Melanie wiggled sock-covered toes and let the flames warm the last part of her that still felt chilled.
She couldn’t remember the last time she sat in front of a fireplace. Probably right after Hope was born when her mother sent her tickets to fly to the East Coast to visit. What a mess that was. Whatever maternal instinct her mother had when she was growing up had disappeared the day her divorce was final. The free trip to Connecticut was to ease her mother’s guilty conscience. Melanie went to try and give Hope a grandmother.
By the time she boarded the plane back to California all hopes of a normal grandparent for her daughter had vanished.
Felicia Bartlett sent her a hundred bucks and a generic birthday card every year . . . sent another check for Christmas. If Melanie could afford to deny the money, she would. But pride didn’t put food on the table. If it were just her, she’d probably send it back. Instead, she put every dollar in a savings account for Hope. It wouldn’t add up to much, but maybe by the time her daughter was driving, she could afford a running car for her.
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.”