The Magnolia Inn(50)

“Same thing you are, probably. Needed some fresh air and a new perspective,” she answered.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. “You’re not having second thoughts about the inn, are you? Because if you are, I’ll be glad to buy you out.”

She sat down beside him. “Not even for a million dollars.”

He scooted over to give her room to lean against the tree. “My mother-in-law called. I guess that’s what I should still call her. Melanie wasn’t ever my ex. Maybe I should say my late wife’s mother? She only calls once a year.”

“In January? Not at Christmas?” Jolene picked up a rock and tossed it out in the water.

“Melanie’s birthday was—is—again, I’m not sure how to even talk about this.” His shoulders raised in half a shrug. “Anyway, January 19, this coming Saturday. Her family does this get-together to remember her.”

“That’s sweet,” Jolene said.

“Her mother always invites me.” His voice sounded hollow.

“Have you ever gone?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I can’t. Her father didn’t want her to marry me. He thought she deserved better than a cop. Said I’d get killed on the job and leave her with a broken heart.”

“That’s real positive thinking.” The wind whipped down from the north and blew Jolene’s hair across her face. She dug around in her coat pocket for a rubber band and finger combed her hair up into a ponytail.

“I didn’t come from such good stock, either. My grandparents were good people and they raised me. I don’t know that my parents were ever married, so you know what that makes me.” He went on to tell her more about his background.

She could hear more pain in his voice and reached across the distance to lay a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

He picked up a twig and toyed with it. After a couple of minutes, he went on. “I kind of felt abandoned my whole life until Melanie. My grandparents were wonderful, don’t get me wrong. Gramps was a cop and I adored him, but I already told you that. I thought I had a lot to prove, and so the reputation kind of followed me around,” he said. “I usually don’t talk about this to anyone but Sassy, and then only when I’m drunk.”

He tossed a rock into the middle of the bayou, and they watched the water ripple out from it, first in little circles and then in bigger ones until the surface was smooth again.

“Did Melanie tell you what her dad said?” Jolene asked.

“No, he did.” His tone had turned bitter. “I kind of understood where he was coming from. She was his only daughter. I assured him that I loved her and would take care of her, that he had nothing to worry about. I broke my promise.”

“Hey, you can’t carry that burden. That wreck wasn’t your fault,” Jolene told him. “You think she was a daddy’s girl?”

He skimmed the water with another flat rock. “Oh, yeah. Big-time.”

“She must’ve loved you a helluva lot.” Jolene had been close to her dad, but she’d have told him to go to hell on a rusty poker if he’d talked to her like that about the man she was about to marry. She’d been a daddy’s girl, too, but she’d never know the joy of walking down the aisle on her dad’s arm.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Come on, Tucker, think about it. She went against her daddy’s wishes and married you. That takes courage, and from what I see on television cop shows, living with a detective ain’t all that easy, either, so it wasn’t a bed of roses after she married you,” Jolene answered.

“I could have been a better husband,” he whispered.

“Yep, and if the situation were reversed and you were the one who died in that car wreck, she would be saying that she shouldn’t have nagged you to take out the trash. Or fussed at you because you had a beer with the other cops after work, or forgot to pick up milk on your way home. Let it go and move on. She loved you enough to marry you, Tucker. She would hate for you to be punishing yourself all this time,” she told him.

“You sound like the therapist I had to see at the station,” he said. “I should be getting back to work.”

“You should’ve listened to that therapist you talked to when you were in the service.” She wondered if she was talking to him, to herself, or to both of them. The therapist she’d seen had told her that she had to realize she’d done all she could, but she hadn’t believed him. Now she wished she’d worked harder at overcoming her own guilt. She’d buried it like a dog did a bone. And then she’d gone back every few months and dug it up again. Tucker was doing the same thing—only he never buried it to begin with. He carried it around with him, slept with it, and kept it close by his side.

“I probably should have, but talking about it with you sure helps.” He leaned a little closer to her and their eyes locked.

For a minute, she thought he might kiss her, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. But then he turned away, focusing on the bayou again. She felt heat rise from her neck to her cheeks.

“Well, it helps me to talk about things, too. I’ve never been real comfortable tellin’ anyone about my mother or Johnny Ray,” she said.

“We’re sure a couple of misfits, aren’t we?” Tucker muttered.