Then the acceptance letter for the graduate program at University of Denver arrived and saved her from that life. And she hadn't looked back.
"Molly," Jennifer yelled. "Pull your head out and get back here."
Lovely. She wandered back to the house.
A bicycle chain had been strung across the front door, locks on both ends.
"The back door is locked too," Brandi informed her.
Molly walked the reverend to his car. Before her cousins could waylay her, she took off.
As she hit the edge of town, she debated on driving another thirty miles to Norfolk for a hotel room. But it'd be convenient to have a place to escape when everything overwhelmed her over the next few days.
The exterior of the Motor Inn Motel had been remodeled. She parked beneath the carport and entered the reception area. The space smelled like new paint.
A young woman slid behind the counter. "Welcome to Motor Inn."
"I need a room for at least three nights. Possibly more."
"Would you like a single room? Or I have a room with a kitchenette available."
"The kitchenette would be great." Molly handed over her credit card.
"Are you just passing through?"
"I'm here for a funeral. Then there's all the legal stuff to deal with, which is why I won't know how long I'll need to stay."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks." She looked around while she waited for the paperwork. "The place looks a lot different."
The young clerk beamed at her. "My husband and I took it over last year. Lots of sweat equity, but it's coming along. Room by room." She slid the paper and a pen across the counter. "Sign in the boxes and fill in your vehicle information."
Molly scrawled her name and palmed the key fob.
After parking in front of her room, she unloaded her suitcases. The space was better than she'd expected. An apartment-scaled couch and chair were positioned in front of a flat-screen TV. The compact kitchenette had new countertops, appliances, and cabinetry. A modern bathroom and a bedroom with a king-sized bed rounded out the place.
She secured the chain on the door and breathed a sigh of relief. She desperately needed a nap after driving all night and then spending the last twenty-four hours in the hospital. Her cell phone was dead, so she plugged it in before she face-planted on the puffy bed.
Molly woke up completely disoriented. She squinted at the alarm clock. Crap. Had she really slept six hours? She needed a shower and food.
She checked her phone. The first message was from Amery. The second from Presley. The third from her friends Fee and Katie, who both worked at Black Arts. The fourth message was from Chaz. All basically the same, her friends expressing their condolences.
But calls five, six, seven, eight, and nine were from Deacon. He'd left the first message nine hours after she'd left Denver. "It's early. Where are you? Call me."
She moved to message six. "You always have your damn phone on you. Call me. Not kidding, babe."
Charming. Phone manners weren't his forte.
Call seven from last night: "I'm at your apartment. You're not. Call me."
Call eight, two hours later. "Not cool, not hearing from you at all in twenty-four goddamn hours . . . Jesus, Molly. Call me."
The last message had been left at nine o'clock this morning. A pause, followed by a sigh. "Sucks about your grandma. But, babe, you don't have to go it alone. You need me, I'm there. Period. You know that." A muffled noise, then, "Fuck it."
She hadn't purposely kept him in the dark. She'd just been so focused on the inevitable that she'd shut down. And Deacon was wrong. She did have to go it alone. She was used to it.
Her stomach rumbled. She shouldered her purse, slipped on her flip-flops, and set out on foot since most places were within walking distance.
Few streetlamps lit Main Street. The buildings weren't connected, making it easy for someone to lurk in the shadows and grab an unsuspecting, defenseless person.
Stop. You're not defenseless. Besides, this is Nebraska. The worst thing that'll happen to you is you'll run into someone you know and they'll bore you with talk of pesticides and projected corn yields.
When Molly reached the Silver Dollar Tavern, she pushed open the heavy door and walked in, hating the immediate silence that her entrance caused, a stranger among the locals. She chose a seat at the bar and smiled at the bartender, who looked familiar.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
"A rum and Diet Coke. And a menu, please."
"Sure thing."
The menu consisted of bar food. By the time he'd brought her drink back, she'd decided. "I'll have a hamburger."
"Fries with that?"
"No."
He ripped the top sheet off the green ticket pad and walked to the pass-through window to the kitchen. "Order."