Page 104 of Repairing the Wreckage

“Okay. Remy know you’re leaving?”

“I said I’d stop by the bar on my way out.”

“That’s good.”

She hesitates, lifts her bag, then sets it down.

“Did you eat?” I ask.

“Oh yeah.” She rests her hand over her stomach. “Lots of pancakes.” She turns away. “I have to go pack my stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I back away slowly. “I’ll be outside.”

I want to follow her upstairs. But I force myself into the yard again. My knee throbs in protest. I stop and study the yard. Still plenty to do but I put a good dent in it. I gather the tools I used and return everything to the shed.

The screen door screeches open. “Griff?”

Molly steps onto the porch, now in jeans and a purple sweatshirt. Her feet are still bare and her long hair’s pulled into a messy ponytail. The black stuffed bunny I left on her pillow dangles from one hand. She lifts it and waves it at me.

“Thank you.”

I spread my hands wide, feigning confusion.

“It was you who left it, I hope?” Her smile falters and she lowers the bunny to her side. She steps down into the grass.

I lift my eyebrows, still playing confused.

“Stop it. I know it was you.” Her expression softens as she comes closer. “I have a question, though.”

“What’s that?” I cross my arms over my chest, my heart quickening.

“How did you know I tried to win something just like this last night?”

It’s not “like” it. It’s the exact one she was trying to win from the creepy dude running the skeleton toss game.

“I was out and saw it.” Not a lie. “It reminded me of your devil bunny costume.” I shrug, as if I hadn’t watched her try over and over to win the creepy little fluff ball.

She laughs and holds it up and examines it. “I guess you’re right.”

“So you like it?”

“I do.” Her smile fades. “Thank you.”

She waves her hand around at the piles of leaves. “I’ll tell Remy you’ve been busy here.”

“Tell him he needs a leaf catcher attachment for his lawn tractor, too, while you’re at it.”

“Suure, I’ll get right on that.” She glances down at her bare feet. “I need to find some shoes that won’t bother my heels.” She mumbles a hasty goodbye and hurries into the house again.

A few minutes later, I go inside too.

In the mudroom, she has her bags of clean laundry lined up. The rabbit’s sitting on top of her backpack. I grab her stuff and haul it out to her car.

I load everything in the back, then set the bunny on the front seat and pull the seat belt around him.

When I’m done, I stare at the back porch. No sign of her yet.

I can’t do this.

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