Second Chance Love (2 page)

Chapter One

December 23
^rd
, 2013

Elizabeth Coleman poked at the embers in her fireplace. She pulled her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders. “No matter what I do, it’s so cold in here.”

That wasn’t completely true. She could always turn on the electric heat for a few minutes. That would take the brittle chill off the room. She was already concerned with how she would pay her electric bill when it came due, though, so she left the thermostat at 58. Time to move about a bit, get the blood pumping.

Her apartment was too tiny for her to walk very far in a straight line, but she walked laps from her living room to her kitchen and back. That wasn’t saying much, given that her kitchen amounted to little more than a closet with a few appliances. Some nights, when she lit candles in each room to help out the fireplace, her place felt cozy and cheery. Tonight, the wood in the fireplace was too damp to burn very well, and she wouldn’t have more candles until payday on Friday.

As she passed around the kitchen for the third lap, Sebastian jumped up on the counter and said
Brrrrrtt. Brrrrrrt
. She plucked him off the counter and nuzzled him under her chin, luxuriating in furry warmth on her icy fingers.

“Why don’t you meow like other cats? Is that your ‘I’m hungry’ noise, or your ‘I want attention’ noise?”

Brrrrrtt.

“All right, hungry it is.”

She got the can opener out, opened a can of Feline Feast and spooned it into his bowl. While she had the can opener out, she did the same with a can of Spaghetti O’s, took both bowls back to her sofa, and sat as close to the fireplace as she could without actually climbing inside. She looked out the frosty pane of her small window, watching it move slightly with the wind gusts. A streetlight spilled a yellowish glow over the snow that was starting to stick outside.

“Looks like it’s going to be a white Christmas, Sebastian.”

Sebastian, dinner finished, responded by jumping onto the sofa and sniffing her spaghetti. Elizabeth smiled and stroked his long white fur with a sigh. “Go ahead, little piggy. I don’t want it.”

Sebastian began taking delicate little bites that soon enough left him licking the bowl clean. Elizabeth carried both bowls into the kitchen and put them in the sink. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the kitchen window and stopped to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She was still pretty, but could see hints of her mother’s middle-aged face looking back at her. She smiled a little. Her beauty had never been important to her. Its decline wouldn’t impact her much.

Back in the living room, she let the Murphy bed down from its hiding place, got her pillow out of the closet and slid under her grandmother’s comforter. No one could craft a comforter like Grandma. She clicked her bedside radio on quietly and heard Nat King Cole singing “The Christmas Song.” Sebastian curled up against her chest, his purring soothing as always. She picked up the small paperback anthology she had brought home from work and opened it to O. Henry’s
The Gift of the Magi.
Before too long, the warmth of the comforter and Sebastian made her sleepy. She turned out the light and watched the small flames of the fireplace dance as she fell asleep.

Chapter Two

Across town, Steve Larson sat in his Mercedes SLS, the windshield wipers sweeping away the powdery snow. He punched the code into the pad at the security gate that led to the underground parking garage at his condo. While he waited for the gate to rise, he touched a button on his phone. “Suzi, what do I have scheduled for tomorrow?”

A warm, contralto voice answered, “Nothing, Steve. Your schedule is empty tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve.”

He caught himself before telling Suzi that he was aware of the day. It was hard not to be aware, with all the lights and music and ho-ho-ho’ing, but Suzi was just the artificial intelligence app in his phone. Lately he had developed a tendency to carry on conversations with 'her.' It worried him enough that he spent more time talking to Suzi than with actual human beings. Even more worrisome was that he liked Suzi more than any real person.

He pulled down into the garage and into his assigned spot. He decided to walk up the stairs from the garage to the lobby instead of taking the elevator, trying to work off at least a few drops of the biscuits and gravy he'd just eaten at Maybelle’s Home Cookin’ Diner. That morning's look in the mirror had betrayed far more softness around his middle than he liked. He had a gym membership, of course, but never managed to get there.

He nodded and smiled distantly to the doorman on his way to the elevator. He whistled tunelessly while waiting for the doors to slide open, then stepped quickly inside. He inserted his pass card and pressed the button marked PH. Forty-seven stories later, the doors opened onto his private hallway. He keyed his access code into the door and walked into his sanctuary, the place where he could shut out the rest of the world. The lights were dim, and the curtains were closed tight.

“Suzi, I’m home.”

“Welcome home, Steve.” The lights brightened, a fire whooshed into life in the fireplace, and Elvis began singing
Blue Christmas
from recessed speakers.

“Suzi, how about a different channel for music. Let’s try classic rock.”

Bob Seger’s
Little Drummer Boy
filled the air.

Steve sighed. “Suzi, I don’t like that one either. Try my oldies channel.”

Brenda Lee began singing
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.

“Music off, television on.”

A television screen suitable for a miniature movie theater rose out of a built-in stand at the far end of the living room. Jimmy Stewart was running down a street, waving madly.

Of course.
It’s a Wonderful Life.
What else could it possibly be?

"
I give up. Suzi, television off.”

The television went black and retracted into the stand. Steve walked into the kitchen and poured himself a whiskey, neat. It was probably just as well Suzi couldn't tend bar. If he couldn’t avoid Christmas altogether, he could at least drink enough to banish it from his mind. He took his drink into his bedroom.

“Suzi, can you find me some goddamned music that isn’t Christmas music?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I don’t have a track listing for goddamned music.”

Usually, it made him chuckle a little when he tricked Suzi into cursing, but it was late and he was too tired to care.

“Never mind. Suzi, lights out.” Steve sat on the edge of his bed in his darkened room, looking out at the city lights. They twinkled and spread out below him, reflecting on the fallen snow. More snow swirled and batted against his window, but found no purchase.

“Go to sleep, Suzi.”

“Good night, Steve.”

Chapter Three

Elizabeth awoke before the first weak rays of light came through her apartment window. She slid into a well-worn pair of slippers and splurged by turning the electric heat on for a few minutes. She put water on to boil for tea and jumped back under the covers to stay warm while she waited. A dinky apartment had a few benefits, one being fewer chilly steps on cold mornings.

A few minutes before 9 AM, she was unlocking the front door at
The Prints and the Pauper,
the used bookstore she had worked at for nearly twenty years. The store was closing early today, but she wished it wasn’t. There was nowhere else she wanted to be, but Mr. Bartleby insisted.

“I wish you’d take the entire day off and go and enjoy yourself,” he had said. “But, if you insist on working, make sure you close up by three. No one will be out looking for dusty old books after three o’clock on Christmas Eve, surely.”

He was right, of course. The store got no customers that day and only one visitor: Mr. Miller, the mailman, dropping off a few bills and circulars and wishing her Merry Christmas. She sat in her comfortable spot behind the counter, reading while watching people stream in and out of the department store across the street. By 3:15, she knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore, so she bundled up in her sweater and bulky coat and started her walk home. She had chosen her little apartment many years before for its proximity to her job. On wintry days like this, that choice paid off in reduced suffering.

Halfway home, she passed the small parking lot that had been converted into a Christmas tree lot for the holidays. She had dreamed about getting a small tree for her little apartment, but it just hadn’t been in the budget.

Still, it can’t hurt to look. They might be almost giving the trees away this close to Christmas.

She wandered through the lot, reaching out to touch the needles of the different trees, seeing how much life was left in each one.
It really doesn’t matter, I guess, this close to Christmas.
To go by the absence of customers, there weren’t many people desperate enough to shop for a tree at this late date. In fact, there was just her, one business man in a suit and the lot attendant. The attendant was more seedy than Christmassy, with a greasy grey cap perched on his head and a permanent sneer fixed under his bushy black mustache.

“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, “are you offering any specials on these trees?”

“Everybody’s always lookin’ for a deal,” he said in a coarse unidentifiable accent. “It depends, lady. You got any money?” Scanning her old shoes, handbag and coat, his eyes spoke doubt.

“Yes, yes, of course I do,” Elizabeth stammered, digging in her purse. She always kept an emergency $20 bill tucked behind her ID card. She found instead an emergency $10 bill, reminding her that half of it had gone to buy some milk and cat food two months ago. Her heart sank.

“I have ten dollars,” she said, pulling out the bill. She failed to notice her ID falling out onto the snowy ground.

Chapter Four

Steve sat behind his desk, hands behind his head, daydreaming. After five or six inches of accumulation, the snow had become intermittent. By now he was alone in the building, with the exception of a lone security guard thirty floors below in the lobby. He'd given everyone else the day off. His secretary, Mrs. Spencer, had come in at 8:30 as always; Steve had sent her home. She had made only pro forma 'are you sure?' objections before happily bundling up and heading home to her husband. Steve might not believe in Christmas, but he saw no reason to be callous to the people who did.

“C’mon, man, have some discipline. Let’s get back to work,” he said to himself. He spun his chair around, looked at the spreadsheet on the top of the pile and surrendered. Today, it just wasn't there. The old workhorse was out of oats.

Five minutes later, he was turning his Mercedes onto the street in front of his office building with absolutely no idea where he was headed. He considered going to a movie, but the thought of sitting alone in a theater on Christmas Eve was too depressing. He thought of going straight home, but it was just a little after three, and spending the rest of the day alone with Suzi was also more than he could handle.

Then inspiration struck. He tapped a button on his steering wheel. “Suzi, do you have an address for that building in the Rushton district that Jim Scott emailed me about on Thursday?”

“Yes, Steve, I have that address.”

“Good. Run a map to that building through the GPS, please.”

A map of the city appeared almost instantly on the screen embedded in his dash. Suzi said, “Turn right on Pacific Avenue in one quarter mile.”

Steve relaxed, absently following Suzi’s directives. After ten minutes of driving through light traffic, he looked around at the neighborhood. The buildings were old and more than a little run down.

Jim, what the hell are you thinking, recommending a building in this area?

“In one quarter mile, you will have reached your destination on the right.”

I don’t think my destination is anywhere around here
.

He pulled off to the side and saw a brick four-story building, a little better maintained than the neighboring structures. That wasn’t a positive. He knew real estate, and owning the best building in the area was a great way to raise everyone else’s values while lowering your own.

“Suzi, home.”

New directions appeared on the screen. Suzi said, “Go straight three blocks and turn left on Second Avenue.”

The Mercedes accelerated smoothly away from the curb, but just as he was about to merge back into traffic, he felt a jolt from the front passenger side and heard a bang. The whole car shuddered and veered to the right.

“Goddamn it,” Steve said, gritting his teeth.

He pulled to a stop and jumped out. When he ran around the front of the car to the passenger side, he was relieved to see it was just a blown tire. Overall, Steve wasn’t attached to things, but he did love this Mercedes and didn’t want to see it damaged. He felt the bitter wind tug at his collar and looked at his trunk. Surely it had a spare in there somewhere, but he had no earthly idea how to get it out. Not to mention, he was getting cold, and situations like this were why he had Auto Club.

He got back in the car and said “Suzi, call the Auto Club.”

After listening to eight or nine rings on the other end of the line, a deep male voice answered, “Auto Club. Can I help you?”

“Yes, this is Steve Larson, Membership Number 8394736.” Steve had a knack for remembering numbers. He still remembered his student ID number from college two decades before.

“Yes, Mr. Larson. How can we assist you?”

“I’ve had a little mishap and I need a truck to come to me. I’ve run over something and I have a blowout.”

“Yes sir. We can certainly be there, but we’re running a skeleton crew tonight…” Steve tensed a little, anticipating what was coming. “…we try to let as many of our drivers as we can spend Christmas Eve at home with their families. I’m afraid it might be an hour before we can get a truck out to you.”

“Just do what you can. I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said, pushing “End Call” a little more vigorously than he needed to. It didn’t give anywhere near the satisfaction that slamming a phone down in its cradle used to offer.

He turned the heater up a few degrees and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while taking stock of the neighborhood. Nothing he saw dispelled his first impression. It was a mixed-use neighborhood with small businesses right next to brownstone apartments. The sidewalk was cracked. Litter spilled from city trash cans that couldn’t keep up with demand. Just ahead, on the same side of the street, was an empty parking lot in temporary use as a Christmas tree lot. It would be getting dark soon, but the lot had white Christmas lights strung on wires running around it. The intended cheerful effect was overcome by the skimpiness of the remaining inventory, all the trees rejected by everyone to date.

As he looked at the lot, the strangest thing happened. Steve felt a sensation in his stomach like he was on a rollercoaster, just getting ready to go over that first big plunge. He felt an overwhelming urge to leave behind the warmth of the car and go to that Christmas tree lot.

He shook his head, clearing away the memories of Christmases long since past, forcing real estate and practical matters upon his faculties. He pondered what Jim Scott had been drinking when he recommended this building. He considered whether a couple of his lower-rent apartment buildings had run their profitable course. He thought about what he was going to have for dinner when he got home. He wondered when the mechanic would come to fix his tire. An hour would be miraculous; two was likely.

His eyes and thoughts always returned to the little tree lot. Several times he felt his hand on the door handle, ready to open it, before he caught himself. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said, climbing from the warm comfort of the Mercedes into the biting late-afternoon wind. His grandmother had always called this a lazy wind. “Too lazy to go around you, so it goes right through you instead.” He pulled his wool coat tighter around his throat and walked toward the sign that read “Xmas Trees, $25 and Up.”

Once within the lot, he felt a little silly. He reached out and touched the branches of a few trees, looking at prices for trees he would not buy. The thought of cramming a tree of any size into the Mercedes’ leather interior or minimalist trunk was ridiculous enough to make him chuckle a bit.

As he got ready to leave, he saw a woman talking to the scruffy guy in charge of the lot. Something about her tugged at the far edge of his memory. He edged closer and listened.

“Excuse me,” she was saying, “are you offering any specials on these trees?”

Steve didn’t hear the lot attendant’s response, because something about her voice resonated inside him. Eavesdropping without appearing to eavesdrop was one of Steve’s business survival skills.

He couldn’t hear whatever question the man had asked her, but it had flustered her. He saw her digging in her wallet.

He looked at her more closely.

She was tall, with shoulder-length brown hair that stuck out from under a wool stocking cap. She didn’t seem to be wearing much makeup, but hers was the kind of face that was lovely without it. He moved a little toward his left, feigning interest in a pathetic Douglas fir. When the light caught her face in just the right way, he saw her piercing blue eyes and felt his heart thump hard against his ribcage.

“Lizzie? Oh my God, is that really you?” Steve blurted.

Whatever drama had been playing out in front of him stopped. Both the woman and the lot attendant turned to look at him.

“Eh… excuse me?” she stammered.

“Lizzie Coleman. That is you.” His voice conveyed at least a small part of the wonder he felt.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you,” she said, ducking her head and putting her wallet back in her purse. “Excuse me, won’t you?” She pushed quickly past both the men, hurried to the sidewalk and turned to the right.

Steve stood still for a few moments, unsure what to do next. By the time he got his feet moving again and made it to the sidewalk, she was gone from sight. He strode back to the attendant.

“Do you know that woman?”

“Never seen her before in my life, Mac, but thanks a heap for chasing my customer away.”

“Dammit. Dammit!”

He kicked at the ground in frustration and turned up the ID card that Elizabeth had dropped. His heart leaped and he knelt down to pick it up. The card said “COLEMAN, ELIZABETH LYNN” and had her address. He gripped it hard. “I knew that was you, Lizzie.”

The attendant eyed him with cynical resignation.

“Please,” Steve said, “wait here for just a moment. I’ve got to run back to my car. Then I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Mac.”

Steve ran the block back to his car and climbed quickly behind the wheel. He reached into his briefcase and grabbed the memo-sized notebook he always kept near. The briefcase included two Tiffany pens, one of which he pulled out. He paused, sucking on the end of the pen for a few moments, looking for the right words, when they came to him in a rush. He filled the front and back of the small page, then folded it and stuck it in his inside jacket pocket.

When he got back to the Christmas tree lot, the attendant was leaning against a light post, smoking a cigarette. Steve said, “I have a proposition for you. I’ll pay you $200 to take one of your trees to this address.” He looked around the lot at the pathetic remaining inventory and pointed to the one that looked the least lamentable of the bunch, then handed him a piece of paper with the address from the ID he had found. “When you get there, I want you to give her this note,” he said, handing it over.

The attendant’s bushy eyebrows reacted, but his voice did not. “I dunno, Mac, I can’t leave the lot unattended, y’know.” His glittering eyes revealed that he felt he might have just found his own Christmas miracle.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Steve said, looking around at the remaining twenty or so trees. “You and I both know that you’re not going to sell many more trees tonight. But, if you’ll deliver the tree and the note like I asked you, I’ll give you $200 now. When you get back here and tell me you delivered it like I asked, I’ll give you $200 more. That would pay you more than every tree left on this lot is worth, so even if the public just steals them all, you’re paid. Deal?”

”Okay, deal,” said the lot attendant, accepting the envelope and address.