“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.”
Melanie scoffed. “You leave high school believing you can conquer the world. Then she kicks your ass.”
Jo lifted her glass. “I can drink to that.”
They sat watching the flames lick the log in the fireplace.
“So Nathan doesn’t help you at all?”
“Once he realized raising a baby meant one of us had to be home at all times . . . that I couldn’t work to support his school, and he couldn’t party when I worked, he stopped playing house. He left the apartment, moved in with a friend. He gave me cash once in a while for the first year . . . then one day he came over and started an argument . . . said he always doubted if Hope was even his.”
“Bastard.”
“Yeah . . . then he left.” Melanie shook the memories away and refilled her glass. The wine was already swimming in her head. She didn’t often drink since there was no one else to take up for Hope if something happened. Having Jo there gave her some peace to relax.
“I’m really sorry, Mel.”
She shrugged. “I am, too. Not about Hope. I mean sure, at first, the enormity of becoming a parent before I got my shit together scared me to death. It’s been hard, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”
“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.”