Page 92 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“Seeing ghosts fits with postpartum depression?” Molly gave a crooked grin.
Sid laughed weakly. “Well, I’ll be honest—I’m not a doctor, but after I had my last kid, you know I had a hard time.”
Molly nodded. “For a month.”
Sid offered a wobbly smile. “A month, yes. I couldn’t sleep. And when you don’t sleep, you hear things and see things and—”
“You saw ghosts?” Molly didn’t mean to sound challenging, but she couldn’t help herself.
Sid shook her head. “No. But I kept hearing the baby cry, and when I’d check on him, he was sound asleep. A few times I thought I heard Dan outside in the yard, but he wasn’t there. Physical and emotional exhaustion—honey, they wreak havoc on your ability to process things. You’re already on medication for your mental health and to help you sleep. Who knows what else is going on in your mind.”
Molly tried to take an inventory of the voices she’d heard, the sightings, the feelings ... what if they were imagined. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard the voices or if they were only in her mind. The little girl in the coop—she’d passed out right afterward and had done the same thing with January Rabine. What if her mindwastired?What if the visions hadn’t been real but were manifestations of what was in her subconscious?
Sid interrupted her thoughts. “We need to get you back to the doctor. Are you taking your medications regularly? Have you mixed them with anything else?”
Molly hesitated. She recalled before the fire how she’d questioned whether she’d taken her medications. The other night she’d taken her sleep aid and then took it again at midnight when she couldn’t recall the first time. So doubling that up, and then taking her antidepressant ... a sliver of hope broke through. “Do you think it’s my medications? Could they cause hallucinations or ... or other things?” If it couldbe explained that simply. Exhaustion. Bad reaction to her medications. Depression. Maybe it wasn’t a psychotic break or some sort of mental telepathy with dead people!
Sid was speaking. “Molly, the mind is a tender, fragile thing. Don’t discount that maybe you’re not crazy. You’re not insane. You’re not nuts. Your mind is tired. Molly, your heart is tired.Youare tired. We need to get you back to your doctor, first and foremost, butafteryou tell Trent this.”
Trepidation latched back on to Molly. She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t tell Trent.”
“Why?” Sid challenged.
“I’ve already disappointed him.” Her voice cracked. Maybe that was it. The root of it all. Not that he had not been there for her during the miscarriages—oh, certainly, that was part of it—but the fact that she hadn’t been able to give him the children they’d dreamt of. Then she’d become a hopeless excuse for a wife, wallowing in her mental anxieties and grief. To admit to seeing things, hearing things—even if there was a medical explanation? It was just another failure.
Sid squeezed Molly’s hand. “You’ve both disappointed each other.” Sid’s words were telling and drove truth deep into Molly’s soul. “This isn’t the responsibility of just one of you. Trent needs to come to terms with your feelings of grief and loss, even if he’s able to move on with life. And you need to rediscover that you can trust him, because heloves you, even if he can’t meet all your emotional needs in the way that you want. Heck, the man ran into a burning house for you—he’s got protector ingrained in every blood cell in his body!”
More tears. Molly swiped at her face, but it was useless. “I’m so tired,” she admitted.
“Yes,” Sid agreed, “and it’s okay to be tired.”
Once again her friend’s words were like a balm to Molly’s soul.
31
Gemma pulled her car to an abrupt stop on the gravel driveway and was out of her vehicle before Molly and Sid could pull themselves together. She didn’t seem to notice Molly’s tears or Sid’s serious demeanor as she approached them. Her long tan legs covered the ground with purpose, and she looked equally intense in her expression.
“Whoever did this to you killed my sister,” Gemma stated without any sort of greeting.
Sid reached out, but Gemma stepped away. “Gemma, now isn’t—” Sid started.
“Nowisthe time,” Gemma interrupted. Her eyes had a slightly wild look to them, yet she also seemed genuine in her concern. “Why were they trying to kill you, Molly?”
Molly stared at Gemma. The younger woman was asking the question the police had asked her. The question thatI don’t knowfelt like such a horribly paltry answer to. “The police haven’t figured that out yet.” Molly would not offer any other theories.
Gemma crossed her arms. “No motive? Nothing? Sounds like January. Do you know the Kilbourn police are thinking of calling January’s death a ‘random assault’?Random?And a random house fire? In a town with a population of cows and chickens? I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “We need to combine what we know and piece this puzzle together, because the police certainly aren’t helping.”
Sid stepped between Gemma and Molly. There was protectiveness on her face Molly loved her for. “Gemma—”
“I filled this with everything I could gather from January’s online journals.” Gemma had a backpack slung over her shoulder that she shrugged out of. Unzipping it, she tugged out a notebook.
“And?” Sid asked.
Gemma’s face darkened. “And Molly may have information that she doesn’t even realize is important. If we can piece it together, I’m hoping we can come up with a map that will lead us not only to the motive, but maybe evenwhois responsible.”
Molly could tell the idea intrigued Sid. She was hiding it well, though. Molly could hardly blame her, for didn’t they all want answers? And yet something about digging into the past frightened her. Gladys’s stories and timelines had left Molly more confused than before.
Gemma looked between her and Sid and seemed to struggle to find that one key component that would gain her Molly and Sid’s cooperation.
