A Chance of a Lifetime (7 page)

 Bennie at a loss for words was a rare thing, and he couldn't remember it ever lasting more than a moment. This time it dragged on, the tension obvious in the way she stood, the way her jaw clenched. He could imagine words building up inside her with such pressure that they would eventually explode, erupting in bursts that made no sense until anger finally forced them into some kind of order. Volcano Bennie, J'Myel had once called her, though after she'd chased him down and tackled him to the ground, he'd never done it again.

After a moment, she breathed in deeply, then blew the air out through her mouth. “Tell Mama I had to get back to studying. Tell her to call me when she's ready to come home.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and headed off. He watched as she reached the sidewalk, then the driveway, then turned left onto the street. He watched until she was little more than a hazy figure, striding across her own yard, up her own steps, into her own house.

And finally he released his breath. He shifted so the wall of the living room was at his back, and finally, oh, God, finally, he looked down the street to the right, his gaze zeroing in on a white house on the other side with a front porch that filled most of the front yard. A house where he'd spent probably half of his life, where he'd built forts and played basketball and slept in a tent out back on hot summer nights.

It had been just J'Myel and his mom in the house. His parents had divorced, and his dad had taken a new job in Seattle. They'd stayed close, though, the three of them, and J'Myel hadn't given up hope that his parents would get back together until the summer he'd turned sixteen, when his mother began dating for the first time since the divorce.

As far as Calvin knew, Golda Ford had never remarried. She'd stayed in that house, working as a paralegal for a local law firm, tending her overgrown bushes, and fretting over her son. What mother didn't fret about a son at war?

 Then, after J'Myel had died and was buried with honors at the Fort Murphy National Cemetery, Golda quit her job, put the house for sale, packed up, and moved to Edmond to be closer to her family. His death had broken her heart and maybe her spirit. But what mother wasn't heartbroken at the death of her son?

The bleakness he'd lived with so long was starting to settle, like clouds so heavy with gloom that they had no choice but to sink low to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the heels of his hands to them, and breathed deeply, evenly, pushing it away with every fiber of his body.

“Calvin?”

A hand, soft and capable despite its age, clasped his forearm, and he jumped, jerking away, putting a half-dozen feet between himself and—

Mama Maudene. She was giving him a look, part knowing, part curious, all sympathetic. She reached out, hesitated as if to give him time to adjust, then gave his head a soothing pat. “If you had any hair to speak of, I'd brush it back,” she said quietly. “All you boys who practically shave your heads bald…You know, the Army lets you have hair. I see it every time I go to town.”

Calvin focused on calming his breathing, on controlling the fear that had, for an instant, ricocheted through him.

“Did my granddaughter go home without me?”

He swiped a hand across his face, drying the sweat that had popped out on his forehead. “Uh, yeah, she did. She said for you to call when you were ready to leave.”

Mama snorted. “That girl. She acts like I never walked the streets alone. I moved here, just me and my kids, long before her daddy had even noticed girls, and we not only got along, we prospered.”

He'd heard the story before: how she'd divorced her husband back when it wasn't common, how she'd moved west and raised her kids without any help from their father.
You took them away, now you take care of them.

“She also said to tell you she had to study.” He had no intention of saying anything more, none whatsoever of showing any curiosity, but there it was before he could think better of it. “What is she studying?”

“Nursing. My girl's going to be a registered nurse.” Mama's smile was filled with pride. “She says she's going to specialize in geriatrics or pediatrics. I tell her, she spends enough time with old people as it is. Besides, if she works in pediatrics, maybe she can borrow me a great-grandbaby, because I don't think I'm going to get one any other way.”

Calvin could imagine Bennie with a baby, but not J'Myel's. Back when he'd heard they were dating, when the best, deepest friendship he'd ever known had turned ugly and mean, he hadn't been able to wrap his mind around it. He'd realized Bennie was a woman, not their childhood pal, their bud, but he hadn't known J'Myel had come to see her as more, too. Them being more than friends? Kissing, having sex? Making plans for a wedding, a family, a future? There'd been something disconcerting about it. It had taken Calvin a while to get used to the idea, to try to be happy for them when deep inside he felt lost and left out and jealous. For more than half their lives, they'd existed as parts of one whole, and suddenly he was the outsider looking in.

“Come walk me home, Calvin,” Mama said, taking his arm without waiting for an agreement. She knew he wouldn't refuse any reasonable request she made—and more than a few unreasonable ones as well.

He let her draw him to the steps, following the invisible trail Bennie had blazed a little while before. The air chilled him through his shirt and felt good on his skin, the dampness a reminder of his time stationed in Washington. When he breathed deeply, he smelled autumn: browning leaves, wet ground, a wisp of smoke drifting up from someone's fireplace. It smelled good and sweet and fresh.

“Your folks are awfully happy to have you home again,” Mama commented before giving him a sidelong look. “You're not quite as pleased to be here, are you?”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “No, ma'am.”

“I understand. All three of my children chose to leave home.”

“So did you.”

Her laughter touched old memories inside him. “That I did.”

“Is Brenda still in Stillwater?”

“Yep, teaching economics at OSU, and Roland is still lawyering in Ada. They're my pride and joy—my kids and my grandkids. Just like you're your mama's and daddy's and Emmeline's pride and joy, and J'Myel was Golda's and Steve's.”

Calvin's chest tightened. There was joy for his family, that he was alive, but what kind of pride could they find in him now?

Every day you survive is another day that counts,
Chaplain Reed back at Lewis-McChord had told him.
Every day you don't die is another chance to make things right.
And Calvin was determined to make things right. Some days it seemed like a losing battle, but he was trying. He wouldn't stop trying.

When they reached the Pickering driveway, Mama looked at him earnestly. “I hate to poke in your business, Calvin, but can I tell you something?”

The smile that had almost formed earlier was back, stretching broad enough to make long unused muscles feel odd. “Mama Maudene, you've been in my business since I was a baby, and you never hated it even once.”

“You're right on both counts,” she admitted before gazing off into the distance. “That girl of mine…you've helped her through some really hard times when she came here with no daddy or mama. All those years you were the friend she needed when she needed it. My heart tells me you've reached some really hard times. Give her a chance to give back. Let her be the friend you need.”

He loved Mama the way he loved Gran, but he couldn't give her the answer she wanted.
Let
Bennie be his friend? Hell, she didn't want to share the same air he breathed. Those few minutes back on his parents' porch had made it clear that she would have been happier if she'd never seen him again.

But he didn't have to give Mama any answer at all because suddenly she was in a rush to get inside. “Thank you for walking me home, Calvin. I've got to get in and put on my costume and do my makeup and make sure we've got enough candy for the trick-or-treaters tonight.” She released his arm and started down the sidewalk, doing a crablike sidestep so she could continue to talk to him. “Why don't you borrow some of your cousins' kids and walk them around the neighborhood? I'll be sure and save you some special treats.”

“I think I'll skip it, but thanks.”

Mama was on the porch by then. “You and Bennie are old fuddies. Enjoy your TV watching while I'm having fun scaring and treating the kiddies.”

He watched until she was inside—old habit—then raised his face to the sky. Rain was starting to fall again, cold and uncomfortable. It wouldn't stop the trick-or-treating, though. Mama's treats were too well known in the neighborhood. Even if the little buggers had to crawl on ice to go to only one house, it would be Mama's.

He would be back in his bland apartment—yes, probably watching TV—before the goblins and ghosts and zombies came out. If that made him an old fuddie, so be it. The description was the only thing he had in common with Bennie anymore, and hopeful though he was trying to be, he couldn't see that changing.

T
ell me again why we're not staying home to answer the door for trick-or-treaters.”

Joe looked down the hallway toward Lucy's bedroom, where she was just out of sight but making plenty of noise. “Because we decided last time that this year we'd rather be anywhere but here.”

“Oh, yeah. I think it was the mothers who did it for me. Witches' hats with everyday clothes, vapor cigs in one hand, and their very own candy bag in the other.” Lucy lowered her voice to a rasp, punctuating words with a hacking cough. “‘Hey, Taylor Leigh, be sure to get your mama something that goes good with Bud Light.'” She coughed again to get her own voice back to normal. “You're sure that wasn't a big kid in costume as a bad mother?”

“I'm sure. Her son is on the junior varsity football team. She asked me once if there was anything she could do to help him get moved up to varsity.” He winced at one of the worst moments of his football career. Thank God the athletic director had walked in at just that moment.

At last Lucy began making the sort of noises that meant she would be coming out soon: spraying perfume, which made Norton sneeze, then throwing his yellow ducky onto his bed with a squeak, which made Sebastian meow and pounce on it. Joe had suggested they dress up, since he pretty much lived in gym clothes and she wasn't much better. Her loose, unstructured clothes that had been bought for comfort were practically falling-off too big now. Just once he would like to see her in something snug and clingy, to celebrate the achievement of her forty-pound weight loss.

At the sound of footsteps, he quit pulling at a loose string on his jacket and looked up. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his gut tightened as if he'd just been sucker punched, and the little voice that lived in his head couldn't stop chanting
Lu-cy, Lu-cy, Lu-cy.
Then it added a made-up-on-the-spot cheer:
Who's the luckiest guy in town? Lucy's guy.

She wore a dark red dress that had long sleeves and a short hem that showed a lot of the muscles she'd built pounding the pavement since last May. The fabric plunged between her breasts and wrapped around her, classy but sexy. Her hair was down, its subdued brown picking up red tones from the dress, and her jewelry was minimal. Gone were the chunky rings and office-sturdy watch; small diamond studs nestled in her ears, a delicate watch circled her wrist, and a diamond pendant in the shape of a star hung on a thin gold chain around her neck.

And she wore her wedding rings, of course. He'd never seen her without them and really never expected to, though he couldn't deny a faint hope…a hopeless wish…

Stopping a few feet in front of him, she raised both brows in a
well?!
sort of way.

He didn't have anything smart or funny or brash to say. When was the last time that had happened? So instead he swallowed hard and simply, honestly said, “You're beautiful, Luce.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she raised one hand like she was going to pat, fix, or adjust something. He caught her fingers instead and tugged her toward the door. Her coat was already lying with his on the back of the love seat. He held it for her, catching the gold and black silk scarf lying with it before it could slither to the floor.

In all the years they'd known each other, this was the first time he'd helped her with her coat. Not because his mother hadn't done her best to imbue him with a touch of chivalry, but he hadn't wanted to let touching Lucy become too easy. At first, she hadn't been ready to consider any man other than Mike in her life, and in case she never was ready, or found some other guy when she was—like Dr. Jerk Ben—he hadn't wanted her to break his heart.

“Where are we going?” she asked, lifting her hair from under the coat collar, then snagging the scarf from his fingers. She pulled it this way and that, then looped it around her neck. It looked more put together than the scarves he threw around his neck.

“We have reservations at Sage.”

Lucy's eyes widened. “We can't afford Sage.”

He gave her a level look. The place was Tallgrass's fanciest restaurant. Given a choice, he would be a lot more comfortable at Holy Cow for steaks, or Luca's for Italian, or Serena's for fried chicken and mashed potatoes, but tonight was special. “Don't worry about what ‘we' can afford, because I made the reservations, and I'm picking up the check. Besides, high school head football coaches make more money than you think.”

“I know. Better to put all the school's extra money into coaches than English, calculus, or science teachers.”

He made a face at her before opening the front door. The streetlights appeared like haloes in the light rain, but that wasn't keeping the kids in their houses. They trailed along the sidewalks in groups, some accompanied by parents, some with big brothers and sisters. A half-dozen voices called, “Hey, Coach!” before they made it to Lucy's car.

She dangled the keys. “You want to drive?”

“For the safety of everyone on the streets tonight, yes.” He snatched the keys from her, then steered her to the passenger side of the car.

“I'm not a bad driver,” she retorted as she slid into the passenger seat.

“You won't win any prizes. Besides, guys drive on dates.” The words echoed in his head, too late to retrieve. Sure, he'd asked her to go to dinner tonight, like a million times before, but he didn't want this to be like all those other times. He wanted to be a man taking a special woman to dinner at the nicest place in town, talking about…well, man-woman things. Seeing if she might be interested in other man-woman things.

He probably should have mentioned that to her. She probably thought this was just another of their Saturday evenings: two friends sharing a meal, picking up their own tabs, then going home to watch football or old comedy reruns on TV.

“Is this a date?” Lucy asked as soon as he slid into the driver's seat.

He was glad the night hid his face because his cheeks were getting hot. But he couldn't hide the hoarseness in his voice as he started the engine. “A beautiful woman and a gorgeous man, all dressed up, going out to the best restaurant in town to celebrate…if it looks like a duck and it sounds like a duck…”

“Did I say you were gorgeous?”

“Not tonight.” He looked at her, and automatically his grin formed. Looking at her made him happy. Talking to her. Arguing with her. Just plain being with her. “But you have plenty of times before.”

She
pfft
ed. “Everyone tells you that.” Then, “Celebration?”

“You've got kitchen space. Prairie Harts is one step closer to opening its doors.”

“I may be one step closer to losing my shirt,” she mumbled. “Joe, what do I know about running a business?”

“You've been learning. You'll keep learning. You know what I tell my boys. Whether you think you can or you think you can't, you're right.”

“Yeah, I believe Henry Ford said that.” Her tone was dry, but it didn't hide her nerves. “You know how many small businesses fail in the first year?”

“You're not going to be one of them.” As he stopped at a red light, Joe reached across the console to claim her hand. “Luce, what happens if you do fail?”

Her blue eyes jerked his way. “Do you think I'm going to? Was that other stuff just talk?”

“No. I'm just asking you a question. What happens if the business doesn't make it? What do you do?”

“Well…I don't plan on giving up my regular job right away. Even if I did, I've got Mike's life insurance and some savings of my own. So I guess I'd eat my inventory, then go back to life as usual.”

“Will you be heartbroken?” He'd seen her heartbroken on a few occasions, and God help him, it had just about broken him. “Will you crawl into bed and never come out? Will the earth stop spinning and the stars burn out and the sun turn to ice?”

“Of course not,” she said grudgingly. “All that happened when Mike died.”

Not for the first time, Joe envied Mike Hart. He'd never met the man, but Mike had had everything. He'd loved his job, his family, his country, and God, how he'd loved his wife. And on top of that, Joe was pretty sure that if they had ever met, they would have been best buds.

But Mike was gone, and Lucy needed someone who was here, and Joe needed her.

The light changed, and he released her hand to return his to the steering wheel. “If the business fails, you're not going to be broke or homeless or destitute. You'll just be disappointed. But life will go on, and at least you'll know you tried. You won't look back in twenty or forty years and wonder what could have happened.”

Just like he didn't want to look back and wonder what could have happened between them if only he'd tried. Asked her out. Kissed her. Let her know that he wanted to upgrade their relationship from friends to more.

So damn much more.

It seemed Bennie wished away half of her week. Thursday had become Friday's Almost Here. Friday, of course, was Thank God It's Friday. Then Sunday was Dear God, It's Almost Monday.

This week's Friday's Almost Here was almost over. She'd worked her regular shift at St. Anthony's, put in nearly three hours for another employee, then sat through Dr. Perkins's class, physically present but her mind wandering. She'd thought too much about everything except microbiology, so now that class was over, she was sitting at a tiny table for two in the back of Java Dave's, a rich, creamy, full-fat coffee drink in front of her, hoping the caffeine would give her enough of a jolt to keep her thoughts under control.

Java Dave's, like the Starbucks on the east end of town, was popular with high schoolers who should be home studying or getting ready for bed, in Bennie's opinion. A coffee shop should be a nice place to relax and enjoy good coffee, not listen while a roomful of hyperactive teenagers drank too much caffeine and made too much noise.

Feeling your age tonight, Bennie?

She grimaced, then lifted her cup and took a steamy long, sweet breath, followed by a longer, sweeter drink.

As a particularly loud burst of laughter echoed through the room, a voice cut into her thoughts. “You remember being that young?”

Despite the warm air and the hot drink, a chill ran through Bennie. Her fingers tightened enough around the cup to raise the level of the liquid inside, and for just an instant, an ache zigzagged through her body like a wayward lightning strike, burning, searing, and catching her breath.

She forced her fingers to loosen on the cup, and slowly she raised her gaze to the man standing beside the table. So much for her theories that (a) they weren't likely to run into each other around town, and (b) she would be prepared if they did.

“I'm still young,” she said, wincing at how prim she sounded, then followed it with a shrug that did little to ease the tension in her shoulders. “But even when I was that young, I wasn't loud and raucous.”

He snorted, and something inside her clenched. Lord, how she'd missed that sound, that attitude, that—that Calvin-ness. “I believe I recall you being thrown out of the movie theater one night, and Pastor Howell had to give you the evil eye more than once during the Sunday morning service.”

“You and J'Myel were thrown out of the theater, too, and you both got the evil eye in church far more often than I did.” She breathed and found the tightness in her chest had eased. Her heart was thudding, and the lightning-strike burn was still sizzling, but breathing was good. She was happy with breathing.

He stood there, a sense of restlessness about him, as if he might bolt at any moment. His expression was stony, defensive and protective, a little angry and a little bit lonely, with more emotions she couldn't read. This was hard for him, coming back to his and J'Myel's stomping grounds, seeing the Ford house, seeing Bennie and Mama and old acquaintances, and not seeing J'Myel. She knew because it had been hard for her the first year after J'Myel died. She hadn't known whether to run away to get a new start or stay where she could wallow in the memories. Calvin looked like he was wondering the same thing.

He stood still enough to blend into the wallpaper…if he weren't handsome enough to draw interested looks from the women at the nearest table. His jeans fit snugly, like his gray T-shirt, and his black hoodie made him look ten years younger. He'd had a passion for dark hoodies that drove Gran crazy—and a passion now for giant-sized cups of coffee, cradled in his long fingers with the care he once might have used for a football or a basketball. Black, it looked like. No cream, no sugar, no whipped cream, cinnamon, or caramel. He needed to learn how to properly indulge when it came to caffeine.

She glanced past him, at the tables packed with kids, then made a gesture toward the chair opposite her. He hesitated—that wasn't the Calvin she'd known—then slowly slid into the seat. Immediately he turned it so that his back was to the wall, so that he looked at her peripherally. Like seeing her face-on was unappealing.

She didn't know what to say. He didn't appear to, either. Lord, had they ever found themselves in this situation before? Even the very first time they'd met, when she'd still been red-eyed and teary over her father's death, it was like they'd known each other forever. J'Myel had been a smart-ass, but Calvin's friendship had been the first hope she'd found since the funeral. He'd let her feel like a normal kid, talking when she needed to be distracted, listening when she needed to talk, and doing nothing at all when that was what she needed.

The silence continued, tension mounting, crawling along her skin until she blurted out the safest thing to come to mind. “Where were you stationed before you came here?”

Some emotion flashed across his face. Relief that she hadn't jumped right into the issue of him and J'Myel with both feet?