The Third Mrs. Mitchell

“That’s not the worst part.” She took a deep breath. “The trooper was Pete Mitchell.”

Kate gave her a blank stare. “Mitchell? Who…? Oh.” She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “That Pete Mitchell? Did he remember you?”

“He definitely remembered.” And the distance in those cool gray eyes had warned her that the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. “It’s kind of hard to forget being married, even for only a month.”

Kate shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in years. I guess I thought he’d moved away.” She faced the mantel and made unnecessary adjustments to the perfect placement of the Wedgwood teacups arranged there. “Do you suppose you’ll run into him again? I’d hate to have you uncomfortable while you’re here, worrying about meeting up with your ex-husband. That’s so…difficult.” The last word trembled with despair.

Mary Rose came up behind her sister, putting her arms around the thin shoulders. “I’m not worried about it one way or the other. It’s not like I’ve been moping over him for ten years.”

Kate’s head rested heavily on her shoulder. “And then there’s your job. I can’t believe you just up and left, during tax season, no less. Are you sure they’ll let you go back? What about all your clients?”

“All my clients got their taxes filed before the first of April because I pushed and prodded and nagged them to. I filed mine in February. And if the bank doesn’t want me back…well, too bad. I’ve accrued enough leave that I’d have to be here a couple of months before they could legitimately fire me. And they won’t. I make them too much money. So stop worrying about that.” She turned Kate around to face her. “What I’m worried about is you. You look so tired.”

Kate’s smile failed to dispel her very real air of exhaustion. “There’s a lot of yard work to be done, now that it’s spring. Plus the auction at the children’s school, which we just finished up, and the Azalea Festival, not to mention all the usual driving to lessons and practices and such. I’ve been…busy.”

She obviously didn’t want to go into any more detail right this minute, or explain why her husband, even after moving out of the house, couldn’t assume some responsibility for his children.

Mary Rose tapped the pads of her fingers gently on her sister’s pale cheeks. “That’s why I’m here, to take over some of the routine stuff. I can handle the driving, and help you with the garden, and do some cooking, too, though you might be sorry you let me in the kitchen. Just tell me what’s on the list.”

“Well…” Kate bit her lip, hesitating.

“Seriously. What can I do for you right this minute?”

With a sigh, her sister gave in. “If you brought Kelsey and Trace home from the soccer game at school, I could get the laundry caught up. Mama and Daddy are coming for dinner for your first night here and I need to put the roast in—”

“Consider it done. Just give me your keys. I can’t fit two other people in the Porsche.” Jingling Kate’s key chain, Mary Rose headed for the front door. “New Skye High, right? They haven’t moved it or anything?”

“You could drive there blindfolded,” Kate called across the front lawn. “Nothing has changed out that way in the last twenty years!”

“MY TURN.” Kelsey held out her hand for the soda can. Beside her, Lisa took a quick slurp before passing the drink.

“No fair! I bought it, didn’t I? You didn’t even leave me half.” Tipping her head back, Kelsey chugged the rest of the contents, feeling the whiskey burn as it slid down her throat.

“You got the first drink. Anyway, there’s more soda in the machine.” Her friend leaned close, lowered her voice. “And half a bottle of Jack Black in the car.”

“True.” The smoky liquor swirled in her head, and Kelsey smiled. “What’s the score now, anyway?” Out on the soccer field, red and gold New Skye jerseys chased across the grass, blurred into green Clinton High uniforms, separated out again. She couldn’t see clearly enough to make out the numbers.

Lisa squinted into the distance. “Score’s tied one to one.” She hiccuped loudly and then started to laugh. Helplessly, Kelsey laughed with her, leaning against Lisa’s shoulder until they both tilted back on the bleacher bench into the knees of the girls behind them.

“Kelsey? Is that you?”

Oh shit. A teacher. Kelsey straightened up and tried to stop giggling as she turned toward the person standing on the ground, staring up. She blinked hard, bringing the face into focus. It wasn’t a teacher. For a second, she didn’t recognize the woman at all. Blond and thin and tan and…

“Aunt M!” She never knew how she made it to the ground, just that she was there with her arms thrown around her favorite relative in the world. “I didn’t realize you were coming today.”

“Obviously.” Pulling back, Mary Rose looked her sternly in the eye. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Of course.” Kelsey smoothed her hair back, wished she’d had time to pop a piece of gum. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mother asked me to pick you and Trace up after the game. It looks like that will be a while yet.”

“Um…” Gazing toward the scoreboard, Kelsey couldn’t read the numbers. The ground tilted under her feet and she put a hand on the nearby bleacher support to stay steady. “A few minutes, anyway.”

When she looked at Mary Rose, her aunt’s soft, pretty mouth had tightened and her eyes had narrowed. In that second, Kelsey knew she was doomed.

“What are you—”

“Mary Rose Bowdrey!” Mrs. Gates, the chemistry teacher, sailed toward them. “I don’t believe my eyes. When did you get into town?” Very tall and very pregnant, Mrs. Gates took Mary Rose in a hug that all but swallowed her whole.

Kelsey closed her eyes. Shit. Mrs. Gates had graduated in the same class with Aunt Mary Rose. Judging by their enthusiasm, they must still be pretty good friends. As soon as they came up for air, they’d be sniffing her breath and treating her like a delinquent.

“Uh…Aunt Mary Rose?” She tugged at the sleeve of a gorgeous navy sweater that had to have come from New York. “I promised my friend Lisa we’d go to the diner for a few minutes. The team always gets a milk shake after a home game.” Like she didn’t know that, like the kids at this school hadn’t been doing the same thing for nearly forever. “Can you pick me and Trace up there?” She tried on a suck-up smile. “Would that be okay?”

Mary Rose looked as if she wanted to say no, but then she glanced at Mrs. Gates, still holding her arm. “Sure, Kelsey. That’ll be fine. I’ll meet you at the diner about thirty minutes after the game ends.” Her expression promised there would be hell to pay afterward.

But for the time being, Kelsey was free. “Thanks!” She didn’t lean in for another hug. “See ya!” Grabbing Lisa by the hand, she scurried and stumbled to the other side of the bleachers, out of the line of sight of any nosy adults.

“Here.” She dug in her purse, brought up a dollar and thrust it at Lisa. “Go get two more ginger ales and meet me by your car.”

But Lisa shook her head. “Game’s almost over, Kelse, and I can’t go home smelling like whiskey. One whiff and my mom would take away the car and the license and ground me for the rest of my life. We need to sober up.”

“Screw sober.” Kelsey started for the drink machine.

“I’m leaving,” her friend called. “See you tomorrow.”

With Lisa went the whiskey. Kelsey stopped in her tracks, shoulders slumped. She could buy her own booze—she had the fake ID Trace had made in her wallet. But she couldn’t get to the liquor store without a car.

So she drifted back to the soccer field, to watch without enthusiasm as New Skye won the game. Wearily, Kelsey followed the crowd to the diner, listened to the same stories she’d heard all day at school, ordering a cup of coffee to mask the smell of liquor on her breath.

And wondered how her life had come to be such a mess.

AS FAR BACK AS Pete could remember, Charlie’s Carolina Diner had been the place for New Skye High kids to hang out after ball games, and tonight was no exception. Judging by the noise pouring out when he opened the door, the home team had won. Teenagers crowded into the green vinyl-covered booths along the walls, shared chairs at the tables, rotated and rocked on the silver pedestal stools at the counter that usually marked adult territory. Working his way through the chaos, Pete took the one empty stool in the back corner, under a framed poster of Elvis.

“Hey, Trooper Pete.” A thick-wristed hand with a Semper Fi tattoo on the back slid a white mug of coffee his way.

“Hey yourself, Mr. B. Standing room only tonight.”

Charlie Brannon nodded. “Soccer game went into double overtime, had to finish with a kickoff. NSH beat ’em three-two. What’ll you have?”

After fifteen years of eating at Charlie’s, Pete didn’t need a menu. “Meat loaf sounds good.”

“You got it.” A broad man with iron-gray hair and a permanent tan, Charlie headed toward the kitchen door, his stiff-legged stride the result of an encounter with a land mine in Southeast Asia in the sixties. He still wore his hair Marine Corps short and held his shoulders as straight as if he were standing at attention. He could bark orders with the best drill sergeants, which was why incidents of actual trouble occurred less frequently at the diner than at the public library.

Pete sipped his coffee, one ear tuned to the talk around him while his brain replayed the sight of Mary Rose standing out there on the interstate in the afternoon sunshine, close enough to touch. With a single smile, the woman had cast a spell over him ten years ago.

And damned if she hadn’t gone and done it again today. He’d been a basket case all afternoon, thinking about Mary Rose Bowdrey. What was his problem that he couldn’t get her out of his mind?

“Hey, Pete. How’s it going?”