This was a safe spot to talk about finances and dreams, since Agnes wouldn’t offer a cash solution like Gavin had. She understood what it meant to be a woman who, while willing to take help when she needed it, didn’t want to be indebted to anyone officially with the almighty dollar.
Indebted with hamburgers and casseroles? No big deal.
Indebted with a nice gift here or there for a birthday? Absolutely.
Handing out dollar bills? No.
“This is because of that summer camp?” Agnes wiped at a spot of ketchup with the tip of her finger.
Molly nodded.
“You didn’t go to summer camp. You turned out okay.”
While this was true, Molly had also asked her parents for an abundance of things, including summer camp, gymnastics lessons, ballet lessons, guitar lessons, every Polly Pocket that was ever made, and all the Beanie babies.
Of course, she didn’t get it all.
But it illustrated perfectly how this case was different. Ollie had found something he loved and her little boy, who was always content with whatever life handed him, actually asked for something.
“It’s important to him.” Molly ruffled her hand in her curls, then pulled it away because if she kept that up, she’d totally wreck them and they’d puff up like nobody’s business.
“I think,” Agnes said, drawing out the second word, “I might have a solution.”
Molly squinted in her direction. Agnes had never had children, but she’d been married to the love of her life for decades before he succumbed to a heart attack shortly after he retired from the postal service. In her own retirement, Agnes doted on Molly and Ollie. Spent an abundance of time at the senior citizens’ center at the end of their block and enjoyed the quiet peace that time on this Earth bought her.
Since Molly hadn’t had luck in the game of love, she sort of figured her future looked a lot like Agnes’s. Tooling around her home, waiting for Ollie and whoever he chose as a life partner to come tell her to eat sometimes.
That wasn’t such a terrible future.
Hey, it worked for Agnes.
“I’ve been thinking,” Agnes said, “about that gentleman three houses down.”
“Mr. Davenport?” Molly asked.
Agnes nodded.
Super grumpy guy. About Agnes’s age, if she had to guess. Lost his wife two years ago to a stroke just before he moved into the neighborhood. Therefore, it made sense why he was in a constant stage of grouch since Molly had known him.
He doused himself in way too much cologne but made up for it by signing for packages if Molly wasn’t home and Agnes was out.
“What exactly have you been thinking?” Molly asked, the little, teeny matchmaking hairs on her arms standing straight up.
“I’ll come back around to that.” Agnes waved her hand. “First, let’s talk about that contest for best Denver matchmaker.”
Molly wasn’t liking where this was going…
“I’m not a matchmaker.” Molly had this conversation often with Agnes. She watched her dating videos, but she still didn’t quite understand that Molly gave tips. She didn’t set people up.
“Tell that to every first date you’ve had for the past three years.” Agnes swirled another French fry.
Fair point to Agnes. But… “What do you know about my first dates?” Molly hadn’t exactly shared that information with anyone but Rachel.
“I have eyes, sweet girl. I see you pairing your dates up with anyone who might work.” Agnes waggled her finger.
Molly sighed, since she couldn’t exactly argue the point. Given that it was true, and all.
“I was saying,” she continued. “The contest is sponsored by that radio station that has the stallion mascot.”
