair down, the wisps around her temples blowing with the warm breeze.

A sudden jolt made my heart skip. Had I still been hooked up to a monitor, the jump would have brought the whole nurses’ station rushing to my bedside. As it was, I was glad the fading light hid the color on my face.

God, I was nervous. Not just nervous, I was terrified. My free hand was strangling the control stick of the wheelchair. My palm beneath the cast was clammy. Even my toes were shaking.

The last time I’d felt this anxious around Molly had been during our first date. But here we were again, at the beginning.

How was I going to do this? I’d spent the better part of my day after Poppy left thinking about our conversation and how I was going to go about this with Molly. My conclusion? I had no earthly clue what I was doing. Molly might not even want me back.

She had every right to tell me to shove it. I hadn’t been the man she deserved. I hadn’t been the husband I’d promised to be. I’d let her down more times than I could remember.

None of those reasons were going to stop me from trying.

“I was wondering if you wanted to take a small woll around the block with me.”

“A woll?” she asked.

“Yeah. You walk. I roll. We woll.”

She giggled and stood, setting the binoculars aside. “Then let’s woll.”

I rolled forward a few inches but stopped when she came behind the chair, pushing it instead of letting me use the controls. “I can drive.”

“I don’t mind.” She didn’t rush as we set off down the ramp and onto the sidewalk. “It’s nice out tonight.”

In the distance, the laughter and shouting from the kids filled the air. “Sounds like the kids are having fun at the park.”

“I’m glad. They could use some days of fun before school starts. This summer’s been . . . something else.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m good.”

“How about the real answer? Not the one you automatically give.” I looked over my shoulder. I wasn’t the only Alcott who sugarcoated their feelings. “How are you?”

“Sometimes I forget how well you know me.”

“Better than anyone, so don’t dodge my question.”

She walked us down five cement squares before answering. “I’m kind of tired. I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Why not?”

“Because of you.”

“Me?” The pain medications knocked me on my ass. Combined with the physical therapy I’d been doing and a heavy mental-stress load, when I was out, I was out. “I’ve been sleeping like the dead.”

“Bad joke, Finn.”

I winced. “Sorry. But seriously, why me?”

“I keep having this dream that I wake up and you’re gone. The only way I can go back to sleep is if I go in and check on you.”

Fuck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It might take me some time, but I’ll get past it.”