She didn’t even want to think about college.
The jiggling of the lock in the door told her Jo was home.
Melanie lifted both hands in the air, one held her wineglass. “I didn’t do it,” she said as Jo closed the door behind her.
Jo offered a laugh as she pulled her overcoat from her shoulders. “The guilty always say that.”
As Jo removed what looked to be a twenty-pound belt from her waist and draped it on a side table, she slowly started to look more like Melanie’s old screw-the-establishment friend and less like a cop.
“Thanks for letting us stay here. Hope was exhausted.”
“You looked like something the cat drug home yourself.”
Melanie pulled herself off the couch and grabbed a glass from the kitchen. She splashed some of the wine for her friend. “I’ve had better days.”
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s been way too long.”
Melanie sat back down, tucked her feet under her. “I know . . . I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“I didn’t even come back for your dad’s funeral.” Her eyes traveled to the mantel above the fireplace. There, in a triangle frame, was what had to be the flag that had draped over Sheriff Ward’s casket.
Jo fell into a chair across from her.
“I didn’t come when Hope was born. We’re even. Besides . . . funerals suck, and screaming women in labor aren’t pleasant either.”
They both laughed at that.
“She’s beautiful. Looks a lot like you did when we were kids.”
“She’s amazing . . . smart, so damn smart.”
“Just like her mom.”
Even after seven years with the title, it was hard to hear.
“Her mom wasn’t smart enough. Didn’t even graduate from college.”
Jo waved her glass toward her. “Not your fault. You didn’t flunk out.”
No, she hadn’t flunked. She’d made the grade, but once her parents separated and sold the house . . . they decided they couldn’t afford the fancy school. Her parents made too much money for financial aid, but not enough to pay the entire bill. When Melanie realized how quickly she was going into debt with student loans, and no clear path on what she wanted to do with her life, she’d dropped out. Torn apart from her family, her friends, Melanie turned to a guy. Her train to the future derailed and the piece left over was asleep upstairs.
“Life isn’t like any of us thought it would be,” Jo said. “Does that prick ex-husband of yours help at all?”
“Nathan?”
Jo looked over her glass. “Do you have more than one ex-husband?”
It was time to come clean. “No . . . I—” She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t even have one of them.”
“One of what?”
“Ex-husband. I never married Nathan.”
Jo lowered her glass to her lap slowly. “But you said—”
“I know what I told you . . . what I told everyone. I was embarrassed, scared. I knew the minute I told Nathan about Hope that he wasn’t going to stick. He said we should get married. I told him I’d think about it. Within a month he was telling everyone I was his wife.”
“So there was no justice of the peace?”
Melanie took a big drink of her wine. “Nope. If we could make it through Hope’s delivery . . . the first year . . .”
Jo’s eyes never left hers. “I thought you’d fallen for Mr. Right.”
“I was so messed up after USC. I found a weekend job waiting tables until I could serve alcohol, then I switched to the bar circuit. Serving drinks and getting my ass pinched was a nightly affair. I spent the weekdays trying an online community college. It didn’t take long for Nathan to convince me to work two jobs so he could concentrate on school. Then he was going to work so I could go back . . .” She lost her voice. For a brief amount of time, she’d thought it could work.
“I remember you telling me you were going to hold off for him. Pissed me off. I thought you were stronger than that.”
Melanie scoffed. “You leave high school believing you can conquer the world. Then she kicks your ass.”
Jo lifted her glass. “I can drink to that.”
They sat watching the flames lick the log in the fireplace.
“So Nathan doesn’t help you at all?”
“Once he realized raising a baby meant one of us had to be home at all times . . . that I couldn’t work to support his school, and he couldn’t party when I worked, he stopped playing house. He left the apartment, moved in with a friend. He gave me cash once in a while for the first year . . . then one day he came over and started an argument . . . said he always doubted if Hope was even his.”
“Bastard.”
“Yeah . . . then he left.” Melanie shook the memories away and refilled her glass. The wine was already swimming in her head. She didn’t often drink since there was no one else to take up for Hope if something happened. Having Jo there gave her some peace to relax.
“I’m really sorry, Mel.”
She shrugged. “I am, too. Not about Hope. I mean sure, at first, the enormity of becoming a parent before I got my shit together scared me to death. It’s been hard, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”
“You always hear parents say that.”
“You’ll see when you have a kid, Jo. It changes you.”
Jo finished her wine and set the glass to the side. “I have enough responsibility. Last thing I need is a kid.”
“That’s what I said.”
“How are things now? From the looks of the suitcases you and Hope brought, your stay here is going to be longer than a week.”
The wine was making her weepy. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. The cost of living in California is stupid, even in nowhere Bakersfield. The school Hope was in was crap . . . the neighborhood would keep you busy until you’re eighty.”
“What about your job?”
“Phew . . . my job? I’m tired of my ass getting pinched.”
Jo moved from her chair and sat next to Melanie with an arm around her shoulders. “Sounds like you need a fresh start.”
Melanie wiped a fallen tear. “I do. I don’t know if it’s here, but I knew it wasn’t there.”
“You can stay with me. I have plenty of room.”
Melanie shook her head. “I can’t do that, Jo.”
“Yes you can.”
“It would be too easy. Like bumming off your parents. If my fresh start is back here in River Bend, then it has to be on my own two feet . . . not yours.”
Jo frowned, then sighed. “I get it. The offer is always open.”
Melanie moved in for a hug.
They both stretched out with the empty bottle of wine between them.
Through the quiet, Jo muttered, “I don’t remember the last time someone pinched my ass.”
Hope bounced on Melanie’s bed at the butt crack of dawn. “You’re wasting our vacation sleeping, Mommy.”
“I’m up. I’m up.” She ran a hand over the sand in her eyes and attempted to shake sleep away. Hope was already across the room and pulling the drapes open.
“Oh, Lord.” One too many glasses of wine. I’m such a lightweight.
“It’s not raining,” Hope announced.
And the sun was burning her eyes like a vampire’s. Shoving the blankets to the side, she padded across the room and slipped into a bathrobe.
“C’mon, sweetie, let’s find you some cereal and a TV.” To quiet and entertain her while Melanie sought out a shower.
The smell of fresh coffee warmed her senses before she reached the bottom floor.
Jo had made a pot and left a note.
Make yourself at home. I’m at the station . . . you and Hope should stop by. Your car is at Miller’s . .
. yes it is still Miller’s and in the same place. Feel free to use my car. I have the black-and-white. I’m really glad you’re here.
Jo
Melanie played with the keys as she read the note. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
After finding a cartoon channel and setting Hope up with breakfast, Melanie worked her way to the bathroom.
An hour later Melanie had Hope by the hand and the two of them were walking through town. JoAnne’s car was still safely tucked in her garage. After hours of driving the past few days, it felt good to take the slow route. As they walked through town, memories did a fine job of making her smile. The wooden white gazebo sat in the center of a small, grassy park in the center of town. The memory of her and Mark playing tag as children had her hearing his laugh. She could almost smell the hot popcorn that accompanied every holiday spent outside in that very spot. Melanie pointed at storefronts, told Hope what had occupied each space when she was a kid. Most of them were the same. Fresh coats of paint, a new facing on the building, but everything felt familiar.
They rounded on Second Street down to Miller’s Auto Repair. The tow truck occupied one parking space, an old Ford pickup sat beside it. Inside one of the two stalls in the garage was her car. The hood was open, a light hung from inside where the mechanic must have left it. Inside the garage, loud heavy metal music blared.
When Melanie didn’t see anyone, she attempted to call over the music. “Hello?”
Silence . . . well, from a person who wasn’t on a radio in any event.
Melanie stepped deeper into the shop. “Hello?”
“Hold up.” She heard the voice of a man.
She stopped in front of the open hood of her car. Whoever had been looking at it had taken off bits and set them to the side. Computer code would be just as foreign as the underside of a car. She didn’t know her way around an engine and wasn’t going to pretend to now.
The volume of the music diminished and someone called, “Hey there.”
Melanie turned to a familiar face. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”
Mr. Miller had owned the shop for as long as Melanie could remember. He worked on everyone’s car in town at some point. At six two or better, with a good extra forty pounds on him, Mr. Miller had always appeared intimidating. Until he smiled like he was now. Then he was a big teddy bear. “Melanie Bartlett? Richard’s girl.”
“That’s right, Mr. Miller.”
“Well I’ll be. You are all grown up.” He pulled a shop towel from the side of her car and wiped his hands. Not that the stains would disappear after five years of hard scrubbing.
“Ten years has a way of doing that,” she said with a grin.
“And who is this?” He smiled at Hope.
Hope held her hand tight.
“This is my daughter, Hope. Say hello, honey.”
“Hello, Mr. Miller.”
“So polite, too.” He winked and Hope attempted to wink back.
“How is Mrs. Miller?”
“Fine, just fine. I’m sure she’d love to see you. You’ll have to drop by the house and bring this cutie with you.”
It was hard not to smile. Mrs. Miller loved to bake, hence Mr. Miller’s slightly large girth. Dropping by was a favorite pastime when she was a kid and always resulted in a take-home package of something sweet.
“We’ll do that.”
Mr. Miller rounded in front of the car. “This yours?”
“Sorry to say.”
He made a few tsk-tsk sounds and his smile started to fade.
“That bad?”
“It’s not good. Luke is digging deeper to make sure, but . . .”
She had to wade through the bad news before the name Mr. Miller had used sank in. “Luke is still here?”
“Of course.”
Despite her dead car, she smiled again. She couldn’t wait to catch up with her old friend.
Mr. Miller started talking about oil levels and starters . . . something about a block. Everything he said was all over her head.
The sound of a motorcycle drew their attention to the front of the garage.
Luke still wore black and leather . . . his frame had filled out in ten years, but he still had that swagger that drove Zoe crazy in high school. Melanie always thought the two of them would ride off into the sunset on his bike.
Life happens, and that wasn’t their path.
“Mel?”
She dropped her daughter’s hand and accepted his hug. “Luke!”
He picked her up and swung her around. “Jesus, look at you.”
She knew she didn’t look bad. Ten years had filled her curves out as well. Staying in shape was easy when your car broke down all the time and walking was a better option than taking the city bus.
She punched his arm when he set her back down. “Look at me? Look at you. There should be a law for looking better than you did in high school.”
Luke winked, just like his dad, and swung an arm over her shoulders. “Good to see you, too.” His eyes traveled to Hope. “This must be your girl.”
After introductions and another attempt at winking out of Hope, they started back into the garage. “Jo dropped in earlier, said this was your car. I took the liberty of taking it apart.”
If there was one person she could trust under the hood more than Mr. Miller, it was Mr. Miller’s son.
“Your dad says it’s bad.”
“Our car died,” Hope said from the side.
“It sure did,” Luke agreed.
“What are we going to drive if our car is dead, Mommy?”
Melanie glanced at Hope. “I’m sure Luke and Mr. Miller can fix it.”
Only one look at Luke and that assurance blew away. “Or not.”
Hope drew her brows together with worry. “But we need a car.”
“It will be okay, baby.”
“Hey, Hope?” Mr. Miller distracted her. “Do you know what the best part about having a broken car is?”
She shook her head.
“Auto shops always have fresh donuts. Do you like donuts?”
She bobbed her head and took his hand, before Mr. Miller led her down the hall and into the office.
“Is it that bad?” Melanie asked once Hope was gone.
“Nothing that a little C-4 and the back of Grayson’s farm won’t take care of.”
“C’mon . . .”
“How long was the oil light on, Mel?” Luke ran a hand over his slightly long hair and stared at her.
“It’s always on. I topped off the oil in Redding.”
“Topping off means some of it ran out . . . did it take the entire quart?”
“Yeah.”
“Did the oil light go off?”
“No. It went on in Modesto, flickered on more than off ever since.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You can’t ignore the oil light, Mel.”
“I didn’t ignore it. I gave it oil.”
Luke stepped over to a workstation and waved a part in front of her. “Your oil pan had a hole in it. The slow leak gave you a nice trail to follow back to Bakersfield. Do you know what happens when your engine doesn’t get oil?”
“It’s like gas, right? The car stops running . . . but you put oil in and it’s all good.”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Oh, Mel.”
“I’m not right?”
“Nowhere close. A car without oil can only run dry for so long, then after miles of sputtering and bitching at you, she flips you the bird and cracks. You cracked the block, Mel.”
“That’s bad?” She really didn’t know.
Luke lifted one brow in the air. “Do you have any idea how bad I want to tell a blonde joke right now?”
“How do you fix a cracked block?”
“You don’t,” Luke to
ld her. “You put in a whole new engine. With the condition of this car, our advice is to cut your losses and start over.”
“I can’t afford a new car, Luke.”
He sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
“How much does a new engine cost?”
“These foreign cars usually run a good twenty-five hundred just for the engine.”
Melanie felt her eyes widen. “Dollars? Twenty-five hundred dollars?”
“See why I think you should find another used car?”
If she had twenty-five hundred bucks, she probably would. At least her decision was an easy one. She couldn’t afford the repair, so C-4 in a back field it was.
She reached into her purse and removed her wallet.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked.
“Paying for the tow and what you’ve done.”
Luke waved her off. “Your money isn’t any good here, Mel.”
“I can afford to pay for your time.”
“My time is cheap. Buy me a beer at R&B’s.”
She knew she wasn’t going to win, so she returned her wallet. “You’re on.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was well past noon when Melanie pulled Jo’s Jeep into the driveway of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast. Like everything else in town, the footprint was the same. The shrubs had grown, a new tree planted here, a new rosebush there . . . the place could use a coat of paint and the gravel on the driveway was in need of a dusting of whatever it was they used to maintain it.
As Hope and Melanie walked up the stairs, she realized the place needed a bit more than paint. It wasn’t run down . . . not like the motels in Bakersfield, but it wasn’t exactly what Melanie remembered.
The bell on the door rang as she and Hope stepped inside. Like most B and Bs, the old Victorian was made up of small rooms, each of which served a purpose when the house was built at the turn of the twentieth century. To be fair, they served a purpose now . . . only one was a large dining area where a parlor once stood.
When she was a kid, Zoe would sometimes pick up a few hours of work with Miss Gina. Mainly in the kitchen on busy holidays and summer weekends. Jo would complain as she raked leaves in the fall, and Melanie would answer phones and occasionally make a bed or clean a floor. The three of them had enjoyed hanging with Miss Gina and her colorful mouth. The lady never treated any of them like they were kids. She treated them as equals. In a small town, that went a long way.
Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) Page 3