The Magnolia Inn(55)

Tucker’s reflection in the mirror as he stood behind her said that he was as pleased with it as she was.

“It looks wonderful. Think about what the place looked like yesterday when we came home from the auction and how it is now. You’ve done an amazing job, Jolene.”

His warm breath sent a rush of heat through her body, giving her the sudden desire to turn around and kiss him, but she wrapped her arms around her own body and said, “I’ve got this partner that helped me. You should meet him sometime. He’s pretty great.”

“Oh, really. Should I be jealous?” Tucker teased.

She whipped around, and for a split second, she again thought he might kiss her—their lips were that close—but he took a step back.

“Of course not,” Jolene said.

“What if he had more money and was a better carpenter?” Tucker asked.

“Not even then. You don’t have a reason to be jealous,” Jolene answered.

Tucker scanned the room one more time. “Have we forgotten anything?”

“Not anything that I can think of. And your idea for that little table was great,” she said.

“Thank you.” He motioned with a nod for her to go downstairs before him. “Let’s have a cup of hot chocolate while we wait for them. I hate that I’m losing time to work, but this is probably good advertising. We’ve got fifteen minutes until they’ll check in.”

“And if they’re like Aunt Sugar and Uncle Jasper, they’ll be here five minutes early,” she said.

“Word-of-mouth promotion is the best in the world. These folks will go home and tell everyone how we worked to accommodate them.”

“I hope so.” She mentally ran through everything in the room and the bathroom to be sure she hadn’t forgotten a single thing.

The older couple arrived at exactly four o’clock with one light-blue suitcase that had seen better days. The lady, tall and thin, had a magnolia corsage pinned to her white lace dress and shoes that dated back to the late seventies. Her salt-and-pepper hair was swept up in the back, and a circlet of faded silk roses held a shoulder-length veil.

“Hello, we’re Jerry and Mary Anderson. We have reservations,” the husband said.

“Your room is ready,” Tucker said.

“Please forgive the mess,” Jolene said.

“Honey, we don’t care about all that. We just want to spend our anniversary in the same room as our one-night honeymoon, forty years ago,” Mary said. “It reminds us of how much we love each other.”

“I’ll take that suitcase for you,” Tucker said.

“No, thank you,” the lady said.

“It’s our little ritual. Same suitcase as forty years ago. Same clothes. Same room. And now I carry the bag upstairs and then . . .” He kissed his bride on the cheek.

“Jerry will set it beside the door and carry me across the threshold. We’ll be in our room until tomorrow when it’s checkout time.” She tucked her hand in his.

“Since we’re remodeling, we’ll bring breakfast to your room at about eight in the morning,” Jolene said.

“How sweet.” Mary smiled. “We had blueberry muffins and the lightest pancakes. Sugar always remembered. Do you think that could be possible?”

“Of course.” Jolene nodded.

“Okay, darlin’,” Jerry said. “Shall we continue our honeymoon?”

“Yes, darlin’.”

They went up the stairs hand in hand, with the suitcase bumping the wall every now and then. Jolene couldn’t take her eyes from them, and when she heard the door shut, she sighed.

“What a beautiful tradition,” she whispered.

“I need a drink. Want one?”

She shook her head. How could he drink now?

A memory of her mother when they saw a car with “Just Married” written on the back window in shoe polish flashed through Jolene’s mind.

“It makes me sad to think of those happy days. I need a drink,” Elaine had said.

When Jolene had returned home that night, Elaine was passed out on the sofa.

“All this work and they won’t even use the living room or the dining room.” She changed the subject and glanced toward the curtain and cornice that Tucker had hung in the dining room to cover up the huge hole where he’d torn out the wall to get to the plumbing.

“It don’t matter. You sure you don’t want a shot of whiskey or a beer?” he asked.

“No, I don’t, and it matters to me, Tucker,” she said.

“I had what they’ve got,” he said. “Nothing’s filling that hole.”

“I assume we’re talking about your heart and not the wall. What makes you think drinking will help?” She snapped, “You’re a lucky man, you know. You had what I want so bad I can taste it, and instead of being grateful for what you had, you drown your good memories in a bottle.”

“Don’t preach at me,” he growled.

“Don’t make me.” She flounced off to her room to find Sassy sleeping at the foot of her bed.



He wanted to slam the door to his room so much that it took all his willpower to shut it without a sound. Sassy wasn’t anywhere in sight, so he didn’t even have a cat to talk to. He went to the dresser and poured a shot of whiskey in a plastic cup. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared through the cup out the window toward the bayou. Nothing was in focus, just like his life. He set the glass on the nightstand without drinking from it, went back out into the foyer, got his coat, and tucked his keys into his pocket.