Page 62 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Nervous laughter between them.
“You go first,” Trent offered.
Molly noticed he was thumbing the pages in his book. She couldn’t interpret whether it was because he was antsy to return to the escapism of his story or that he was apprehensive about something.
“Please be honest with me,” Molly started, refusing to look away from Trent but instead allowing her gaze to drill into him with earnestness. “Did you talk to January before she died? Did you know who she was when you found her in the ditch?”
Trent looked away.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“Trent.” Molly leaned forward, her voice cracking with emotion. “Trent, please. You know the police are suspicious of you. I’m being accosted by your family in the grocery store. I can’t do this. I can’t live in the middle of amurdersaga and question whether you’re being honest with me. That morning you found January’s body, youknewit was her? And you never told me? Never said anything to me or to the police or ... I’m at a loss as to what you are and aren’t telling me! I wish you were honest with me.”
He jerked his head toward her, and Molly drew back at the glint in his eyes.
“I’mnot being honest withyou? How about you be honest with me? You lie to me that everything is all right and you don’t tell me what’s going on with you. It’s obvious you’re not okay. But you won’t talk to me.”
“Don’t turn this on me, Trent.” Molly lowered her voice, as much to control her tears as to convince Trent she was gravely serious.
A swift thrust of his arm and Trent hurtled his paperback across the porch. The book hit the porch rail and bounced into the bushes. Sue and the rest of the girls clucked and flustered in a flurry of feathers and chicken panic. Trent surged to his bare feet, hands at his waist, and looked out over their farm. The Withers Farm.
“I’m trying, Molly, to make it so you don’t have to worry aboutanything. You don’t have to have a job. You don’t have to worry about bills. I’ve spent the last few years trying to relieve you ofanystress that will make things worse foryou. So maybe that means protecting you from the truth of harsh realities.” Trent spun and glared at her. “What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to behonest!” Molly drew back into her chair even as she half cried the words at him. She knew she was being duplicitous, but she couldn’t avoid it. “Did you talk to January Rabine before she died?”
“Yes!” Trent threw his arms up. “Yes!Is that what you want to hear? Is that what’s important to you?”
Molly leaped from her chair. It was hard to breathe. Finding air that had been verbally sucker-punched from her was a tremendous task. She crossed her arms over her chest, more to gather her strength and not cry. Oh, she wanted to cry. To rant, to weep, to wail! There was nothing likable about her right now, or Trent, or this entire sordid mess they called life!
“You’re lucky she was your kid cousin or I’d haveotherquestions.” Molly heard the words come from her lips and instantly regretted them.
Trent’s expression darkened. His lips set in a grim line. “That’s going too far.”
“Well?” She couldn’t stop herself. The emotions were causing her to be impulsive, thoughtless. “And she’s dead now! If you’re lying to me about having talked to January—if you lied to the police and let them think she was a Jane Doe—why? What else aren’t you telling me?”
Trent stalked toward her, and Molly shrank back. She wasn’t afraid of him so much as she was intimidated by the hurt in every line of his face.Shehad hurt him.
Molly could feel his breath on her face when he answered. “January is my cousin Tiffany’s daughter. She reached out to me for whatever reason, I don’t even know. She was here to research our ancestry. That’s all, Molly. Innocent ancestral research.”
“Trent, I didn’t mean...” She didn’t question whetherhe’d had an affair with his twenty-year-old cousin. She could sense how sick and ridiculous that was.
“I told the police that too, Molly,” he snapped. “That day. I didn’t hide it from them. They know. They know I talked to January. They know Ifoundher! The cops didn’t blast the news all over, and especially not until they got ahold of Brandon and Tiffany to tell them their daughter was dead.” Trent’s voice was strained. “Not to mention,youdidn’t need to know. You’re not able to handle stress anymore, Molls. I was only protecting you.”
A sickening, guilty sensation flooded her. The realization of how brutally disgusting her selfish inner focus was. Tears of remorse sprang to her eyes.
Trent ignored the regret that had to be clear in her demeanor. He raked his hands through his hair before letting them fall with a slap to his sides. His eyes were stormy, tortured ... desperate.
“I can’t do it anymore, Molly.”
“Do what?” She was afraid to ask but did so anyway.
“This.” Trent’s voice shook. “Having you doubt me. All I’ve tried to do is take care of you. Since the ... since we lost the babies, Iknowit ripped you apart, but you won’t talk to me. You just pulled into yourself and left me. You’re punishing me for not being there. For not being some sort of Superman. So I’m trying to make a life, Molly. I’m trying to pursuelifeand not justdiewhile I keep breathing. You’re like a dead person just walking around, and I can’t do it anymore. Between you and now January’s murder, I—” He swore. Ran his hand over his forehead. Agitated. “There’s not a place in Kilbourn that isn’t touched by its history. Weallare touched by our own histories, Molly. But we have to either get over it and move on or die with it.”
Molly sank into the chair. Her knees were weak, her body trembling. Trent was right. But she didn’t want to admit that while shehearddeath, while she witnessed spirits hoveringin the corners, and while she worried it would continue to lick at her heels until it claimed her too, she was afraid to live. Because living was sometimes far more terrifying than staring death in the face and accepting one’s fate.
20
To make the morning even worse than it already was after having awakened to an empty house, Molly stood at the top of the basement stairs looking into the spider-infested abyss. Trent had slept on the couch. Molly was sure she’d heard him sniffing, but she couldn’t fathom the strong farmhand of a husband of hers lying on the couch, crying. Still, she couldn’t erase the sound from her heart. She was helpless. Helpless to know how to drag herself out of the mire of depression, through the current world of tragedy and unanswered questions surrounding January’s murder to a healthy, loving place once again.
