Third Time's the Charm Read online

  But that’s what a small-town guy did when he was eighteen and hadn’t experienced anything else in life.

  Henry couldn’t have known he lied like a snake oil salesman when he told her she was the only woman he’d ever love.

  Sunny wanted to hate him for that lie, but part of her had known all along that Henry could never belong to her. She was a Voorhees and he was a Delmar. They’d been young kids who’d built a house of cards that collapsed with a giant puff of wind.

  Henry Todd Delmar watched his mama creep around the rose garden behind Magnolia Dawn, the early nineteenth-century convent that had been turned into a residence by William Clayton Jeems III, his mama’s cousin and the former president of Newcomb College. Neither Uncle Billy nor Newcomb College was around any longer, but his mama worked diligently to keep the heirloom roses that had been collected over the years thriving.

  That was the thing about his mama—she believed in preserving the past and traditions.

  He stepped from the shadows, throwing his hand up to shade his eyes from the blinding sun sinking lower in the Mississippi sky.

  “Oh my, Henry Todd. You like to have scared me into an early grave,” his mother said, her accent thick as honey on cathead biscuits. She placed a gloved hand over her bosom. The large sunglasses she wore made her look like a predatory bug.

  “Hello, Mama,” Henry said, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling toward where she’d set her lawn bag containing spiny clippings. “Brought the kids for supper.”

  “Good. Your daddy’s been complaining about missing them. How was Jackson and your lovely ex-wife?” Her voice held displeasure when she said “ex-wife,” not because she disliked Jillian but because she’d been determined Henry would stay married to her. His failure in marriage was something his mother had taken quite personally.

  “Doing well. She and Eddie are expecting a baby in the fall.”

  “Moved along quickly, didn’t she? And with a mechanic at that.”

  “Eddie owns three garages in Jackson. He’s not just a mechanic. Besides, Jillian and I have been divorced for two years now. Not exactly fast.”

  “Well, to me it is. Young people don’t have much stickability these days. In my day people made a vow and stuck to it.”

  “Like Dad did,” Henry said, wishing immediately he’d bitten his tongue. His father had kept a mistress in Pearl for five years. His mother had found out when she’d taken a wrong turn on the way home from a shopping trip and spied his distinctive Bentley in the driveway of the duplex. She’d called to ask where he was. He’d said a business meeting in Jackson. She’d parked on the curb and laid on the horn until he’d emerged half-dressed and very much busted. The mistress had moved away, and his father had handed his testicles to Annaleigh Jeems Delmar along with a vow to never stray again. Everyone knew his daddy had been a hound dog, but his mama didn’t like to be reminded.

  Thus she leveled a wintery glare his way, her mouth flat as a catfish’s.

  “Sorry,” Henry said, kicking at the brown leaves clinging stubbornly to the concrete pavers. Wind chimes clinked in the distance, and the late-afternoon light fell through the naked branches, tossing flickering patterns on the dead lawn. The landscape surrounding him reflected what sat inside him at the moment. His life had changed over the past few years, and he’d been going through the motions. He longed for better days. For green grass and birds singing. For happiness and contentment.

  His mother shuffled along, her sciatic nerve no doubt giving her issues again. “So why are you out here with me?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You came outside for a reason. Roses aren’t your cup of tea.”

  “No, they’re not.” He waited for a moment, not knowing exactly why he’d come out. After seeing Sunny today, he’d been swept back to the memories he mostly tried to forget. Inside, he was a jumble of emotions—sadness, anger, and regret. He’d not seen Sunny since the day her mama’s muscle-head boyfriend dragged him out the front door. His last image of Sunny had been her eyes blazing with hate, her pretty mouth trembling, her soul absolutely crushed. That day he’d lost everything he’d ever wanted. The blame had rested on his shoulders. He’d made the mistake, but he wanted someone to share in it. His mama had played a part, and he wanted her to answer for that. Finally own up to the fact she’d snatched his dream from him long before he’d screwed up. “I saw Sunny today.”

  His mother’s gaze seemed to narrow. “I had heard she was back in town.”

  He said nothing.

  His mother turned away. “Heard she lost her husband. They did an article in the paper. Why, I’m not entirely sure. The girl hasn’t lived here for some time and her husband wasn’t from here.”

  “Their family has lived here for generations. Maybe it was for Eden or Ruby Jean.”

  His mother watched him for a moment. The unstated question sat between them, a fat toad of ugliness they had stepped around for far too long.

  “Why didn’t you like her?” he asked. Say it. Say she wasn’t good enough. That she was trash. That your precious little boy deserved someone better than a Voorhees.

  His mother sniffed. “I never disliked the girl.”

  Henry made a noise of disbelief. “You’ve never been a liar, Mother.”

  Annaleigh drew in a measured breath before sinking onto the marbled bench engraved with the names of deceased family members. She crossed her blindingly white sneakers she wore when she exercised at the church. “Good Lord, Henry Todd, her mother was a stripper at a gentlemen’s club outside Jackson, though I daresay calling them ‘gentlemen’ is a stretch. Not to mention, they spelled Legz with a z, for God’s sake.”

  “Sunny couldn’t help who her mama was.”

  “No, but that didn’t change the fact Betty was her mama. That child couldn’t pretend away living in a shack in Grover’s Park or that she had a mother who smoked a crack pipe. I had nothing against the girl, but I had plenty against what she brought to you. A mama wants more for her boy than a girl like that.”

  “Brought to me?” he repeated those words, each syllable growing heavier on his tongue. His mother had seen only the negatives, things Sunny could do nothing about. She didn’t know the good she’d covered him in. From the very beginning, that fifteen-year-old, gorgeous girl had reached inside him and made him believe in himself; she’d given him a purpose. With Sunny, life had been biting into a ripe pear and letting the juices dribble down his chin. “She never brought me anything bad.”

  “Her stepbrother was a hooligan, her stepfather a criminal, and her aunt a Pentecostal. So yes, I discouraged you from spending time with her. My job has always been to protect you, even from yourself. I know that sounds harsh and probably politically incorrect—”

  “—or unchristian.”

  Annaleigh pursed her lips. “Some might think so, but I always thought it rather necessary. You were blind when it came to that girl. Not going to college. Wanting to run off to Vegas. You lost every lick of sense is what you did. So I did what I thought was necessary. That girl never belonged with you, Henry, and I know where this is going. She’s back. You’re single. But you can’t get back what you had. You’re two different people, and I imagine she’s still grieving. Don’t forget, it’s not just you anymore. You have two children who deserve some thought.”

  “Sunny doesn’t want me, Mother.”

  His mother gave him a bitter smile. “Yes, I imagine you think so, but whatever she was, Sunny wasn’t stupid. I imagine she doesn’t have much in her life, does she?”

  Henry lifted his head and stared at the woods just beyond where the property dropped off, yielding to Sorrell Creek, which wound through his parents’ land. “She’s not her mother.”

  Annaleigh’s back straightened. “I hope for her sake she’s nothing like her.”

  Henry knew his father had dated Betty before he met his mother at Plantation Ball. Annaleigh had attended private school in New Orleans before her family moved back to the fa
milial estate outside Morning Glory when she’d been a senior in high school. Henry’s father had a wild streak a country mile long and embraced racing his Mustang on Saturday nights, sneaking white lightnin’ from the pantry, and hound doggin’ women from one side of Rankin County to the other. Betty Voorhees had been the “it” girl, bouncy, big-breasted, and not afraid of the back seat. She’d led Henry’s father on a merry chase and then dumped him for a pool shark who took her to Memphis. Calm, poised Annaleigh had been there to offer her white-gloved hand for small comfort. His daddy had married her in June, and she’d given birth to Henry two years later. Her job had been to raise decent children, chair the Junior League benefit, and sit on the third pew of the Episcopal Church.

  Yet, for all her shallowness, Annaleigh was his mother. She’d kissed his boo-boos, fed him chicken soup, and cheered at every baseball game he played in. She was horrible, wonderful, and complicated. He hated her as much as he loved her.

  “She’s nothing like Betty.”

  “Just let Sunny go, Henry. Things worked out the way they did for a reason. You’re a businessman, a good father, a good citizen. Don’t chase rainbows thinking you can find what you need. Rainbows are illusions.”

  Henry wanted to argue, but he remembered Sunny’s words, the dislike, the fact she was leaving Morning Glory as soon as she was able.

  “I’m heading inside. The kids are doing homework with Jocelyn. I need to go out to the barn. Don’t wait dinner for me,” he said, moving toward the back entrance where the solarium sat, fat with outdoor plants and shiny-leafed houseplants. He would win no battle with his mother today. He couldn’t undo what had been done, by his mother or himself. This whole conversation had been an exercise in futility, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d started it.

  Because he was still angry. He knew that much. And there had never been closure. Sunny had kicked him out of her house and then left town. Their unfinished business had sat a long time. Or maybe it felt unfinished to him. Maybe Sunny didn’t give a damn about closure.

  “I’ll keep a plate warm for you. Tell Jocelyn not to give those babies too many of her cookies. They won’t eat their dinner,” his mother said, turning back to her roses.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he entered the house, smiling as he saw Katie Clare biting a nibbled-down pencil as she attacked her math homework. Minutes later he was in his truck, heading to the place he went when life got too hard to handle. He called it the Barn, but it wasn’t merely a barn. It was the land he’d bought long ago, refusing to let it go to anyone else. It was a delightful woods, a rustic barn, and a small pond where he’d taught Landry to bait a hook. It was a half-finished house with a wide porch.

  He’d rented the barn to Clem Aiken, who ran his woodworking business from the cavernous depths, but Clem had moved his business to South Carolina at the first of the year and was in the process of clearing out the barn. The house he was building sat on the hill overlooking the pond, offering him quiet solace. Sitting on the porch steps, watching the wrens build their nests in the window ledges, studying the darkened lumber stacks, and listening to the sounds of the squirrels digging for treasures they’d hidden months before layered balm onto his soul.

  What if echoed outside that half-finished house.

  He’d bought the land with the money his grandfather had given him for high school graduation. The old man had approved of his investment, but Henry’s reason had gone beyond making a good investment. That land was where he and Sunny had dreamed of building their dream house. They’d snuck out there to park by the pond and make out under the full moon. When he and Jillian had gotten a divorce, he’d moved into the garage apartment over the carriage house on his parents’ estate. He traveled so often for work it didn’t make much sense to buy a huge place. The kids came only every other weekend, and they mostly wanted to stay with their grandparents in the main house when they came.

  But last summer he’d convinced himself it was time to have a place of his own. The temporary feel to his life wore on him. The land belonged to him, so he’d started building a house, keeping it on the down low from most the town. He’d hired an architect and then contracted Clem’s business, Country Boy Construction, to build it. The resulting farmhouse wasn’t exactly what Sunny had dreamed about, but it was close. Very close. Which made him wonder about himself. But whatever, he liked the floor plan and it fit the beautiful rustic property and barn. He was determined to one day fill the house with laughter, maybe get a dog or two. Try to make a home for his children. And maybe find a faceless woman who would give him a soft place to land at the end of a hard day.

  He bumped down the gravel path, the trees arching to lace together. The bare branches made it spooky, something out of a horror movie, but then when the road ended, it opened to a beautiful pasture sloping down to the pond. The red barn sat on the right, and just through the woods, not half a mile away, sat the large, nearly completed house on the left. The dying sun hit the mullioned transoms above the double french doors, sending a kaleidoscope of color onto the porch slats. A black cat shot under the porch.

  He’d never seen a cat out here before.

  Climbing out, he breathed in the fresh crisp air. The grass was still mostly dead, dotted with determined weeds, but the trees had just started greening up. Soon, nature would show out with pink dogwoods, brilliant purple redbud trees, and the row of forsythia lining the gingerbread shed holding the lawn equipment. He knew. He’d watched many other springs out here.

  The half-built house looked sad though. Like it longed to do its job—provide shelter for a happy family. And since there was none, it had dipped into a depression. Or maybe it was the way winter had worn on it. Construction had stopped in the fall when Clem had decided to sell his business.

  “Hell,” he breathed before stomping up the steps and sinking onto the top step.

  The cat peeked out from the bottom step, its green eyes almost glowing against the inky fur. Slowly it crept up the steps, sank onto its haunches, and stared at Henry as if he were the unwanted guest.

  “Who are you?” Henry asked the cat.

  The cat lifted its back leg and scratched beneath its chin.

  “Right. Fleas, I bet.” Henry clasped his hands between his knees, and the cat settled into a comma, content to watch Henry and seemingly not alarmed in the least.

  Sunny had always wanted a cat, but her mother was allergic. She’d talked about pots of geraniums, a little herb garden, and a fat ginger cat. She’d reach over and squeeze his hand. One day we’ll have that. Our kids will love Marmalade. I bet Marmie will sun in our window seat. Lazy ol’ cat.

  Sunny had plans for them, and he’d nodded like an idiot because whatever she wanted, he wanted too.

  “Shit,” he said again, closing his eyes on the memories. On the silly dreams of two kids who didn’t have a clue about real life.

  The cat licked its paws as the sharp north wind whipped through the trees. This time he could find no peace here in this place he’d built on memories. There was only hurt and anger and regret.

  And the ghost of what could have been if Henry hadn’t gotten Jillian pregnant at Kappa Alpha Old South.

  Sunny rifled through her limited closet for something that said “professional” but wasn’t ridiculously overdone. She had a great pencil skirt she could pair with a plain white blouse, but when she tugged that on, not only was the skirt too big on her but she looked like a hostess at an upscale restaurant. Not an attendance clerk. Finally she settled on a pair of leggings beneath a navy tunic. She wound a scarf one of her friends had given her around her neck. There. She looked like she could work in a high school office.

  “Where you going all dressed up? Thought your bike was in the shop,” her mother asked when Sunny emerged from the bathroom wafting Bath & Body Works pumpkin latte or some other maple-scented lotion Eden had left behind.

  “I told you. I have a job interview.” Sunny glanced around for her jacket. The house needed to have an energy aud
it. Had to be cracks as big as a moose somewhere.

  “You ain’t gonna make enough for it to be worth your time,” Betty said, pushing her chair back awkwardly from where it sat parked in front of the television.

  “That’s my business.” Sunny hoped her mother’s words wouldn’t be true. She might not make much, but every little bit would go toward completing the renovation on the house so she could get the hell out of Mississippi. California sunshine sounded like an answered prayer. “Do you need anything before I go? I can help you get into the recliner if that would be more comfortable.”

  Sunny had woken around six and helped her mother attend to bathroom stuff, get dressed, and eat breakfast, and then she’d disappeared to get herself ready. The sitter would be here in thirty minutes. Henry Todd should arrive in—she glanced at her watch—five minutes.

  Just enough time for a cigarette.

  “I’m good,” her mother mumbled. “Can you bring me some candy or something? If I can’t have a damn cigarette, the least I can have is a damn Butterfinger or something.”

  Strike the cigarette. The longer Sunny spent here with her mother, the more she feared turning into the same bitter husk who complained about everything from the hangnail on her pinky to the neighbor’s dog who howled at every ambulance siren.