right across there.” She pointed in the direction of Ayesgill Farm.
The girl just hunched her shoulders further, tucking her chin towards her chest. Claire tried for a smile. “What are you drawing?” she asked, and in response the girl slammed her notebook shut; Claire had only glimpsed a few starkly drawn lines.
“Nothing.”
“Does your Dad know you’re out here?”
A brief and telling hesitation, and then she said, defiantly, “He doesn’t even care.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Claire answered steadily. “What’s your name?”
“Molly.”
“Hi, Molly, I’m Claire. And I was going to walk over to your dad’s farm to return his flashlight. Torch, that is.” She hadn’t been intending to do that, having made a resolution to avoid Noah Bradford for the duration of her stay, but she would now. “Why don’t you come with me? It’s awfully cold out here.”
Molly looked torn between telling Claire to shove it and wanting to cling to her. Such a little girl with so many big feelings, Claire thought sadly. She knew how that felt, trying to grapple with all the frustration and loneliness and fear. She’d had all the trappings of the perfect family, the perfect childhood, and that was all they’d ever been. Trappings.
“Fine,” Molly finally said rather ungraciously, and scrambled off the wall.
They started across the field, the snow soft and wet now, having started to melt under the pale winter sunshine. Neither of them spoke, but Claire knew sometimes she just had to let the silence be, rather than fill it with so many empty words.
Still, she was hard pressed not to blurt out a question, because she was wondering whether Noah knew his daughter was out roaming the fields, or if he was worried about her. She also wondered why Molly looked so defensive and tucked in on herself, and who or what was the cause of her wariness. Noah—or her mother? Or someone else entirely?
The farmhouse had appeared on the horizon when Claire finally broke.
“Does your dad know you’re out here, Molly?”
Molly tucked her chin against her chest. “No, but he was busy anyway. He doesn’t care about me.”
“Why do you say that?”
One bony shoulder lifted in a shrug. “He didn’t even want me to come stay.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Claire protested and Molly shrugged again. Claire thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the supermarket. Noah hadn’t seemed as if he was unwilling to take Molly, but he’d been definitely reluctant. Claire suspected, however, that was because of the short notice, not that he didn’t want to spend time with his daughter.
Or was she making assumptions, because she wanted him to be that way? She’d done the same with Mark. She’d bought into the whole trying-to-be-a-good-dad shtick he’d had going, hook, line, and sinker. Even the memory of how willingly gullible she’d been, when any number of signs had been glaring at her all along, made her cringe in shame.
“He hasn’t even decorated for Christmas,” Molly said suddenly. “There isn’t even a tree .” She turned to Claire, her eyes suspiciously bright even as she glared. “He didn’t want me to come for Christmas. I know he didn’t.”
Claire opened her mouth to say He wasn’t expecting you for Christmas when she closed it again, realizing that might not be the most sensitive thing to say. She had no idea what kind of arrangement Noah had with his ex, or why his daughter had been dumped on his doorstep at the last minute.
Her silence, however, seemed only to confirm Molly’s belief that her father didn’t want her there, for she pursed her lips and looked away, the classic kid’s silent I-told-you-so. Claire sighed inwardly, wishing she were better equipped for these kinds of conversations.
As soon as they stepped into the farmyard, Noah’s dog set up a frenzy of barking. Seconds later Noah flung open the door; he was wearing a thermal shirt, this one in dark gray, and
The girl just hunched her shoulders further, tucking her chin towards her chest. Claire tried for a smile. “What are you drawing?” she asked, and in response the girl slammed her notebook shut; Claire had only glimpsed a few starkly drawn lines.
“Nothing.”
“Does your Dad know you’re out here?”
A brief and telling hesitation, and then she said, defiantly, “He doesn’t even care.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Claire answered steadily. “What’s your name?”
“Molly.”
“Hi, Molly, I’m Claire. And I was going to walk over to your dad’s farm to return his flashlight. Torch, that is.” She hadn’t been intending to do that, having made a resolution to avoid Noah Bradford for the duration of her stay, but she would now. “Why don’t you come with me? It’s awfully cold out here.”
Molly looked torn between telling Claire to shove it and wanting to cling to her. Such a little girl with so many big feelings, Claire thought sadly. She knew how that felt, trying to grapple with all the frustration and loneliness and fear. She’d had all the trappings of the perfect family, the perfect childhood, and that was all they’d ever been. Trappings.
“Fine,” Molly finally said rather ungraciously, and scrambled off the wall.
They started across the field, the snow soft and wet now, having started to melt under the pale winter sunshine. Neither of them spoke, but Claire knew sometimes she just had to let the silence be, rather than fill it with so many empty words.
Still, she was hard pressed not to blurt out a question, because she was wondering whether Noah knew his daughter was out roaming the fields, or if he was worried about her. She also wondered why Molly looked so defensive and tucked in on herself, and who or what was the cause of her wariness. Noah—or her mother? Or someone else entirely?
The farmhouse had appeared on the horizon when Claire finally broke.
“Does your dad know you’re out here, Molly?”
Molly tucked her chin against her chest. “No, but he was busy anyway. He doesn’t care about me.”
“Why do you say that?”
One bony shoulder lifted in a shrug. “He didn’t even want me to come stay.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Claire protested and Molly shrugged again. Claire thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the supermarket. Noah hadn’t seemed as if he was unwilling to take Molly, but he’d been definitely reluctant. Claire suspected, however, that was because of the short notice, not that he didn’t want to spend time with his daughter.
Or was she making assumptions, because she wanted him to be that way? She’d done the same with Mark. She’d bought into the whole trying-to-be-a-good-dad shtick he’d had going, hook, line, and sinker. Even the memory of how willingly gullible she’d been, when any number of signs had been glaring at her all along, made her cringe in shame.
“He hasn’t even decorated for Christmas,” Molly said suddenly. “There isn’t even a tree .” She turned to Claire, her eyes suspiciously bright even as she glared. “He didn’t want me to come for Christmas. I know he didn’t.”
Claire opened her mouth to say He wasn’t expecting you for Christmas when she closed it again, realizing that might not be the most sensitive thing to say. She had no idea what kind of arrangement Noah had with his ex, or why his daughter had been dumped on his doorstep at the last minute.
Her silence, however, seemed only to confirm Molly’s belief that her father didn’t want her there, for she pursed her lips and looked away, the classic kid’s silent I-told-you-so. Claire sighed inwardly, wishing she were better equipped for these kinds of conversations.
As soon as they stepped into the farmyard, Noah’s dog set up a frenzy of barking. Seconds later Noah flung open the door; he was wearing a thermal shirt, this one in dark gray, and
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