Right now, I just gotta pray the truck my daddy bought used back in ’96 makes it through another calving season. I keep my head down as I dig my keys out of my pocket and unlock the driver’s-side door. I don’t want to see Mollie as much as she don’t wanna see me. Even if I couldn’t stop staring at her back in Goody’s office. My stomach swoops at the memory of Mollie’s eyes. Same as her daddy’s, dark brown and deep set. Expressive. Gripping the chrome door handle, my bones go heavy. This grief—it’s gotta get gone already. I have too many people depending on me to keep feeling this busted up.
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