The Sweet Smell of Magnolias and Memories
Page 1
ACCLAIM FOR CELESTE FLETCHER MCHALE
“A heart-tugging exploration of realistic hard circumstances and finding your way when all seems lost. Redemption and grace flow through the pages, along with true-to-life characters and McHale's classic humor, culminating in a story you won't want to put down until it's done.”
—CATHERINE WEST, AUTHOR OF THE THINGS WE KNEW AND
THE MEMORY OF YOU ON THE SWEET SMELL OF MAGNOLIAS AND MEMORIES
“Nobody writes friendship like Celeste Fletcher McHale. Delightfully witty and equally touching, The Sweet Smell of Magnolias & Memories will have you in stitches one moment and tug at your heart strings the next. We hope this is the second study in a long line of southern friendship stories.”
—THE LADIES SOUTHERN LIT SOCIETY
“Funny and heart warming. The friendships are so authentic you feel like you know these women. Already looking forward to her next offering.”
—LOU-ALTAZAN BROWN, WIFE OF LA STATE REPRESENTATIVE TERRY
R. BROWN ON THE SWEET SMELL OF MAGNOLIAS AND MEMORIES
“Celeste is a master storyteller who captures the intricacies of relationships like no other. She has been steeped in the southern tradition of narrative and understands the power of fiction to shape a soul. Not to mention, she makes readers laugh out loud, and that’s no small power.”
—JULIE CANTRELL, NYT AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
ON THE SWEET SMELL OF MAGNOLIAS AND MEMORIES
“A delightful, heartwarming, and heart wrenching story that captures the beauty and essence of living in a small, southern town. A must read for ALL girls, 18 to 80.”
—LADIES SOUTHERN LIT SOCIETY ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
“The book starts out as chick lit but then takes a sharp turn on the genre and gives us something much more . . . a real look at the kind of remarkable female friendships that so many of us experience in real life but few books ever capture. I laughed and I wept, and readers will too. Wow.”
—LINDA STASI, COLUMNIST NEW YORK DAILY NEWS, AUTHOR OF
THE SIXTH STATION AS WELL AS SIX NONFICTION BOOKS, TV COMMENTATOR
FOR NYI, (WHAT A WEEK) ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
“McHale’s debut novel is such an amazing surprise. Just when you think you’ve heard this song before, the music changes. It will make you laugh out loud and make you cry and stay with you long after the read is done. All in all, a brilliant raw look at life.”
—MELISSA GREGO, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF AT BROADCASTING &
CABLE ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
“McHale’s magnificently penned novel is a story which demonstrates the power of genuine female friendships. The writing is sharp, fresh, and delivered to the reader with finesse and humor . . . a remarkable debut novel that is a must read for all who sincerely believe true friendship is a gift to be treasured.”
—MK TORRANCE, GOODREADS MASTER REVIEWER
ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
“Highly recommend this book to bookclubs everywhere. In a world where fake friendship is celebrated, it was most refreshing to read a story that defines what true friendship really is.”
—THE DALLAS DOZEN BOOKCLUB ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
“Finally! A REAL story about REAL friendship! Get the tissues ready . . . for the happy tears and sad ones too.”
—GRANT JUNIOR LEAGUE ON THE SECRET TO HUMMINGBIRD CAKE
Copyright © 2017 by Celeste Fletcher McHale
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: McHale, Celeste Fletcher, 1961- author.
Title: The sweet smell of magnolia and memories / Celeste Fletcher McHale.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2017]
Epub Edition April 2017 ISBN 9780718034245
Identifiers: LCCN 2017004726 | ISBN 9780718039844 (paperback)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3613.C4998 S94 2017 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017004726
Printed in the United States of America
17 18 19 20 21 22 /LSC/ 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my precious Aunt Betty who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. And for Candy Sue. I know you are still in there somewhere. We miss you.
CONTENTS
Acclaim for Celeste Fletcher Mchale
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PROLOGUE
He kissed her again.
“Don’t lose that number, Jacey,” he said, the rain beating down on both of them, stinging and biting their bodies. He quickly shoved the card into her pocket.
“Wait, let me write down mine too,” Jacey said, frantically grabbing the pen, then dropping it into the water. “Oh no.”
“There’s no time,” Colin said. “You have to go. Get in the boat. Find me. Call me.”
“I will. I promise,” she said. “Be careful, Colin. Please be careful.”
“I will,” he said. “Now, go. Hurry!”
She climbed into the boat, soaking wet, shivering, and as hungry as she’d ever been in her life. She ached all over. There were scrapes and cuts and bruises all over her body, and mud caked her hair. But all of those things seemed minor compared to the pain she felt leaving him behind. Tears filled her eyes as they sped away, and she watched Colin standing on the rooftop until he disappeared from her sight. Then she finally allowed herself to cry. She held the young boy in her arms and felt every ounce of fear she’d carefully hidden for the past seventy-two-hours stream down her face. She’d wanted to sob a dozen times before now, but crying would have
been an indulgence. Floods were no time for indulgences.
She watched the tops of trees as they flew by—the only scenery in this watery world, save for a stray rooftop that appeared from the shadows every now and then. She still had no idea where she was or where she’d been, surely having drifted miles away from her original destination. Three days before, she’d been chasing a story she was writing for a regional Southern magazine. A story about rural life in a modern world . . . which seemed like a whole different existence now. She knew she had been forever changed by this experience and was anxious to be home—to open her laptop one day soon and transfer the feelings from her mind to written words while her heart was still raw.
Surely they would find civilization soon. They could have been anywhere on the map, floating on top of a city or a valley or a school. She wondered how long it would take before she could lie down at night without hearing the rolling and almost constant threatening thunder that made her want to scream and cover her ears. She took a deep breath. It was nearly over. Couldn’t she relax now? She felt a cautious relief begin to seep in. Soon, they would be back on solid earth, and she would very well kiss the ground when they got there. They were going to be all right. She looked down at the boy in the boat, and he grinned broadly at her, his dimples cutting into his cheeks. She kissed his forehead and hugged him close against her. Then she smiled at Lillian and her other three boys. They were going to make it.
Just as that thought entered her mind, she heard screams and a deafening boom. She felt a quick and hard jolt, then a flying sensation. The last thing she remembered was being submerged in water. Again.
CHAPTER ONE
“I thought this day would never come,” Willow Washington said as she swirled around in front of the full-length mirror and admired her reflection in the yards and yards of silk and lace and pearls. “I can’t believe I’m getting married today.”
“I can’t believe you made us wear these dresses.” Jacey Lang frowned and smoothed the taffeta on her skirt. “I can’t decide if I look like an overgrown sweet potato or the Great Pumpkin. How many yards of material gave their lives for these puffy sleeves? What were you thinking?”
“She was thinking she wanted all eyes on her,” Georgia Bankston said, smoothing down her twin pumpkin dress.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, smarty-pants,” Willow said, never taking her eyes off the mirror. “And this is exactly how I always dreamed of looking like as a bride.”
“You do look beautiful,” Jacey said. “I just don’t think it was necessary to make us look quite so . . . bad.” She tugged underneath her skirt.
“Haven’t you heard?” Willow mused. “Orange is the new black.”
“Well, tonfetti ain’t the new cotton,” Jacey said.
Willow and Georgia laughed. “It’s taffeta,” Georgia said. “And it really isn’t that bad. I mean, we make the dresses look good, huh? Or I would, minus the extra twenty pounds I’m dragging around.”
Jacey pulled at the material. “It’s Velcro,” she said. “And you aren’t fat. Everybody gains a little weight now and then.” Jacey adjusted the baby’s breath entwined in her chocolate brown hair and tried to appreciate the dress. Didn’t work. It was, indeed, awful.
“Everybody except you,” Georgia said.
“I gain a little sometimes,” Jacey protested.
“Do not,” Georgia said.
“Do too,” Jacey answered.
“Stop!” Willow said. “The color of your dresses is gorgeous, and so are both of you. Do you realize how pretty the pictures will be?”
Jacey raised her brow. “Whatever,” she said, pushing the dress down against her legs again. Of course it popped right back into place. “It’s your day, Willow. I guess I can take it. For a little while.”
Willow smiled at the mirror again and Jacey chuckled. Willow was on cloud nine and paying little attention to Jacey’s whining.
“You really do look incredible,” Georgia said. “Does a wedding gown just automatically make a woman gorgeous?”
“I’m gonna say an emphatic no,” Jacey said. “Remember Tara Davis’s wedding?”
“Ohhhhh . . . ,” Willow and Georgia said in unison. Then all three observed a moment of silence.
“A psychedelic chicken comes to mind,” Jacey said. “Or maybe an ostrich. And big dresses. Big hair. Giant hair, actually.”
“I understand trying to be unique,” Willow said, “but the colors.”
“And the boas . . . ,” Georgia added.
“And the live swans dyed magenta,” Jacey said. “That has to be against some sort of animal cruelty code.”
“Didn’t seem to bother the swans while they were bobbing for bugs in the champagne fountain,” Georgia said.
“Tara should’ve worn white,” Willow said. “Brides should always wear white. Even if they aren’t as pure as the driven snow.”
“Like Tara,” Georgia said.
They laughed.
Jacey looked at her friends and felt a little twinge of sadness. She’d met them both on their very first day of college at LSU. They were scared freshmen trying desperately to act like they knew what was going on, but all three of them were lost looking for orientation. They struck up a conversation in the quad and realized they all lived in the same dorm. By the end of freshman year, they’d become fast and loyal friends. The summer before their sophomore year, they moved into a condo off campus. Three years after graduating, they still lived together. At least, Jacey and Georgia would. Willow would be moving out when she returned from her Jamaican honeymoon, which was the sad part. Still, Jacey was happy for her friend and knew Colby would be a great husband. Willow would make him happy too. Assuming he liked ramen noodles.
Jacey loved these women. They had been there for each other through some of the worst parts of their lives. Willow had lost two of her grandparents in the last two years. Jacey and Georgie had spent many hours consoling her, letting her talk, holding her while she cried. Georgie had gone through a breakup that had changed her entire life. She’d been with the same boy since she was fourteen years old. He was the only love she’d ever known—and to find out he had cheated on her not once, not twice, but many, many times had nearly killed her. And what Georgia and Willow had done for Jacey after the flood . . . Jacey squeezed her brown eyes shut. She didn’t want to think about that today. Or about Colin.
“Okay, ladies, it’s time.” The wedding planner appeared at the door and announced the occasion in her game-show-host voice. That ultra-excited tone made Jacey and Georgia want to crack up, but Willow loved the girl and her enthusiasm. Even if it did make them feel like they’d just won a new car. Jacey and Georgia smiled at each other.
“Wait,” Jacey said, tugging at the front of her dress. “Let me fix my cleavage.”
“You wish there was some cleavage to fix,” Georgia said.
“I don’t want the good Reverend Willis to faint when he sees all this,” Jacey said.
“You’re right,” Georgia said. “I bet those double-As will change his life.”
“Girls!” Willow said. “Stop fussing. It’s time. Besides, Reverend Willis is sick. He sent another guy.”
“Maybe he’s old and blind,” Georgia said.
“Like Reverend Willis,” Willow and Jacey said in unison.
“Okay, enough,” Willow said. “Let’s get this party started.”
Months ago Jacey and Georgia had both been given the title of maid of honor. Willow had said there was no way to choose one maid of honor, so both her best friends accepted the prize. Jacey and Georgia walked down the aisle together, smiling and nodding acknowledgments to the packed church. When they reached the altar, they stood facing the crowd and waited for Willow, who walked down the aisle on her father’s arm.
Willow didn’t disappoint. She was absolutely glowing—as perfect as any bride ever. Jacey snuck a look at Colby, who looked like he was about to burst into tears at the very sight of her. Jacey weighed that a momen
t, trying to decide if it was cheesy or really, really sweet. Sweet won in the end, and she gently nudged Georgia to look.
“Who gives this woman in marriage?” the minister asked.
Jacey shivered all of a sudden. Déjà vu. The words had nearly made her hyperventilate, although she didn’t know why that question would’ve made her think she’d been in this same spot before. She couldn’t recall anyone inquiring her father about marriage.
“Her mother and I,” said Ben Washington, Willow’s dad. He kissed Willow and placed her hand in Colby’s.
The congregation sat down and Jacey, Georgia, and the groomsmen turned to face the minister.
“Friends, family,” the minister began, “we are gathered today to join Willow Mist Washington and Colby James Frost.”
Jacey felt strange all of a sudden, like she was in a vacuum. She was never nervous in front of a crowd. What was wrong with her? She picked at her bouquet and moved her shoulders around. The post-trauma anxiety that had plagued her for months was threatening to rear its ugly head in the form of another not-so-pretty panic attack. Not today, please, not today, she thought.
“Stop fidgeting,” Georgia whispered.
“I can’t help it,” Jacey whispered back. “Something’s freaking me out.”
Jacey decided it was best to concentrate on the minister’s words and stop feeding her fear. After all, if she didn’t give it any energy, the anxiety couldn’t . . . Wait . . . wait . . . what?
She jerked her head up and stared at the minister. “Colin?” she whispered, much, much louder than she’d intended.
The minister stopped and looked at her, his face registering an equal amount of shock. “Jacey?” he whispered back.
But Jacey had gone deaf. At least temporarily . . . the roar in her ears a buffer for the sound of her own voice. “Are you a . . . preacher?” Oh my, had she thought that out loud?
Colin stared back at her like a deer caught in headlights. Finally, composure took over and he said, “Yes, yes, I am. Uh, sorry about that interruption, folks . . . Let’s get started again, shall we?”
Jacey grabbed Georgia’s hand and squeezed it so hard Georgia whispered, “Ouch!” a little too loud.