“Do I smell a hamburger?” Agnes may have been getting up there in years, and her eyesight may have been failing, her hearing iffy, but she could smell her favorite hamburger from a block away.
Molly grinned. “You do.”
Agnes emerged through the door from the living room to the kitchen. She didn’t have an open concept in her house like Molly did; hers was a separate room with its own Wild West style saloon door. This was, she said, so she didn’t have to do dishes when she had company. She could just pass through the swinging doors and they were out of sight.
Molly had her own method for hiding dirty dishes, and it was called the oven. All that open space just begging for her to toss in the dirties until she had a chance to wash them. Uh-huh. She did it. She wasn’t even ashamed.
Except that one time she’d accidentally melted her favorite Rubbermaid bowl because she’d turned the oven on without checking first.
One time, though. It only happened once.
Molly handed over the sack of munchies. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Not yet.” Agnes waved the bag before setting it down to dive in to the goodness it contained.
Molly frowned. “You know you have to remember to eat.”
“I don’t have to remember when I have you to remind me.” Agnes held her arms open for a hug.
Molly gave her a squeeze. Agnes was a slip of a woman—mid-seventies, with gray hair she always pulled into a bun high on her head. Brown skin and the brightest smile that always made Molly’s day better.
Even when her car threatened a one-way trip to the junkyard.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Agnes pulled up a counter-height stool and poured ketchup onto the wrapper of her burger, then swirled a fry three times one direction, two times the other.
“What makes you think something’s up?” Molly asked, dropping to the stool across from her landlady. Now seated, she face-planted into her palm.
“Well, you’re later than you usually are to harass me about eating.” Agnes repeated the three stir, then two with another fry. “I almost had to fix supper myself.”
Molly sighed. “My car died. Apparently, the only thing I can keep alive is Ollie and…well…me.”
Agnes scrunched up her nose. “Well, that would put a wrinkle in the evening.”
Wrinkle? More like it tried to tear the sheet of paper in two.
Molly nodded. “You could say that.”
Molly explained everything. The negotiation. The frustration. The Gavin effect.
Agnes said nothing for a long beat. She had no problem with silence. Molly? Molly didn’t care for the quiet. She preferred to have a television on in the background or music or a podcast. Anything.
Agnes, however, liked the stillness of living. And she’d be happy to tell anyone all about it any time they would listen. Which was funny, Molly often thought, given that the lecture was about being quiet.
Anyhoo, Agnes wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. She had more persistence in her entire body than Molly did in her pinky finger—and that was saying something.
“I don’t want to spend the money,” Molly said, finally, carefully, slowly.
Agnes knew all about Molly’s savings and how much she looked forward to a place with her name on the deed.
That had been part of her plan with Ollie’s dad… Baby, house, marriage, the works. Once they’d gotten engaged they immediately started trying for a baby. They even put a contract in on a house.
That was before he decided he’d rather…not. Not with her. Even though step one of their plan was already well into motion and morning sickness raged. He’d realized his heart never belonged to Molly and got back together with his ex.
Who did that?
The engagement fell apart. Real estate contract cancelled.
But she had Ollie. Soon, she’d have the house, too. She could live their dream out by herself and enjoy it twice as much.
