“I’ll try,” he finally said.
“You never know when a day is going to be your last one. We’ve both got the battle scars to prove that,” she said. “Luke is dying. This could be the final time you get to spend with him and the family.”
Tucker went to the cabinet and took out the peanut butter. “You’re right, but it doesn’t make it easy.”
“Life is not easy.” She opened the fridge and set the grape jelly on the cabinet.
They’d made sandwiches and sat down to the table when giggles floated down from above. Then they heard the old pipes groaning as someone turned on the water in the bathtub.
“Are they . . . ,” he whispered.
“I believe they are reliving their honeymoon night by taking a bath together. Or maybe they’re having tub sex.” Jolene smiled. “I hope I’m still interested in taking a bath with my husband when I’m their age.”
“I just hope I don’t need those little blue pills to get in the tub with my wife when I’m that age,” Tucker said.
Chapter Seventeen
Sometimes a springlike day will sneak its way into what is still officially winter. That was the case that Saturday morning as Jolene drove into town to shop for groceries. She rolled the window down to enjoy the fresh air. But instead of driving to the store, she found herself parked outside the Tipsy Gator.
“Guess this old truck has a mind of its own,” she said. “I’m here, so I might as well go on in and talk to Dotty.”
She opened the door with her new key and yelled, “Dotty, where are you?”
“Thank God you’re here.” Dotty appeared out of nowhere and pulled her inside by the arm.
“Is something wrong?” Jolene asked.
“No, chère, I’m just bored out of my mind. And when I get bored I want to drink,” Dotty answered. “So come in here and keep an old woman company for a little while.” She looped her arm in Jolene’s and led her to a table. “Want a root beer?”
“Only if you’re having one,” Jolene said.
“I guess I can pretend it’s a real drink.” Dotty opened two bottles of root beer, handed one to Jolene, and then sat down.
“If you’re so bored, why didn’t you go to Flossie’s or Lucy’s to help them out?” Jolene asked.
“They didn’t even open today because of this storm comin’ in. It’s supposed to get real icy, so we’re callin’ off the dinner tomorrow at Flossie’s. She’ll have it next week. I thought about closin’ the Gator, but I figure that folks will find a way to a bar, even if they have to come on dog sleds. What’re you out doin’? Layin’ in supplies for the bad weather?”
“I was on my way to the grocery store and somehow found myself here instead, but if we’ve got ice on the way, I’d better stock up. You do still want me to come in, don’t you?” Jolene sipped the root beer.
“Of course I do. If it ever gets too bad for you to go home, my couch makes out into a bed,” Dotty said. “Now tell me about your first guests. I’m so glad you fixed things so they could stay. We heard all about their plans at church. They spent their first night there when they got married.”
“We hardly saw them. They went straight to their room. I took breakfast up to them and Mary took it at the door. They came down at exactly eleven, which is checkout time, thanked us for making the arrangements, paid us, and left.” Jolene leaned forward and lowered her voice. “They enjoyed a bath together.”
“Every year.” Dotty’s green eyes twinkled. “Mary says she don’t give a damn if Jerry has to eat Viagra like M&M’S, or if gravity has got her boobs, she will have sex in the bathtub like they did on their wedding night.”
Jolene giggled. “Tucker was just sayin’ last night that he hoped he didn’t need them when he was past sixty.”
“Oh?” Dotty cocked her head to one side. “Just what brought that conversation on?”
“What happens in the Magnolia Inn is like Las Vegas, remember? But we were talking about Mary and Jerry—sound travels along those pipes.” Jolene blushed.
“If you didn’t at least think about having bathtub sex with Tucker when all that was goin’ on, then you’re crazy,” Dotty said. “I’m thinkin’ about all the times Bruce and I did and I didn’t even hear the noise.”
The blush deepened. “Okay, so I dreamed about it last night and woke up kind of angry that it wasn’t real.”
“Then at least you’ve thought about having sex with him or you wouldn’t dream about it.” Dotty put a palm on her cheek. “Don’t blush, darlin’. We’re grown women with needs of our own.”
“But . . .” Jolene started.
“Tell me all about the ‘but,’” Dotty said.
“Until he gets over Melanie, what’s the use in even thinking about such things?”
“It’s tough to let go of someone you love, chère. You ever think that fate put him here . . .”
“Fate put who where?” Lucy arrived through the back door.
“What are you doing here?” Dotty asked. “And how did you get in?”
“You’re gettin’ dementia. You gave me a key when Bruce died so in case you passed away, the cops wouldn’t break down the door. Remember?” Lucy asked.
“Of course I remember, but I didn’t even hear the door open,” Dotty told her.
“We came to get you to go to the store with us.” Flossie hung her coat on the back of a chair. “You can’t live on what’s up there on that shelf.” She pointed to the liquor behind the bar.
“Now what was that about fate?” Lucy removed her coat and tossed it on a nearby table.
“I was telling Dotty that Tucker is having a terrible time moving on,” Jolene said.
“And before I was so rudely interrupted, I was about to say that fate might have brought him here so that Jolene could help him move on,” Dotty said.
Flossie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Way I see it is this: he’s got to get on with life and quit this weekend drinkin’ for good. I’m with Dotty on this one. Fate brought him to the Magnolia Inn so that y’all could be friends and you could help him.”
“Fate didn’t have anything to do with it,” Lucy said. “Honey, you know there ain’t a single clock in heaven, don’t you? That’s because nobody gets in a hurry up there. God has been working out a plan for years that would eventually bring you and Tucker together so you both could go on a healing journey. Tucker will help you and you’ll help him. Now start at the beginning and tell us all about everything.”
Jolene told them about Tucker saying he needed a drink but going to the cemetery instead. “Lucy, you say I’m on some kind of spiritual journey that’s been working on a higher plane for years.” She turned to Flossie. “You think Tucker and I are destined to be friends.” Her eyes went to Dotty. “What does fate say?”
“It says that you might help Tucker the most by just listening to him. But I believe he was sent to the inn to help you. His journey and yours are interlocked. He’s forgiven his father-in-law and accepted his apology. Have you forgiven your father for dying so early? Or your mother for all the misery that she put you through?” Dotty asked.
Jolene shook her head. “I thought I had when I took their ashes to the beach, but when Tucker talks about his pain, mine surfaces right along with his.”
Dotty patted her on the knee. “This forgiving business is not a sprint but a marathon, chère.”
“But what happens at the end? If God or fate has predestined this whole thing, what is the endgame?” she asked.
“That, darlin’”—Flossie smiled—“is up to you. You get the final say-so. Whatever the universe did to put you where you are, including sitting here in the Tipsy Gator with three meddling old women, its job is finished. Now you make the choice.”
“Run beside him for a while in this marathon,” Dotty said. “If you don’t like his speed, get ahead of him or fall back. The ball is in your hands now.”
Jolene was glad that she’d wound up at the Gator, because she felt better. “Are
you all speaking from experience?”
“We are,” Dotty said. “For me, it’s the life I had with Bruce. We were best friends all through our growing-up years. And, chère, it was not exactly the thing in those days. Girls’ best friends were girls. Boys’ were boys. I cried on his shoulder when my first boyfriend broke up with me. He did the same when his best friend died. We went down that path for many years, and then when we were in our twenties, we realized that somewhere back there we’d fallen in love.”
“And for me, well, I’m still hunting for my Bruce. I saw what Dotty had and I won’t settle for anything less,” Lucy said.
Jolene shifted her gaze to Flossie. “What’s your story?”
“Fell in love. Lost him to Vietnam. I had my girls here and your aunt to help me through it all. Sisters of the heart, darlin’, are as important as romance. Not saying that whatever the end of your journey with Tucker becomes isn’t important, but . . . how do I say this.” Lucy stumbled over the words.
“You’re stepping into Sugar’s shoes with us and we need you,” Dotty said softly.
“Good Lord!” Jolene gasped. “I’m not wise enough to do that.”
Lucy fluffed up her kinky hair with her hands. “That’s your opinion, not ours. And we need a fourth woman in this friendship wagon.”
“But Aunt Sugar is still available by phone when y’all have a problem,” Jolene said.
“Yes, she is, but she’s on a decades-late honeymoon with Jasper. We’ll talk to her about some stuff, but we don’t want to bother her too much. So accept it, child—we’re all in this together.” Flossie giggled.
Dark clouds hung in the sky as Jolene drove back to the Gator that evening. Cars and trucks were already parked and waiting for the doors to open when Jolene arrived. Dotty had been right about drinkers finding their way to a bar.
But then, Elaine had proven that years ago. And once Jolene started bartending, she’d seen it for herself. Once her mother had spent the night in her car when it slid off into a ditch. Thank God whiskey didn’t freeze, because if it did, she had enough in her that she could have died from the inside out. But even that wasn’t a speed bump for Elaine. The car had a few scrapes and a dented fender, but it wasn’t messed up too bad. It ran well enough to get her back out on the ice the next night so she could go to the bar again.
Dotty threw an apron toward Jolene when she saw her coming inside. Jolene wrapped it around her waist, bringing the strings back to the front and knotting them in a perfect bow. She’d learned long ago to never tie it in the back when a customer reached over the bar and pulled the strings. Her tips had gone flying every which way, right along with her pen and notepad.
“So did you bring a go-bag so you can stay with me if it gets too slick to drive?” Dotty asked as she picked up an apron.
“No, I’ve driven in snow up to the runnin’ boards and even outran a tornado a couple of times. I’ll be fine,” she said.
Dotty opened the door, and only five people came inside. Mickey was one of them, and instead of standing or sitting beside the door, he hiked a hip on a barstool. “I got a job with a beer delivery company out of Tyler, and I think every store in East Texas is stocked up and ready for this storm. I was wonderin’ if you’d let me off tonight. My girlfriend is worried about me drivin’ all the way home in bad weather. If you’re not comfortable not havin’ a bouncer, I can stay, but . . .” He let the sentence dangle.
Dotty reached across the bar and patted his cheek. “I got a sawed-off shotgun under the bar if things get too rowdy, but I’m not expectin’ a big crowd. You go on home, and drive safe.”
“Thanks, Miz Dotty. I’ve never had to toss anyone out yet, and since I’ve got the new job, you might want to reconsider keeping me on Friday and Saturday nights,” Mickey said.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Dotty said.
Mickey disappeared, and Dotty turned to Jolene. “There was a time I thought maybe he might ask you out.”
“Not my type.” Jolene smiled.
Dotty wiped down the already clean bar. “What is your type?”
“Have no idea right now, just know what isn’t,” Jolene answered.
The door opened and a blast of arctic wind blew half a dozen cowboys into the place. Jolene took a minute to scan their faces, not finding Tucker among them. She was a little disappointed, and yet she hoped that he was home with Sassy, watching television or maybe measuring something for the next room they’d work on.
More than a dozen people filed in next—ready to drink and party, not a bit afraid of the weatherman’s forecast. Dotty and Jolene became too busy drawing up pitchers and mugs of beer and even making a few fancy drinks to talk any more.
“Madam Fate, if you are real and you spent all these years setting this up, then I’d sure like to know what your endgame is,” Jolene whispered.
Montgomery, Alabama
Sugar was watching the countryside fly by at sixty-five miles an hour. When they left South Carolina, the plan was to take their time driving to Kansas and then head back west again in a zigzag pattern. They’d already called ahead and made reservations in an RV park in Alabama for tonight.
It wasn’t until Sugar looked at the calendar that she realized that it was Saturday. If she were home, she’d be thinking about church in the morning—maybe ironing one of her Sunday dresses and making sure she had a decent pair of pantyhose. Girls these days had stopped wearing hose, but not Sugar. She had given up her girdle years ago, but she’d told Dotty that they’d damn sure better bury her in pantyhose or she’d come back to haunt all three of them.
If they were home, she and Jasper would get up on Sunday morning, have pancakes, and go to church. Bless his heart, he’d been so good all these years to have dinner after church with her friends. After Bruce died, he’d had to endure the women without the benefit of another man. And not one time had he ever complained, so she needed to buck up and stop feeling sorry for herself.
“How about pancakes tomorrow morning?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s Sunday and we always have pancakes before church,” he said. “And we agreed before we ever left home that wherever we were on Sunday morning, we’d find us a church with a parking lot to fit this vehicle, and we’d attend services.”
“Yes, we did.” She laid a hand on his arm. “And maybe this one will feel more like home than the last one did. It was just too big.”
She got her phone from her purse and looked at the little house that was still on the market. There were others—one down the street from Lucy looked pretty good—but that white house with the big front porch was the one she liked best. She wished she had a picture of their little church to look at. Big, small, or in between, nothing could replace it.
Chapter Eighteen
Tucker polished his boots, ironed his shirt and jeans, dusted off his cowboy hat, and got into his truck with plans to go to Luke and Carla’s place for Melanie’s birthday celebration. Maybe it would be a level of closure to be there with others who loved her and share experiences with everyone that evening. He drove straight to their house, a redbrick place in a really nice area of town. He parked across the street and watched the family through the big plate-glass window. From the looks of it, they’d put aside the fact that Luke was dying and were laughing and having a good time.
A blast of icy wind hit Tucker in the face when he opened his door. He instinctively shut it again and drew his coat closer to his body. He should brave the wind and the family, but he couldn’t make himself do either. Finally, he started up the engine and drove back to the inn. He took a full bottle of whiskey with him to the living room and turned on the television just to have some noise. He surfed through the stations until he found an NCIS marathon. He recognized it as the second season, the one where one of the team members got killed at the end, and thought it appropriate that evening. He drained the last drop of whiskey from the bottle and threw it back just as the shot rang out that killed the character Kate.
“Some of us don’t have any luck,” he slurred as he got up to go get another bottle, but he’d gone only a few steps when the room began to whip around him so fast that he couldn’t get his bearings.
He sat down in the foyer with a thud. After a few minutes, he started to get back on his feet, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, he stretched out on the floor with intentions of shutting his eyes for only a few minutes. In an hour what he’d drunk would be out of his system, and he’d get up and go to bed before Jolene got home from the bar.
Jolene slipped on the ice once as she made her way from the bar to her truck, but she was able to right herself before she fell flat on her fanny. She got inside her vehicle and started the engine and then got back out to scrape the ice from the windshield. Freezing rain stung her face as she worked, but neither a knight in shining armor nor a big strong cowboy on a white horse appeared out of the darkness to do the job for her.
Her teeth were chattering by the time she finished and hurried back inside the truck. She’d almost warmed up by the time she’d gotten out of town, but neither the windshield wipers nor the heater could keep up with the freezing rain. She pulled off the road into a closed service station. The awning over the gas pump gave her enough shelter that she could remove the buildup again, but she was already thinking ahead to other places where she could repeat the process.
“Dammit!” She realized that she hadn’t switched the heat to the windshield. “No wonder it wouldn’t warm up and melt the mess.” She sat there several minutes until the heater melted the last of the ice.
What was usually a five-minute trip to the inn took fifteen just to get to the turn down the lane. The trees glistened with ice, and the ground crunched beneath the tires. Sleet still peppered the windshield and the top of the truck.
The Magnolia Inn Page 18