The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend)

by Liz Talley

  “Mrs. Stanton, I know how this whole thing looks, but John and I aren’t together. He’s merely giving me a hand by—”

  “I know what he’s giving you. I know men and I’m not blind. I saw you on Thanksgiving and it wasn’t innocent.”

  Shelby frowned, her blue eyes contrite. “I think you’ve misunderstood the situation. John still loves Rebecca. I know that.”

  Carla went still, her dead heart thunking hollow with each pulse of blood. The world slowed down; the store faded around her. All that existed was this stupid, stupid girl talking about her Rebecca. “You don’t know anything. You don’t have the right to say her name, much less sleep in the house she lived in her entire life. Now get your cart out of my way before I cause a huge scene by knocking your head off.”

  The woman drew back, her pretty blue eyes as round as the discounted cantaloupes sitting beyond her shoulder. “But I found something of your daughter’s you might want.”

  A terrible impulse to hurt the woman invaded Carla. She clenched the cart. “I took everything I wanted and stop speaking her name,” Carla said, ramming Shelby’s cart out of the way. The clash of metal on metal caused the woman weighing a bag of apples to squeak.

  Shelby gasped, stumbling backward, nearly colliding with a rack of raw nuts sitting beside the banana bin. Jimmy, apparently catching the melee out of the corner of his eye, hurried over.

  “Everything okay, ladies?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’m ready to check out,” Carla said, reversing direction, heading for the front, away from the horrible woman who thought she could smooth things over. Probably knew all about Carla and the trust. Probably thought she could smile and look innocent, all the while wheedling her way into a life that didn’t belong to her. Into a house and money that belonged to the Stantons.

  Carla didn’t look back, kept rolling toward the checkout even though she could hear Jimmy inquiring if Shelby was okay. Typical dumb sheep. All Shelby had to do was bat those thick eyelashes and wiggle that tight rump and men jumped to do her bidding, jumped to make sure the mean ol’ witch hadn’t hurt her widdle self.

  Pure hate coursed through her at the thought of Shelby...what was her last name?

  Mackey.

  Shelby Mackey didn’t belong in John’s bed...or Breezy Hill...or Magnolia Bend. John had belonged to Rebecca and so had this town, a place she’d loved from the moment she’d toddled into the post office and the Head over Heels shoe store and the First National Bank. This had been the Stantons’ home for generations, and she would be damned if she let Shelby make a place for herself in the town her daughter had loved so well.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JOHN WALKED FROM the barn, the twilight a descending curtain on opening night. Jolly stars winked at him as Freddy stood silent on the back stoop waiting for him to give him a scratch under the chin. Unlike every other night for the past year and three months, his kitchen glowed like coals in the hearth, warm with potential.

  “Evening, Fred,” John said, bending and giving the ragged-eared Tom a scratch.

  Shelby appeared at the kitchen door. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said, feeling the immediate intimacy, the instantaneous firing of his blood at the sight of her curvy shadow against the screen door. The scent of food permeated the air. “You cooking?”

  “No, I’m trying to cook. There’s a difference, trust me,” she said, pushing the door open and stepping back so he could enter. He toed off his work boots leaving them on the stoop and stepped inside. So normal. Like he did this every day.

  Of course when he saw the kitchen, he nearly backed out the door. The counter was a colossal disaster with open egg cartons, a gallon of milk and a spray of white flour across the backsplash. Bowls of every shape and size sat along the counter along with apple peels, bottles of oil and a pack of butter. And—

  “Is something burning?” he asked, eyeing the stove.

  “Oh, my God,” Shelby squeaked, racing to the pan where gray smoke had started to billow. “I forgot about the green beans.”

  Grabbing a spoon, she stirred the blackening beans and shoved the sizzling pan to the back burner, twisting the knob to extinguish the fire.

  “Shit,” she said, dropping her forehead into her hands.

  A buzzer sounded on the double ovens and she spun and grabbed the oven mitt and opened the oven. Carefully pulling the pan out, she set it on the burner she’d just extinguished...and then frowned at it. “It doesn’t look cooked.”

  He walked over and peered over her shoulder at the pork chops sitting in the pan. She’d covered them with flour and breadcrumbs, but they hadn’t baked.

  Glancing back at the ovens, he noted she had taken the chops from the top oven, which hadn’t been turned on. The bottom oven, however, radiated heat. “I think you turned on the bottom oven and not the top.”

  He turned to smile at her and tell her it was okay, but it wasn’t.

  Poor Shelby swayed, lip trembling, wiping tears from her eyes. She wore an apron he’d never seen before, and she’d gathered her hair into a low knot from which several strands escaped to hang in her face. “I suck at this. I wanted to be... Ugh. I’m so stupid.”

  John walked over and grasped her shoulders. “Hey, it was a nice gesture—one of the nicest things anyone has done for me in a while.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him, sniffling, her hands hanging at her side. “I thought I could cook something healthy for us. I knew you’d be hungry, and I’m starving. Look at this crap. We can’t eat it.”

  He pulled her to him, giving her a hug, before releasing her. “I’ll help you clean up the mess. Put the chops in the bottom oven to cook, and we’ll have them in sandwiches tomorrow. Have you ever had a pork chop sandwich? They’re delicious.”

  “I don’t eat meat,” she said, still frowning at the pan. “But what about tonight?”

  “We’ll toss the green beans, and I’ll make you a John Beauchamp omelet that will make you slap your mama.”

  “My mother’s in Seattle.”

  “Yeah, but my omelets are so good you might be tempted to fly up there just to slap her,” he joked, really wanting to kiss his sad Shelby until she smiled again, but not daring because he knew he might not be able to stop once he started. Besides she wasn’t his. She was his bona fide roommate. That was it, even if he fantasized about her in the shower, beneath the patchwork quilt wearing pink polka-dot panties and in the barn wearing a pair of cutoff shorts that showed the curve of her ass.

  Shelby’s lips twitched. “Guess my mom will have to risk it. An omelet sounds good. Besides, my apple cobbler will be okay. We can have that for dessert.”

  “Apple cobbler?” he asked, his stomach growling appropriately. Apple pie or cobbler was his absolute favorite. “I hope I have some vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”

  “I bought some,” she said.

  “Oh, woman, you will have me fat and happy in no time.”

  Her expression shifted. “Would that be so bad? For you to have a little happiness?”

  John’s heart skipped a beat at her earnestness, at her longing to make him a little bit happy. “Wouldn’t be bad at all, Shelby. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll clean up the dishes while you make the omelet.” She spun toward the stove and lifted the pan with the charred green beans. “I’ll start by dumping these in the trash.”

  John cleared off a space on the counter and plucked out the five eggs left in the carton. Bart’s tail thumped a content beat on the old wood floors as John and Shelby worked rhythmically to restore order and create dinner. He found some shrimp that his sister had put in the freezer in late September and made his special gravy. Luckily, he had some green onions that weren’t too wilted and some mild cheese to add flavor. If he’d had some Andouille sausage, it would have been better, but
he hadn’t had time to go to the butcher last week.

  Fifteen minutes later, he and Shelby sat down at the table with omelets, a garden salad and the promise of apple cobbler.

  “This is amazing,” Shelby said, stabbing a piece of omelet and swirling it in the sauce. She looked pretty happy to be digging into something after having a small breakdown earlier. She ate with appreciation, even making a small “mmm” sound in her throat when she first tasted the sauce.

  “Yeah,” he said, making short work of his salad.

  “You can cook. I eat a little fish and some shellfish, but I’ve never had it prepared this way.”

  “I’m a Louisiana man. I’m great on the grill and I’m good with Louisiana dishes like étouffée and jambalaya. I don’t bake.”

  “My housekeeper, Mosa, made the best dishes. She’s from South Africa and would infuse exotic spices into her cooking. I hold her fully responsible for my teenage fat years. I couldn’t say no to her cooking.” Affection shadowed her voice, telling him more than how she was raised...more like who had raised her.

  “So you grew up with a housekeeper? Live-in?”

  “Yeah. My parents were rarely home, so they wanted a full-time housekeeper and nanny. I’m the youngest, sort of a surprise to parents who wanted only two children. A mistake. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” She said it with a laugh, but he could hear the pain in her voice. His Playboy Bunny had been raised in the shadows, far from the sunshine she projected. No wonder she used humor to deflect unpleasantness.

  “I don’t think you were a mistake any more than I think the child growing inside you is a mistake. Maybe he or she stemmed from our being irresponsible, though I still can’t figure out how the pregnancy happened in the first place. Bad condom, I suppose. But it was meant to be.”

  Shelby set her fork on her plate and stared at the saltshakers for a moment before lifting her gaze to his. “Do you truly believe that?”

  Something inside him moved. He’d already devoured his omelet, so it could have been some residual air in his gut, but he was fairly certain the movement was something else, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Not desire, but something deeper and more satisfying. “Yeah, I do. This thing between us, this whole experience that unites us, happened for a reason. Two people who had no good reason for being at Boots Grocery shared a laugh, shared more than a few drinks and leaned on each other in an effort to lessen what hurt them. From that need to feel something more than pain, a child was created. He’s not a mistake.”

  “Or she.”

  “Or she,” he conceded, grappling at the idea of a daughter with blond hair, blue eyes and a sweet voice that called “daddy.” Something inside him moved again, clamping down on his heart, making his throat scratchy. “You and I were strangers, but we aren’t strangers anymore. You came to move me from the horrible place I’d been stuck. And maybe you’ve found where you’re meant to be, too.”

  “Here?”

  John hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Maybe so.”

  He watched as her throat worked to swallow whatever had crept up on her. Tears sheened her eyes again, and he felt like she wanted to believe him, wanted to think they’d been brought together for a bigger purpose. And Lord help him, he wanted her to believe that.

  Finally, she said, “Do you believe in fate?”

  “I believe in goodness. I believe you and I deserve some good in our life. Maybe fate brought you here for more than a baby. Maybe you’re home.” This time his words weren’t about slanting things so she’d stay. They were true. He’d place his hand on the Bible he’d left sitting on the counter yesterday and swear as much. Shelby in Magnolia Bend was meant to be.

  “So much is uncertain in my life,” she said. “I feel like I’m from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Half of me loves the idea of staying here—the other half feels as if I’m a fraud, trying to play at something I’m not suited to play.”

  He thought about that, about being where she was in life, and understood. “One day at a time is a good strategy.”

  Shelby nodded. “Yeah, it is, but eventually my stomach will grow. Eventually, we’ll have to tell your family about, well, not the mistake we made, but about the child we made. Eventually, I’ll have to find a real teaching job and it won’t be at St. George’s. And eventually, I’ll have to decide whether I will stay in Louisiana and make a life here, where the father of my child lives, or go back to Seattle and establish a life for me and the baby. Once everyone knows I’m pregnant with our baby, decisions will have to be made.”

  Shelby was unequivocally correct. Once they broke the seal on the secret, the gig was up. Carla popped into his mind, along with the anger she’d demonstrated a few days ago. Some would not understand; some would think he dishonored Rebecca.

  But at one time, he thought the same way.

  Holding Shelby, laughing, sinking into her, losing himself had felt so freeing, but afterward, he’d felt like he’d destroyed his vows to Rebecca. Didn’t matter her body lay in Field of Memories Cemetery four miles down the road. Their love transcended death, and he’d stomped on it because he’d wanted to feel a woman’s arms around him again. Because he had wanted to feel like a man again.

  But as he’d said those words about “meant to be” earlier, he had believed them. So when had he stopped viewing Shelby as a mistake? When had he stopped resenting the trouble she’d laid at his door? Maybe it was when he’d pictured himself chasing a small toddler around the living room, playing rodeo. Or maybe the vision of himself teaching a blond ponytailed seven-year-old how to ride her bike down the gravel road? Or maybe it was realizing he needed to concrete the drive so there was a place to ride a bike? Didn’t matter. Thing was, John had changed in less than a week.

  Felt like a miracle.

  Felt like a gift.

  John couldn’t overthink it. If he thought too much about the way he felt, he’d stifle what he had growing inside him.

  Trouble would come. He knew this, but he wasn’t willing to forsake the next few weeks of getting to know Shelby better, of hiding their secret from the world for a bit longer.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Things will get rocky for us when we tell the world about our child, but we can prepare better by knowing each other. I’ll tell my mom and dad soon. And Carla—”

  “Who hates me,” Shelby interrupted.

  “She doesn’t hate you,” he said.

  “Oh, I beg to differ.”

  “She’s been hurt and she’s angry at me. Doesn’t matter that what she thinks about us is wrong. In her eyes, I let go of Rebecca when I let you move in.”

  “A baby won’t make that better. It’ll make it worse.” Shelby pushed the remainder of her salad around her plate. “What can she do to you?”

  “Well, essentially I’m an employee of the trust. Carla controls the trust.”

  “Can she fire you?”

  “Yeah, she could. She could make me leave Breezy Hill, but I don’t think it will come to that. She needs me to run the place. It would be irresponsible and irrational to send me packing. I’m still her family.”

  Shelby arched an eyebrow.

  John couldn’t imagine Carla taking Breezy Hill from him merely because he no longer rambled about the place, haunted by misery. The woman he knew wouldn’t punish him for wanting to feel something besides regret, would she? “And then everyone else will find out. We might face potential censure from a few folks in the town but—”

  “You sure you don’t work for Magnolia Bend tourism? Suddenly I so want to stay here,” Shelby drawled.

  John gave a wry smile. “Sounds like fun, huh?”

  “A blast.”

  “I’m just ticking off what might be coming down the pipe with the main point being we need this time to learn about each other, to be
come a solid front.”

  “A team?”

  “Exactly. We’re about to become parents, and no matter what happens between us, we need to put the baby first and treat one another and each decision made with respect. The best way to do that is to do exactly what we’re doing here tonight.”

  “Eating?”

  “Working together, giving each other a break, caring about each other. For example, even though it was a bit of a disaster, it was kind of you to fix me dinner.”

  Shelby smiled and it filled up some of the empty places in his heart. The woman made pretty merely an adjective. Her face lit when she smiled, that sparkling thing happened with her blue eyes. “I wish dinner would have turned out better, though it smells like the chops are cooking. Maybe not a total disaster.”

  John scooted back his chair, lifting his empty plate. “See? Even disasters can be salvaged, and I’ll enjoy the hell out of my pork chop sandwich tomorrow.”

  “This positive spin you put on things seems atypical to your character. The man I met months ago was so...so not apt to see a positive side of anything.”

  He stilled at those words. They were true. Even Shelby could see the metamorphosis of his spirit. “I’m trying.”

  She placed one hand on her stomach. “A baby changes everything.”

  “That’s what they say in commercials,” he said, turning his back to her so she couldn’t see how vulnerable his admission made him.

  “So for the next month, we’re taking it one day at a time, filling in the lines on our coloring sheet?” Shelby said, picking up her own plate and cleaning it.

  Interesting way to put it. “And finding out what colors work best. If we make a mistake, we’ll change crayons and figure it out. Whatever comes once we announce the pregnancy, we’ll handle as best we can, relying on the fact we respect each other.”

  “Sounds so simple,” she muttered, setting the plate on the counter and sliding the cobbler off the shelf of the baking rack. “Like apple pie.”