“Did it do any good?”

“Yes and no. It taught me that I had to figure out things for myself. No pill or shot of liquor or talkin’ to a stranger would help. Maybe some folks do better than I did, or maybe I didn’t give it enough time, but . . .” She shrugged.

“I’ve been to therapists,” he said and then wondered if he’d said that out loud.

“For detective stuff?” she asked. “Like on television shows when they fire their guns and have to go in before they can have their badge and weapon back?”

“That and . . .” He paused.

He wondered if she even heard him, since she didn’t look up from her plate.

“When my wife was killed,” he went on, “two years ago last fall. It didn’t help me, either, but I can’t blame it on the therapist. I was pretty self-destructive during that time. I drank too much, got fired because of it, and decided to move here, since this is where she grew up. I thought it would help, but it didn’t. Started doing odd jobs for her best friend, who’s in the real estate business. I’ve had all the work I can do.”

“Are you still self-destructive?” She finished off her doughnut.

“Only on Saturday nights. That was date night for us.” He’d never even told the therapist that, but it was easier talking to Jolene than that old guy the police department had sent him to. “But I’ve got this new partner who has a terrific cure for hangovers, and for the first time in a very long while, I won’t need it tomorrow morning.”

“Your new partner has a cure because she had to use it really often for her mother.” Jolene covered a yawn with her hand. “I’m going to bed. I’m not goin’ to pass go, collect two hundred dollars, or even take a shower until morning. Good night, Tucker.”

Just like that, she was gone. He’d just told her about Melanie and she hadn’t told him that he’d get over it or that time would help—none of those things folks usually told him when he mentioned her name. She’d listened—like he had when she’d told him about her mother. But talking to her about it made him feel better than he had in months.

A pang of guilt hit Tucker smack in the heart. He’d never want to inflict pain on Jolene like what he’d heard in her voice when she said that about her mother. She sure didn’t need to take care of him every weekend like she had her mother. It was time for him to straighten up and move on, but the thought of leaving Melanie behind didn’t seem right—not at all.

Chapter Twelve

This is not what I was expecting at all,” Jolene said as Tucker parked in front of Lucy’s house that Sunday afternoon.

“I figured Lucy would live in a two-story painted lady,” Tucker said.

“Me, too, but this is the address she gave me.” Jolene checked her phone, then glanced up at the house number on the porch post and turned around in her seat to see if they were on the right street. It all checked out. “And there’s Dotty’s van and Flossie’s car in the driveway, so I guess we are here.”

“All those years you visited your aunt, you never went to any of their homes?” Tucker asked.

Jolene frowned as she tried to remember. “No, never. Aunt Sugar would have never, ever let me go to the bar, and the ladies always came out to the inn. It doesn’t look like the home of an antique dealer, does it? Seems strange, but when I was here, we even had Sunday dinner at the Magnolia. I wonder when they started taking turns.”

“Maybe the inside is different,” Tucker said.

As she walked up the sidewalk to the porch, Jolene looked up and down the block. Lucy’s little brick house built on what they used to call a ranch plan was the last one on the block with three other houses about the same size. Two were painted white and one was yellow brick. They each had a one-car attached garage and small, well-manicured front lawn. They looked like they’d all been built in the seventies, from the same floor plan—small porch, garage, and a picture window with drapes drawn back to let in the light. Modern houses in that day and age, and still pretty much so even now, but nothing like what Jolene had imagined an antique dealer would live in.

Tucker knocked on the doorframe and glanced down at Jolene. She could feel him staring at her and looked up into his eyes. There was a difference in him that day, as if he’d shed some of the stuff weighing down his soul. They both started to say something at the same time.

“You go first,” he said.

“I was just thinking,” she started, but before she could say another word, Lucy swung the door wide-open and motioned them inside.

She wore an apron printed with Hershey Kisses all over it. “Will work for kisses” was embroidered in sparkly gold thread across the bib. “Y’all come right in. We’ve just about got the dinner on the table. I was hungry for fried chicken today, so we skipped church and we’ve been cookin’ since eleven o’clock.” She raised her voice. “The kids are here. Y’all get them potatoes mashed and the biscuits out of the oven. I’m going to talk to them in the living room.”

Jolene could hardly believe her eyes when she entered the small living room: a black leather sofa; shiny, modern black end tables; a soft, pure-white leather recliner with a bright-red pillow on it. She should make a comment, anything, but nothing came to mind.

Lucy pointed at the recliner. “Have a seat, Tucker. It’ll be at least five minutes. You’re shocked by my style, aren’t you, Jolene? When you work around antiques all day, you don’t want to come home and look at them all evening. You can sit right there on the end of the sofa, honey. It’s real comfortable.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve always been the modern gal among us four. Dotty was the wild one. Sugar was the sweet one that held us all together, and Flossie wore lots of hats, but mostly I think she was just someone to fuss at me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jolene said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. And believe me, Lucy, I did not grow up around antiques in West Texas, either. This room looks like the living room we had when my dad was alive, except the leather furniture was brown.”

“Shocked and rude are two different things. I bought this house back in the seventies and thought it would be a good starter home. Evidently, it’s been a good permanent home, because I’m still here,” Lucy said.

“It’s very nice,” Tucker said. “Reminds me of the house my grandparents had in McKinney, only theirs had some acreage around it.”

“Dinner’s on the table,” Flossie called out.

“That’s our cue,” Lucy said. “Follow me.”

Memories flooded through Jolene’s mind. The house was built on practically the same floor plan as the one she’d grown up in. She remembered family pictures hanging in the hallway. There’d been one of her at her first dance recital in a little yellow outfit. Elaine had decided that Jolene needed to do something to come out of her shell and enrolled her in ballet. Jolene had been five years old that year and she’d hated the class, but it meant a time when Elaine had been proud of her.

She’d sat in her empty room and cried the day she and her mom had moved from the house to the trailer. The closet in the new place was small, but she took all her clothing. Her bed wouldn’t fit in her new bedroom, so she wound up with the futon from the den. As she stared at Lucy’s pictures, the pain of that day came back. She tried to push it and the memories aside, but a picture surfaced of her sweet sixteen party. Elaine had insisted on having it at the country club. Boys had been invited, and Jolene danced with a few of them throughout the night even though she hardly knew them. They were sons of Elaine’s friends. The boy she’d been seeing wasn’t invited because her mother didn’t think he was good enough for her.

The emptiness of the whole evening came back to Jolene as she remembered. The only thing that was a positive memory was that her mother had been happy. But then, of course, she should have been. Jolene’s dad was still alive and was willing and able to give her anything she wanted, and she was at the country club, where she was the queen of the party.

“Are you all right?” Lucy laid a hand on her shoulder. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Your house brought back memories,” she answered honestly.

And the feelings that went along with them, she thought.

“I hope they were good.” Lucy led them on into the kitchen. “Now, Tucker, you can sit at the head of the table, but I will say grace. And you”—she pointed at Dotty—“don’t say a word. I still believe in God even if I have skipped out on church today.”

“Just don’t pray so long that the chicken gets cold,” Dotty said.

It was as if they had permanent seating arrangements wherever they went. Dotty and Lucy sat on one side of the table. Flossie and Jolene took up the other side, and Tucker got the king’s chair.

Jolene’s favorite meal was home-fried chicken with all the trimmings, yet she hadn’t had it since Aunt Sugar made it for her more than three years ago. Her mind went back to the few visits she’d had in Jefferson after her mother died. Working six nights a week and playing catch-up on her errands the other day didn’t leave much time to drive across the whole state of Texas for a fried chicken dinner. But she had been faithful about calling her aunt twice a week and had always looked forward to their talks.

“Amen,” Lucy said.

Jolene hadn’t heard a word of the prayer, but she said “Amen” right along with Tucker, Dotty, and Flossie. Her stomach growled as she looked over the table.

“It was three years ago at Christmas,” she said.

Dotty put a chicken leg and a wing on her plate. “What about three years ago?”

“The last time I came home to the Magnolia. Aunt Sugar made me a meal like this. There’s not a restaurant in the world that can touch this kind of dinner,” Jolene answered.

The last Christmas she spent with her father, they’d gone to a restaurant because her mother didn’t want to cook a big dinner for only three people. The last one she’d spent with her mother had been just another day. Elaine had spent the day drinking, and Jolene had worked a double shift at a twenty-four-hour truck stop. She’d taken supper home that night, but Elaine was already passed out on the sofa, so she’d eaten alone.