The Magnolia Inn

by Carolyn Brown

  She nodded. “Then we can keep the rooms separate by calling them by their color. Like, ‘we’ve got guests in the blue room.’ But today we only have to decide on one color, right? And we’ll think about the front door before we make a definite decision.”

  “We could pick out two colors today.” He rushed around the truck to open the door for her. “That way we’ll have the paint here and ready.”

  “Let’s find a pretty magnolia border and then match six colors to that. And no heavy drapes on the windows. We need to bring the pine trees inside, and . . .”

  He started the engine. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

  “Yep, I have, and I’m really glad that you are able to finance it, Tucker.”

  It was a good thing that they ate their burgers before they went to the paint store, because there was no such thing as simply picking out a border. She pored over three massive wallpaper books, marking at least a dozen borders that had magnolias on them, but she couldn’t decide. The flowers were too big on one, too small on another, and too stylized on another.

  Tucker found an old metal folding chair in the corner, sat down, and leaned it against the wall on the back two legs. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He would have picked out a border in five minutes, but he was a man. Melanie and Jolene both took forever to make up their minds about anything.

  He smiled when a memory of Melanie popped into his head. He had taken her out shopping, and she’d been in and out of a dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit to wear to the Dallas Police Department’s Christmas Ball. He’d sat in a chair pretty much the same as he was right then, only it wasn’t leaning against the wall.

  He shouldn’t compare Jolene to Melanie, he thought. One had been choosing a dress; the other was choosing wallpaper. They looked nothing alike and their temperaments were different. But the flutter in his heart when he’d been around Melanie was the same one that he got when Jolene was close by. He’d continue to fight it, but it was getting harder and harder not to acknowledge.

  Finally, Jolene narrowed it down to six and asked his opinion. He took the book and carried it fourteen feet away from where she was sitting and held it up in the air. “This is the way the people will see it when they walk through the bedroom doors. Now what do you think?”

  “Why in the hell didn’t you do that an hour ago? I’ve been agonizing over this because it’s the most important decision we’ll make. We’ll see it in every room of the house, and you didn’t think to do that?” She narrowed her eyes at him and then shifted her gaze to the border. “Not that one. Hold up another one.”

  He remembered that Melanie had held up two dresses in the end. One was red and the other one was black. He’d told her to buy both and decide which one to wear the day of the ball. She’d done just that and worn the red one—the same dress he’d chosen to bury her in.

  He held up the last border, and before Jolene said a single word, her smile told him she’d found the perfect one.

  “That’s it. That’s the one. We’ll need to order a bunch. Is that all right?” She bit at a thumbnail.

  He thought about telling her exactly how much money he’d received when Melanie died, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.

  “Of course. We’ll order as much as we need.” He didn’t tell her that he would have sunk his last dollar into wallpaper to have the decision made. “Now let’s go get a sample of it to take home.”

  Home!

  Saying it didn’t make it so, or did it? He thought about it on the way to the checkout counter. Had the Magnolia become home? And if it had, did that mean he’d taken another step out of the past? And was Jolene part of the future? If so, in what capacity?

  “I’d like a sample of this border.” Jolene pointed to the one in the book.

  “If we have one, you can have it.” The sales clerk opened a huge file drawer and flipped through until she found the right one. “Once these are gone, we won’t be giving them away anymore. Folks will have to order samples from the internet. Kind of loses the human touch, if you ask me. This is our last one.”

  “Thank you. We’ll need to order quite a lot because we’re going to use it throughout a whole house. Could we call you Monday with the measurements?” Jolene asked.

  “Just tell me how many feet of it you’ll need. I’ll do the figuring and send in the order. You might want to order a couple of extra rolls for matching and emergencies.”

  “Thank you. Now about paint. Two gallons of this color and two of this one.” Tucker put the two samples on the counter.

  The saleslady and Jolene started up a conversation about how well those two colors went with the border, and he bit back a long sigh. Women talked a helluva lot about nothing. Just mix the paint and get on with it.

  Hey, now! Melanie’s voice was back in his head. Cut her some slack. Us women like to discuss things and think about them before we do them. This is a big deal for her.

  He cut his eyes around the room, but he stood as still as if he’d spotted a spider in the corner. Of all the times he might want her to talk to him—this wasn’t one of them.

  Well, it’s a pretty damn big deal for me, too, but I don’t have to discuss it to death, resurrect it, and talk some more, he argued. If Melanie would continue to drop into his head every now and then, surely he could get rid of these feelings that were developing for Jolene.

  He listened intently, but Melanie had left the building. Did that mean she liked Jolene? Or was she giving him a hard time because of all the times he’d been impatient when she was trying to make a decision—like with the Christmas dress?

  “We don’t have time to do much this afternoon, so maybe we could go to the antique stores,” Jolene was saying when he tuned back in to the conversation.

  How long had he been zoned out, anyway? Evidently long enough for the saleslady to mix four gallons of paint, because they were right there on the counter. He pulled his credit card from his wallet and paid the bill, picked up the paint, and followed Jolene outside.

  “So?” she asked. “What about the vanities? I love the way you used that washstand for one in the first bathroom. It’s awesome.”

  He’d had compliments on his work many times, but the way that her eyes twinkled put a big smile on his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dotty met Jolene at the Gator door that night and put a key in her hand. “Now I won’t have to watch for you anymore. How’s the parking lot lookin’?”

  “Like we’re in for a rush.” Jolene stashed her coat and purse under the counter.

  “So what’s goin’ on at the inn this weekend? I tell you one thing for sure, that Tucker is one hardworkin’ man. I can see that he’s really tryin’ to get past his troubles. And, for that matter, you seem happier these days, too,” Dotty said.

  Jolene was tying an apron around her waist when she realized what Dotty was doing. Maybe the whole bunch of them were even in on it. “Dotty Beauchamp, are you playing matchmaker?”

  “Oh, no!” Dotty laid a hand on her chest. “Not me, chère. I’m just tellin’ you not to slam the door in the face of opportunity if it’s starin’ you right in the eyes.”

  “That sounded just like Aunt Sugar.” Jolene smiled.

  “It should,” Dotty sighed. “She used to say it all the time. You want to buy my bar? I might get me an RV and join her after all.”

  “No, thank you. Running the inn is going to keep me busy.”

  “Has he kissed you yet?” Dotty’s eyes twinkled.

  Jolene shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

  “You think y’all might ever get together if he sticks around?” Dotty said.

  If he sticks around—her mother had said that so many times. If this rich man sticks around, he’s going to take me out of this damned trailer. If this wonderful guy sticks around, he’s going to take me to Vegas for a whole week. This man is the CEO of a trucking company—if he sticks around, I’m
going to quit my shitty job and go on the road with him. And every time it all fell through, Jolene had to clean up the messes those men left behind. Just thinking about it made her mad all over again.

  Dotty wiped up a spill from the bar. “Sugar wants an update on Tucker and you tonight. She says you change the subject when she asks about y’all, and I’ve got to give her something or I’m afraid she’s goin’ to turn that RV around and come home.”

  Jolene sighed. “Then don’t tell her anything, and maybe she really will come on back to Jefferson. As far as me and Tucker, we’re partners. That’s all. I can’t get involved with him, Dotty, not unless and until he unloads all that emotional baggage, and even then it’s iffy.”

  “Life’s too short to be carryin’ around heavy burdens. You both need to get rid of the past. Treat it like it’s a material possession. Like Sugar did. She gave you everything that wouldn’t fit in an RV and drove off with Jasper like a couple of newlyweds,” Dotty said. “I wish I’d really sold the bar, got me an RV and a feller to drive it, and gone with her. God, I miss that woman. She was the most levelheaded one of us.”

  “It’s not too late. I bet you could catch up to them in a week, but I’d sure miss you,” Jolene said.

  Dotty patted her cheek. “I can’t leave you now, chère. I promised Sugar that I’d look after you until you were settled. Got to get back to my end of the bar, now.”

  Jolene was glad that Dotty had shifted spots, but now Tucker was on her mind. She wondered if he would stick around after the remodeling was done. Or if he’d get bored with a B&B, move his trailer back to Marshall, and just collect the money from the place.

  Tucker waited until Jolene left for work that evening, and then he and Sassy made a couple of trips back and forth, bringing in the rest of his things from the trailer. He put everything away and laid out his date-night outfit—starched jeans, ironed pearl-snap shirt, polished boots—just like Melanie liked for him to wear on Saturday night. After a quick shower, he got dressed, told Sassy that she was in charge until either he or Jolene got home, and headed for the bar. Only this time he didn’t turn north to go to the Tipsy Gator, but south instead. He’d been to a little dive in the backwoods down near the interstate, and that’s where he planned to go.

  “Don’t matter if we go to a steak house or get tacos from a wagon and eat them in a park as long as we’re together. I’m not letting go of her,” he said out loud. “I will not forget that Saturday is date night.” He turned on the radio to his favorite country music station and kept time to the music with his thumbs on the steering wheel.

  He always thought about Melanie as he drove to the bar on Saturday night. It was his time to replay highlights of their years together. It might be every detail he could remember about their wedding or their first fight or just crazy incidents that had happened during their five-year marriage. But that night it was about their last night together.

  They’d sat out by the lake on a quilt, talked about starting a family, but decided to wait one more year. After all, midthirties wasn’t too old to be a mommy and daddy, and it still gave them time to have the children they’d always talked about. The stars had been bright that night, and the moon was full. If only he’d known that in twenty-four hours his world would fall apart, he would have done things differently.

  When he reached the bar, finding a parking spot wasn’t a problem, but getting inside the bar was a different matter. There was a note on the door that simply said the place was closed and for sale.

  I want tacos, not beer or Jack and Coke, Melanie said so clearly that he could’ve sworn she was walking beside him.

  “Not tonight, darlin’. I need a few drinks to sharpen my memories of you. I’m enjoying being around Jolene entirely too much,” he said as he got back into the truck. “If I’d waited a few weeks, I could have owned a bar instead of a bed-and-breakfast,” he grumbled as he headed to the Southern Comfort. The drinks were more expensive and the crowd a little high-class for his taste, but maybe Melanie wouldn’t fuss about tacos if she saw he was taking her to a fancy place.

  Everything happens for a reason.

  “You’re in my head again. Dammit, Melanie, the way you pop in and out makes me dizzy.” He caught the interstate going west.

  Let me go. You can only keep the memories if they don’t destroy you. And it’s okay if you have feelings for Jolene.

  “I should have gone to the store that night,” he said.

  He listened intently, but she was gone. A song came on the radio that brought back a memory of the two of them dancing in their bare feet in the backyard one night when they’d taken their burgers to go and spent the night at home. He smiled and waited. Still no Melanie.

  The parking lot at the Southern Comfort wasn’t as crowded as the Tipsy Gator always was on Saturday night. He found a spot not far from the door and headed inside. There was a barstool open away from everyone else, which was a good sign.

  It’s a fancy place, a club, so don’t fuss at me, Melanie.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  The kid hardly looked old enough to be pouring drinks. He was dressed in skintight pants and a knit shirt. A lock of blue hair hung down over one eye. There was live music—a piano player, who had a fantastic voice if a person liked that kind of music.

  Tucker didn’t. He wanted classic country music coming from a jukebox and some boots stomping on the hardwood floor.

  “Double shot of whiskey, neat,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. Want me to start a tab?”

  Tucker took a bill from his wallet and laid it on the bar. “No, I’ll pay as I go.”

  The bartender flipped his blue hair to the side. “You’re almost a dollar short.”

  Tucker put two more dollars on the bar. “Keep the change.”

  He sipped at the drink for more than half an hour as he thought about what he planned to do the next morning while Jolene slept.

  “Another?” the kid asked. “Or would you like me to make you something different?”

  Melanie had stopped talking to him, so evidently she didn’t like this place.

  “No, thank you,” Tucker said as he slid off the stool. “You have a good night.”

  The kid answered with a wave.

  Tucker got into his truck and pointed it toward Jefferson. He intended to go straight to the Gator, but with his mind on Melanie, he suddenly found himself parked outside the inn.

  “Dammit!” He slapped the steering wheel. “This is one sorry date night when we get home at eight o’clock.”

  Everything happens for a reason. Her voice singsonged in his head.

  “Is that all you are ever going to say to me from now on?” he asked.

  Nothing. Not a single word or aura answered his question.

  “Okay then, ignore me. I proved last week that I don’t need a bar.” He stormed into the house, poured two fingers of whiskey, took a drink, and carried it to the living room. “Easier on the wallet, anyway.” He kicked off his boots and sat down in the recliner. “And more comfortable.”

  He took another sip and set the glass on the end table. Without finishing his drink, he left it behind, wandered upstairs, and leaned against the doorjamb of the room he’d been working on. It was going to be a really nice room when they finished. Sassy wove around his legs, but when he ignored her, she went into the bathroom, jumped into the tub, and curled up. With a sigh, Tucker picked up his tool belt and began to cover the new bathroom with drywall. Sassy slept right through it all.

  He didn’t even hear Jolene coming in or walking up the stairs until he felt her presence behind him. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “It’s after three in the morning,” she answered. “Why are you workin’ now? I thought you didn’t do anything past your four hours on Saturdays.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

  “I’m surprised. Last Saturday night you were still out when I got home.” She yawned.

  “No, I wasn’t.
I got home about two thirty that night. I was passed out in my bedroom when you got home.” He removed his tool belt and laid the nail gun to the side. “That was the last piece. After it’s bedded and taped, we can set the rest of the fixtures in here and put up the tub enclosure.”

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  “Yep. I’ll get washed up. We got any of them doughnuts left that we bought a couple of days ago?”

  “They won’t be fresh, but we can throw some butter on the top and give them twenty seconds in the microwave,” she said as she started downstairs.

  He went to the bathroom at the end of the hallway and washed his hands and forearms.

  He noticed on his way down the stairs that the railing was loose near the newel post and made a mental note to get that fixed. Sassy caught up with him in the foyer, and he bent to pet her.

  “It feels strange to be sober on date night,” he whispered.

  The cat meowed at him and led the way into the kitchen, where he poured out a dozen of her special treats. “That’s payment for helping me get things done tonight,” he said and then turned to Jolene. “You made hot chocolate?”

  “Just the kind out of a package. I like doughnuts dipped in it,” she said.

  So had Melanie, he thought. And cookies and even peanut butter sandwiches. Sounded terrible, but it wasn’t so bad.

  “Guess who came to the bar tonight?” She didn’t give him time to answer, but went right into the story of Lucy and Everett.

  He was relieved that she didn’t ask why he hadn’t dived into the bottle that night, because he didn’t have an answer, and he sure didn’t feel talking about it.

  “Sounds to me like those old gals could hang out a shingle for therapy. Lucy has been cured, and according to Dotty, they took care of her problem a long time ago.”

  “Therapists keep you coming back so they can make a living,” Jolene said. “It’s easy to talk to a stranger who’s bound by law to never breathe a word of what you told them. You can tell them anything, and they just nod and ask you how you felt about it. They never tell you how to fix it. You’re supposed to figure that out on your own.” She put two doughnuts on a saucer and put them in the microwave.