2

In the ten years that Greenfield grew suburbs, Molly had become as convoluted and unfamiliar as the circuitous labyrinth that is the sub-division carved out from the farmland that used to surround the Brown home. The squinting in the half-light of dusk at the scribbled directions on the Wendy’s bag to her old house kept Molly’s focus from slipping to her fluttering panic at coming home. She could do this. She had to do this. There was no way that Annie was going to think even for a minute that she was right after all these years. Molly would keep it together and prove that Annie had never understood her, even if she liked to think she was understanding about school and oh so generous. But it was Molly’s money. Only the purse string’s belonged to Annie. Nettled and peeved, Molly’s spine stood a little straighter at just the thought of Annie’s presumption. Annie was her sister and the trustee, not her Mother. She’d had a mother, she didn’t want a replacement.

Molly turned the last left onto Jewel Lane and felt all her emotions suspended at the sight of her old house. Same house, same color, same sidewalk but with a few more cracks leading up to the same cherry red door. Different house numbers, totally different address, same basketball hoop above the garage. The landscaping was basically the same but so much more voluminous, changing the shadows and the tenor of the place into something darker and less innocent. Strangely Molly felt at home. Not because this was the place of happy memories and childhood or because her loved ones lived here but because Molly felt like her old home—the same but so different. In the drafty place in her heart she felt something spark and sizzle for a moment as she put the car in park. She could do this.