Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(7)

“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.