The Magnolia Inn(7)

Five miles south of town, she turned left, inched down the lane to the big Victorian-looking inn set back in the tall pines, and parked the truck among them. She plopped down on the porch swing and set it in motion with her foot. How would it work if someone bought a half interest in the place? Would they want to live there, or would they just be a silent partner?



Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana

Sugar clapped her hands when they spotted an RV place right close to the lake that first day of their journey. She loved being near the water, and Jasper couldn’t wait to get his fishing equipment out and see if the fish were biting.

“Before you do that, let’s call Reuben and Jolene.” Sugar touched her phone screen and brought up the contacts, hit Reuben’s name, and handed it off to Jasper. “You can go first.”

“Hello,” Reuben said over the speaker.

“Guess where we are!” Jasper’s voice sounded like a little boy’s at Christmas.

“Who is this?” Reuben sounded irritated, maybe even angry.

“It’s your uncle Jasper,” Sugar said. “We’ve started our trip. We’re camped right by Lake Pontchartrain. Have you and Jolene gotten reacquainted? She said y’all were meeting today.”

“We met,” Reuben said.

“And?” Jasper winked at Sugar.

“I listed my half with a Realtor. I hated that place when I was a kid. Why would I ever want to live there? I’ll use that money to take my colleagues on a cruise over spring break, and what’s left to buy a new car. So I guess I owe you thanks for that.” Reuben’s tone had changed from angry to sarcastic.

“I’d hoped that . . .” Jasper looked like he might burst into tears.

“You gave it to me with no strings. I did what I wanted with it,” Reuben said. “I really have to go now. I’ve got plans for this evening. And if some idiot comes along who wants to buy half interest in a money pit, then I’ll thank you again for a nice vacation and a new car. Goodbye.”

The phone screen went dark.

The RV went silent.

Sugar moved closer to Jasper and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, darlin’.”

“I should’ve given my half to Jolene. I just wanted to believe that this would . . .” Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Sugar’s tears mixed with his, because she never could let anyone cry alone. “Let’s go fishin’ together to take our minds off this. I’ll call Jolene another time. She’s probably too hoppin’ mad to talk right now anyway.”

“I love you.” Jasper held her tightly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You were.” Sugar pushed away from him. “You did nothing wrong. You followed your heart. Who knows how all this will turn out? We’re hurting today, but maybe tomorrow we’ll look back on this and see that it was all for the good.”

“I hope so.” Jasper wiped at his cheeks.





Chapter Three

Tucker Malone had just polished off his third beer and was reaching for another when his cell phone rang. He checked the ID, saw that it was Belinda, and ignored it. He wasn’t ready to start another job for a few days. He wanted to hole up in his tiny trailer, drink a few beers, eat bologna sandwiches, and watch old reruns on television with Sassy beside him. When he got ready to work, he’d call her.

This was a holiday, by damn, and he deserved a little time off. He looked around at the tiny travel trailer and imagined Melanie in the kitchen, like she had been that last night they were together. They’d spent every weekend they could get out of the big city camping out at the lake—doing some fishing, having a few beers, and planning their future.

He blinked back the tears. He’d lost her, all over a quart of milk. She’d needed it for breakfast the next morning and insisted on driving into town while he fished for their supper. After the auto accident that killed her, he drowned his grief in a bottle.

The weekend drinking had turned daily and cost him his job. That’s when he’d gone to the cemetery and promised Melanie he’d only drink on Friday and Saturday nights. The next day he’d brought the trailer from Dallas to Marshall, Texas, the area where she’d grown up, where her parents and two brothers still lived, and where she was buried. He’d thought that living close to where she was raised would help.

It didn’t.

But her old school friend, Belinda, a Realtor, had kept him in enough remodeling jobs to buy beer, bologna, and cat food. The trailer had looked like hammered owl shit when he and Melanie had bought it, and it still did. The rust spots had spread in two years, and he’d never bothered to underpin it, but it was big enough for him and Sassy, and it kept the rain off. As long as he could come home to Melanie’s picture every evening, he didn’t care what the trailer looked like.

He carried his go-bag and a beer over to the RV park bathroom and shivered through a barely warm shower. They’d camped out in the trailer and skinny-dipped in lakes and rivers that were colder than this, but he’d had her warm body next to him in those days. He quickly dried off, got dressed in a pair of old Dallas PD sweats, and jogged from the brick building back to his trailer. Once inside, he pushed Sassy out of the way and dived under a blanket on the sofa.

“Dammit! I left my beer over in the bathroom. Sassy, darlin’, be a good girl and go get it for me,” he said.