Page 98 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

I took one last look at the garden then turned to Finn.

Finn, on crutches.

“No more chair?”

He grinned. “Nope. Ashley is going to take care of returning it to the hospital. I get to use the crutches for a few weeks and then we’ll see if we can get rid of them and the boot altogether.”

“I’m glad. I know you were sick of the chair.”

“The only thing I’m going to miss are our nightly wolls.”

“Me too.” I smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

We walked slowly back to the van. Without the wheelchair, Finn could actually sit up front with me, and it was so nice not feeling like his chauffeur.

“So, Ashley was pretty excited today.” I glanced over at Finn in the passenger seat to gauge his reaction to her name. There wasn’t much, no shy smile or gleam in his eyes.

“She thinks I’ll make a full recovery. She’s been hesitant to say anything, but she told me that today. Even my ankle.”

“Really? That’s great.”

The doctors had been worried that Finn’s leg wouldn’t heal corre

ctly because of the severity of the breaks. They’d also cautioned that he could have lifelong problems with his knee. They knew he’d be able to walk again, but they were worried he’d develop a limp. He hadn’t said anything to me, but I knew Finn had been worried it could impact his work and ability to go hiking.

His relief was palpable in the confines of the van.

“You know the first thing I’m going to do when this boot and cast come off?”

“Take a shower without Saran wrap?”

“Smart-ass.” He chuckled. “I’m going to take you and the kids to Fairy Lake.”

It was an easy hike. Not really a hike at all other than descending some stairs made out of railroad ties. But Fairy Lake had been a regular picnic spot for us when the kids were tiny.

That was when Finn hadn’t worked every weekend.

When we’d been a family and acted like one too.

“Finn.” I sighed, my worries from earlier plaguing my mind again. “We need to start preparing the kids.”

“For what?”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “For when you go home.”

“Oh.” He turned to look out his window. “Right. Okay.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When we pulled into the driveway, Finn got out without needing help. But before he closed the door, he paused. “Do you want to keep the van any longer?”

“No.” I was ready to drive my Jeep.

“I’ll have someone come pick it up.”

“All right.”

He slammed the door and walked to the house, using his crutches like he’d had them for days, not less than an hour. When the front door closed behind him, I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel.