Chapter Sixty-Two Raine
Chapter Sixty-Two
Raine
Molly was screaming.
She stood rigid in the center of the living room, fists balled, shouting No! over and over. I’d been on the phone all morning, making funeral arrangements and speaking with the trust attorney. I’d let the television babysit her too long. Never again.
“You’ve had enough TV,” I said.
She snatched the remote and turned the television back on.
I yanked it back. “We aren’t doing this,” I said. “TV stays off.”
“No!”
“Time to get outside,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Fresh air. People. You’ll like it.”
But her volume only rose. She was exhausted, grieving, cornered by emotions too big for her small body.
I grabbed my purse and our coats and then hustled her outside. Shocked by the sudden shift, she didn’t resist until we got to my car. When I opened the back door, she stiffened. I didn’t back down. One way or another, we needed normal.
Once strapped in, she kicked the seat, but the fight was fading. Bright sunshine streamed into the car, cutting through the shadows that clung to me like smoke.
What Molly didn’t know was that we had an appointment with a social worker, thanks to Judson.
I’d talked to the counselor, Rebecca, briefly on the phone this morning.
She was working us in. She sounded patient.
She’d mentioned a playground by the doctor’s office. I hoped playing would intrigue Molly.
“I know a fun playground,” I said.
A sigh shuddered through her. She stared out the window silently until I turned into the playground parking lot. “Mommy takes me to playgrounds.” The frown on her face eased.
So far, I’d avoided discussing Maria. But maybe that had been a mistake. “Your mom loved parks. When we were kids, we’d play in the woods for hours. We’d hike trails and swim in the creek.”
“Mommy never let me go into the woods. She was worried.”
“It’s always good to be careful. There are a lot of places where you can fall.”
“She said there were ghosts in the woods.”
“Didn’t Amy also say there were fairies?” I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Her nod was visible. “Yeah.”
Maria had admitted once that she’d stayed out of the woods since Mom’s death. Accepting the cottage had unsettled her. “It’s just weird being close to where your mom died.”
“Did she say what ghosts she meant?” I asked softly.
Molly shook her head.
I turned down the radio. “I think about your mom and dad all the time now. You can talk about them anytime. I know they loved you very much.”
A sigh. “I miss them.”
“I miss them, too.”
“Are they getting a funeral?” she asked. “Dead people get funerals.”
“Have you been to a funeral before?”
“My friend Emily went to one for her grandfather. She said everyone was sad.”
“This funeral will be at the Hale cemetery on Tuesday. That way, your mom and dad will always be close.”
“Emily puts flowers on her grandfather’s grave.”
“And we’ll do that for your parents. We’ll keep them close.”
She caught my gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “You aren’t worried about ghosts?”
I parked in an office parking lot. The buildings were low, surrounded by trees and bushes. A playground in a large mulch bed included a yellow slide, swings, a purple jungle gym, and a merry-go-round.
I shut off the engine. “No, I’m not afraid. And you shouldn’t be, either.”
Her chin rose. “I’m not.”
“If you are, will you tell me? You can tell me anything.”
“Okay.”
There were a half dozen mothers and fathers with children running around. They appeared to be preschoolers.
I checked the time. We had a few minutes to spare. I helped Molly out of the back seat. “I like the slide,” she said.
“Then you should go there first,” I said.
“The kids playing here are little.”
“They aren’t five like you yet.”
“When am I going back to school? I miss my friends.”
“In about a week.”
“Okay.”
“Today, after we play a little, we’re meeting with a nice lady inside the building.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Rebecca. She’s going to talk to us about your mom and dad.”
“Are we talking about the funeral?” Molly asked.
“We can.”
“What if I don’t want to talk about that?” she countered.
“We can talk about whatever you want. She might have some good ideas.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I knelt in front of her and placed my hands on her shoulders. “We don’t have to do anything, okay? We’ll figure this out.”
“Mommy used to say that.”
“About what?”
Uneasy, Molly ran toward the slide.
As I stood at the edge of the playground, I checked the time again.
“How’s it going?” Ken’s deep voice was directly behind me.
I turned. Ken stood a foot away, too near, too calm. I stepped back on instinct. “What’re you doing here?”
“Checking up on you.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I don’t need you.” My tone came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take it back.
“Of course you do.”
“Sign the divorce papers, Ken. We’re done.”
“I haven’t had a chance to read them.” His gaze flickered over me, slow and deliberate. “What’s the rush?”
“You’ve had the papers for a month. Sign them!”
My frustration amused him. “Ready to hook up with Judson again?”
The question cut too close. “What I do with my life isn’t your business.”
I glanced back at the playground toward Molly, who was swinging slowly alone. “I can’t do this now, Ken.”
“We need counseling, Raine. We can fix our marriage.”
I wasn’t sure where this was coming from. And I didn’t care. “We cannot fix it.”
“We haven’t tried.”
“You’re right. We haven’t tried. I did, but you didn’t. I tried to get us into counseling last year.”
“I’ve made mistakes. But so have you.”
And this was how it went. He’d find a way to turn it around on me. “Go away.”
“I can’t. I love you. I’m not giving up on us.”
I ran toward Molly and helped her off the swing. “Here we go!”
Ken continued to walk behind us. I didn’t run for Molly’s sake, but Ken kept a steady pace behind us.
We pushed through the front doors of the county building. The door closed behind us. When I looked back out the door’s glass panes, I saw Ken standing there watching us.
Molly squeezed my hand harder. “Raine?”
My smile wobbled. “Sorry, honey.”
“Why’s he here?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know.” Shoulders straightened; my smile widened. “Ready to see Miss Rebecca?”
“No.”
I wasn’t, either. But we needed guidance.