“Seems fair enough. Are you about to tell me that you are going to continue to be an investor and do the work on this place, but you can’t live in the same house with me?” She got the table ready and poured coffee for them.

He moved the pan from counter to table. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“We need new paint, then?” she asked.

“Yes, but this is something else. I need to apologize about last weekend. There’s no excuse or reason for that kind of behavior, and if the roles had been reversed, I would have sold my half, or even given it away, and walked away that night.” He paused, biting off the corner of a piece of toast, giving himself time to put into words what he needed to say next.

“Apology accepted.”

He swallowed and sipped his coffee. “Melanie pops into my head every so often, mostly to fuss at me, sometimes to remind me of the good times. Lately all she says is that it’s time to let her go, but I don’t know how, Jolene. Last night I saw her in a dream, and she kept getting dimmer and dimmer. All she would say was that if I couldn’t let her go, then she’d have to take care of it on her own. I woke up in a cold sweat and grabbed her picture from the nightstand. For the first time, I had to turn on the light to see her face. Before, if I just touched the picture, I could get a clear vision of her. I don’t know how to handle life without her.”

Jolene took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “Three years after my dad died, I was a mess, too. I’d basically lost both my parents, and I didn’t know how to handle life, either. My mom was barely staying sober enough to hold down a job. Of course, according to her, nothing was her fault. She blamed my dad for dying and leaving her with bills she couldn’t pay, and most of all for leaving her a kid to raise by herself. I used to sit outside on the porch of that run-down trailer and beg Daddy to tell me what to do. The first night she brought a man home from the bar, I threw a cussin’ fit. Two years later, when I was a senior in high school, I just hoped whoever she brought home would leave before breakfast so our food would last all week.”

That empty, helpless feeling that Jolene had felt at Lucy’s grabbed her heart again. It seemed that all the emotions she’d buried were surfacing since she’d returned to the inn.

“Did you get over it?” he asked.

“When I moved out into my own place, a trailer not much different than the one you’ve got parked in the backyard, it got a little better. But my mother was constantly calling me for money. I couldn’t tell her no. I felt guilty for leaving her when she needed me, but at the same time, it was a relief to be away. Then she died in a two-bit hotel room from an overdose. If I’d been living with her, maybe I could have prevented it. If I’d made her get help, maybe she wouldn’t be dead. If she hadn’t had a daughter, maybe some rich guy would have come along and married her, and given her back the lifestyle she was used to having.” Jolene realized she’d only packed the feelings away, putting them in a place where she could forget them. Talking about them brought back the hurt, and yet at the same time, she felt like she was letting go of some of it.

“Are you over it, even yet?” Tucker asked.

“I don’t think you ever get over it, but you can get through it.” Jolene could hear the hollowness in her voice and hoped that she was finally ready to get through it.

“What’s the first step?”

“Get up in the morning and make the decision to take a step forward instead of two backward for that day. Let go of the guilt, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t let the what-ifs drive you crazy, because they will if you let them. I’m speaking from experience. Some days it’s still all I can do to stay positive.”

He started on a third slice of cinnamon toast. “You didn’t mention the step of not getting falling-down drunk.”

“That’s a by-product of the guilt and taking backward steps instead of forward ones,” she told him.

“What was your by-product?”

“Trying to find someone to love me. Making bad choices in men. Settling into a rut instead of working to better myself,” she admitted out loud, and even that relieved part of the heavy burden of guilt.

“Want to elaborate?” He picked up another piece of toast.

“Number one and two are pretty much the same answer. I needed to be loved for me, just the way I am, not the way someone wanted me to be. Mama wanted me to be a social butterfly, but I’m not. Johnny Ray wanted me to be a party girl, and I’m not. I worked in the same bar for the same grumpy old boss for ten years. In that time, I could have taken online courses and done something better with my life. But . . .” She paused.

He raked his hands through his hair. “But our choices, whatever and however bad they were, have brought us to this point in our lives. And who knows? Maybe we need each other to take all those steps you talked about. I damn sure know I need help.”

She held out her hand. “Friends help friends.”

He took it in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips. “I’m glad that we’re friends, Jolene. It’s been a long time since I cared about anyone, since I felt like I needed anyone, or gave a damn what anyone thought about my lifestyle. But after this past week, I figured out that I like having a friend.”

“Me, too.” She blinked back the tears.