Page 31 of The Followers

“Sarah was great. And Liv came, too, which was lovely of her.” Although Molly had hoped she’d stay a little longer; instead, Liv bolted out of the house like she couldn’t wait to get away. That had stung more than Molly would have expected. She shook her head, refocusing. “It was fine—we’ll have a zillion friends by the end of the summer. You just wait.”

“We don’t need friends,” Scott said, his voice gently teasing.

“I do!”

He reached over and squeezed her thigh. “I know. Especially since I’m gone a lot. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

“A barbecue,” she said. “I want to host a big neighborhood barbecue on the Fourth of July.”

“I thought we could go camping that weekend, the four of us,” Scott said, popping a marshmallow in his mouth.

“Scott,” she said, smiling even as she tried to look severe, “this is what people do—they move to a new house, they meet the neighbors. They host parties and serve hamburgers and fill drinks and chit-chat.”

Scott grinned. “All right. For you? Entertaining hordes of people I barely know sounds like a great idea.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Molly said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, where a speck of marshmallow had smeared.

“Kissing!” Chloe yelled, pointing at them. “Yucky!”

Scott laughed and pulled Molly closer, kissing her hard on the mouth before jumping up and growling, sending both girls scurrying across the lawn. Molly leaned back against her chair, smiling as Scott grabbed a girl in each arm, spinning them around the lawn while they shrieked with laughter and the dogs chased after them.

After the fire died down, Molly tucked Chloe into bed while Scott did the same for Ella. Then she went into her bedroom, looking forward to having her husband to herself.

She heard Scott saying goodnight to Ella, then the soft thud of her bedroom door closing.

“Why is there a picture of Ella’s mother on her nightstand?”

His voice sounded odd. Brittle. The hairs on the back of Molly’s neck lifted. She’d only heard him speak this way once before.

“I... I found it when I was moving your boxes,” she said.

“Why were you going through my boxes? I told you to stay out of them.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, bristling at the edge in his voice. “You said you would get to them later. I moved them for you.”

The muscles in his face hardened. “Why did you give that picture to Ella?”

“I thought she might like it. She said she’s never seen a picture of her mom.”

Scott didn’t answer, just folded his arms across his chest, his jaw clenched.

“She said she wanted it—I asked her,” Molly said, trying to ignore the whisper of fear running through her mind at his reaction. “I wouldn’t have given it to her if she didn’t want it.”

“But you didn’t ask me.”

“You weren’t here.”

“I know!” His fist thudded against the door frame, and Molly flinched.

“Scott?”

He met her eyes, his angry expression dissolving into a mixture of emotions—sadness, regret, apology. Molly had seen that look before, back when they were dating, during talks about their future. Scott had been nervous about a new marriage, the effect on Ella. But those conversations had always ended with him kissing her and whispering, I adore you, Molly Sullivan. I can’t live without you.

This time, he said something else. “How would you like a picture of Jake staring at you from Chloe’s nightstand?”

“That’s a different situation—he abandoned us.” She softened her voice. “I know it’s painful for you, but Ella deserves to know more about her mom. You should have seen her face. She was thrilled.”

He relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. “You’re right. It’s been nine years. It’s probably fine.”