Page 55 of The Scars I Bare
“What are you working on?” Molly asked.
“Mommy has homework.” Lizzie snickered.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep, my teacher sent home a big packet and told us to make sure to give it to Mommy or Daddy for homework. Since Daddy doesn’t live with us anymore, I gave it to Mommy.”
It was the first time she’d mentioned Blake in days, and every time she had, it had been just like this. A nonchalant, matter-of-fact type of thing. I’d asked her about it one night, and she’d kind of shrugged it off and changed the subject.
I didn’t know what that meant, and I wasn’t sure if I should be alarmed.
Like the first day of school, there wasn’t a manual for divorce. I let out an audible huff, focusing on my paperwork, as Molly and Terri chopped away in the kitchen while Lizzie organized her backpack for the tenth time. There were literally three things in there, but she was convinced it was necessary to know exactly where they were at all times.
How I’d managed to give birth to the female version of Sheldon Cooper was beyond me.
“So, uh…is that what you were planning on wearing tonight?” Molly asked.
It took me a second to realize the chopping had stopped—at least, from her corner of the kitchen. I looked up from my paper stack and saw her taking a few steps in my direction, appraising my appearance with a determined eye.
“Yes,” I said, suddenly feeling on display. “Why?”
Her gaze roamed over my hair and down to the dark blue scrubs I was still wearing from work. “It’s just…well—” Her hand shot out, grabbing mine, as she wasn’t bothering to wait for an answer. “Come on. Terri?”
“Yeah, I got it. Little Bit and I can take over from here. Right, Lizzie?”
As I was dragged off toward my bedroom, I heard a familiar giggle, followed by the old woman talking about the proper way to make a dinner. “If you start it off with bacon, you’re doing it right!”
Another giggle.
Molly let me free the moment we crossed the threshold of her old bedroom. Using one of the master keys she still carried, she made herself at home while I took a seat on the bed.
“You’ve barely moved in!” she commented the second her eyes met the pile of boxes in the corner.
My cheeks reddened. “I know, but I figured it would be too much of a hassle to unpack everything if I was just going to move again.”
“Hmm,” was the only response I got from her.
She checked my closet, rummaging through several dresses I’d taken from my home in Virginia Beach and rounded out her tour at the dresser where I kept the few cosmetics I used. I’d never been much into makeup, only using a dab of concealer and a bit of mascara.
“I’m not really a makeover kind of girl. My ex-husband tried. More times than you can count. It was likePretty Womanin our house every other week,” I explained before adding, “minus the hooker part, of course.”
That made Molly laugh, tiny lines forming around her bright blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman, tall and lean in all the right places. Her blonde hair fell down her back effortlessly. In fact, that was the word I’d use to describe her whole appearance. Effortless. As if she just radiated beauty without batting a single eyelash.
I felt woefully underwhelming next to her.
“I don’t want to make you over, Cora,” she explained. “I’m sorry if it came out that way. I just kind of wanted to talk, but I will say, there is something to be said about putting on a lovely dress or top. It can do wonders for the soul—or so my younger sister tells me.”
A faint smile pulled at the corner of her moth. “Look,” she sighed, “Dean is important to me, and before you start getting nervous, thinking I’m about to give you the ex-fiancée speech, don’t. This is the best-friend speech, so it’s infinitely worse.”
I let out a laugh that was more like a cough.
“But, seriously, he is special. Not just to me, but also to everyone he meets. But he’s broken. So broken, I don’t know how to fix him, and I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible.” Her eyes turned away, and she stared out the window. “I should have known, you know? You don’t go through what he went through and bounce back so quickly. I was just so caught up in my own shit, in everything that was going on here, that I wanted to believe so desperately that he was okay. He swore, he was okay.”
“He made a very convincing argument,” I agreed, remembering those weeks after his surgery in the hospital. I’d thought he’d overcome the loss of his arm incredibly well—too well in fact. But who was I to judge? I hadn’t known the guy, and I was nothing more than a nurse who visited him a few times a day.
“But then he came home, and I saw it—remnants. He wasn’t whole anymore. It was like everything he’d been before was scattered all over, and every day since, he’s been roaming around, searching for the missing pieces.” She paused for a moment. “I see that same look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal.”
“What?” I reacted sharply.
