Second Chance Love (3 page)

Read Second Chance Love Online

Authors: Shawn Inmon

BOOK: Second Chance Love
7.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

 

Chapter Five

 

Elizabeth hadn’t run anywhere in a very long time, but she ran away from that Christmas tree lot, nearly slipping in the snow when she made a fast right turn. She only had one thought in her head:
Steve. Oh my God, Steve.
She hadn’t seen him in twenty years, and had never expected to see him again. That pain was buried under emotional scar tissue that had turned to rawhide. Opening herself up to it again was not thinkable.

She glanced over her shoulder as she climbed the steps to her apartment building, in case someone had followed her home. No one was in sight. She hurried up the stairs to her apartment on the third floor. Sebastian met her, rubbing his face against her legs and purring. She picked him up and cradled him to her chest as she sat down on the edge of her couch, oblivious for once to the chill in her apartment.

Happy kitty purring may be calming, but does not always help sort out shocks and complex feelings.
What does it mean, running into Steve again? Anything? Nothing?
When the cat-calm had her thoughts slowed down from chaos to confusion, Elizabeth got on with her usual after-work routine. She lit the fire she had laid out that morning, put down a bowl of food for Sebastian, and put the tea kettle on to boil.
There is nothing to worry about. I wasn't followed. He won’t be able to call me because I don’t have a phone.
The kettle began to whistle, and she got up to make some tea.

A loud, rude rapping at her door made Elizabeth jump and gasp.

She put her hand to her breast as if it could calm the sudden pounding of her heart, then took the teapot off the flame and crept across her living room to the front door. She stopped a few inches away and looked around the apartment. It was dark outside and she hadn’t turned on any lights, so it seemed safe to look out the peephole. Just as she started to put her eye against it, three sharp raps came again, so nearby. She jumped and couldn’t quite stifle an “Oh!”

From outside, a loud, gruff voice said, “C’mon lady, I’ve got a delivery I have to make so I can get back to my family. It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake. Don’t leave me standin’ out in the hallway like this.”

The voice was as brusque as it was familiar. Anger boiled up as she put her eye against the peephole. Sure enough, it was the rude man from the tree lot.
How in the world did he find me, and what could he possibly want?

“C’mon, lady, I ain’t got all night here. Gimme a break!”

She gathered her courage and opened the door as far as the chain would allow. “Yes?”

“Like I said, I got a delivery for you.” He lifted up the tree as proof, dropping pine needles like dandruff on the hallway carpet. “If you’ll open up, I’ll deliver it and be on my way.”

Elizabeth didn’t want this man inside her apartment at all, but neither did she want him standing in her hallway banging on her door and making a fuss. She sighed, closed the door, unlatched the chain and opened it halfway.

He didn’t even bother to take a step forward, just held out the tree to her. “Here.”

“I don’t understand. You said I didn’t have enough money for a tree. Why did you come all the way here just to bring me one?”

The man shrugged and started to walk away when he stopped, turned and reached into his coat pocket. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I almost forgot. I’m supposed to give you this, too.” He handed her a folded piece of notebook paper.

In a daze, she reached out and accepted it.

He started to walk away again, then stopped. He turned to her. “Uh… Merry Christmas, lady.” He smiled at her. It was not an expression that fit nicely on his face.

“Merry Christmas,” she said automatically, but it was to his back as he disappeared down the hall to the stairs.

She leaned the tree against the wall by the door and sat again on the edge of the couch. She turned on the lamp, remembered the tea kettle and put it back on the burner, then returned to the couch and unfolded the note.

She instantly recognized the handwriting: Steve.

Hello, Lizzie. I can’t believe my luck in running into you like this. I’ve tried to find you so many times over the years. I thought maybe you’d moved out of state. When we lost track of each other, I didn’t know what to do. That night, I felt like I was stuck between two impossible choices, but I know now that I chose the wrong one. You were my best friend, Lizzie. Really, you were my only friend.

There was something I wanted to tell you that night, but instead I ended up telling you good-bye. Will you meet me tomorrow? I know that’s crazy. Tomorrow is Christmas and I’m sure you have plans, but…

If you ran away just now because you never want to see me again, I understand. If you’re willing to hear me out, though, meet me at Moe’s Café on 1
st
Avenue at noon. It’s just a few blocks away from where I ran into you. I’ll be there waiting and I hope you’ll come.

As you wish.

Steve

She had felt a lump forming in her throat as she saw the slants and swirls of his handwriting, still familiar to her after so long, but when she saw the last line, tears spilled down her cheek.

As you wish.

The Princess Bride
had been their favorite movie. Whenever she had asked him to do something, it was what he always said to her. Her heart ached, seeing it there on the page and knowing he remembered too.

 

Chapter Six

 

The digital clock beside his bed glowed
11:49
,
but Steve was still rolling things around in his mind. Twenty years earlier to the day, he had left Elizabeth. It had become his habit to block out thoughts and memories of her. Now, lying in his lonely bed, he let the memories overtake him.

On Christmas Eve 1993, he and Lizzie had both been freshmen in college. They had been best friends since 8
th
grade, when Lizzie had heard Steve quote a
Monty Python
skit that had been on TV the night before. From that day forward, they had been inseparable. In high school, they had gone to all the formal dances together because no one else was brave enough to be the third wheel on that particular motorcycle. They both understood those dates were just as friends, though. That’s all they had ever been—friends. Best friends.

When it had come time to choose a college, there was no doubt they would go to the same school, although it had been a tougher road for Elizabeth. Steve’s father owned a real estate investment company, and could afford to pay for him to go wherever he wanted. Hers was a construction worker who liked to drink and only worked sporadically. She applied herself through high school, and graduated with a 3.97 GPA, good enough to get the scholarships that would compensate for limited means. For Steve, a Business Administration major was the clear and only choice. Elizabeth, so practical in all other aspects of her life, chose to major in English Literature.

Steve tried remembering the first time that he'd realized he was in love with her, but he couldn’t pin down a moment. It felt like he had always loved her, though he had never told her. She was beautiful, and he was… not. She was tall and bubbly; he was just another short, homely boy wandering the halls. If she didn't feel the same way—as surely she would not—he would risk losing his best friend and gaining a broken heart.

On Christmas Eve 1993, that had been about to change. He had finally decided that he’d rather be rejected than remain an undeclared lover. During the days off from class leading up to that Christmas, he had spent hours making her a Christmas gift. It would finally reveal how he really felt about her. He finished the present on Christmas Eve afternoon and had just wrapped it and slipped it into his pocket when one of his fraternity brothers had knocked on his door to tell him he had a phone call.

It had been Margaret Larson, his mother. Looking back on it, he wondered why she hadn’t sounded hysterical and overwrought during that call. Instead, she had seemed stunned.

“Stephen, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this over the phone, but there’s no other way. It’s your father—he had another heart attack.”

“Mom—is he okay?”

“No. He’s not. He’s gone. I’m so sorry, honey, he’s… gone.” Her voice trailed off, unsure of where to go next.

“Mom…”

“I’m okay.” She had regained her footing. “I’m okay. I’ll make a plane reservation for you, so we can get you home. We need you here.”

“Of course, Mom, I’m out of class for a couple of weeks any way. I’ll stay there at the house with you and help you figure everything out.”

“I want to talk to you about that, Stephen. You know your father never graduated from school and he was…” She paused. "He was so proud of you and how well you are doing. He was planning on having you come to work for the company as soon as you graduated and then take over for him when he retired. But now…”

“What are you saying, Mom?”

“I want you to pack all your things and come home, sweetheart. I need you here. Dad’s company needs you, too, and not just for a couple of weeks. Mr. Mills has always been your dad’s right-hand man, but he’s already past retirement himself and he can’t stay on too much longer. I talked to him just a few minutes ago here at the hospital, and he said he’d be willing to stay on for another year and show you everything you need to know to take over, but no longer. I’m so sorry, Stephen, but I need you to come home to stay.”

That three-minute phone conversation had changed everything in his life. His dad was gone; his mom wanted him to leave school, and Elizabeth… Elizabeth. He was on his way to her house to finally tell her how he felt about her. Now he had no idea what to do.

His mom hadn’t threatened him, hadn’t said “You’ve got to drop out of school.” She had left the choice up to him. Still, it felt like no choice at all. Could he walk away from his family when they needed him? Could he risk letting his father’s business fail? If that happened, his entire future was in doubt, as well as that of his family and the numerous families whose paychecks came because the company made payroll. He walked to his car and drove to Elizabeth’s place in a daze. It was a big old house a few miles from campus that she shared with five friends. When he rang the doorbell, she flew down the stairs, threw the door open and said “Pancho!” That had been her nickname of the week for him, subject to change at any moment.

Her smile disappeared when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my dad, Lizzie. He had a heart attack. He’s dead.” He hadn’t cried to that point, but seeing the instant sorrow and empathy on Elizabeth’s beautiful face, he couldn’t hold tears back any more.

“Oh, Steve. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” She threw her arms around him and held him for a long time. When she pulled away, tears were running down her face as well.

“Mom just called me. She wants me home tonight.”

“Of course she does. She needs you. I wish I could come too and help out.”

"It's okay, but… It’s worse than that, Lizzie. She wants me to leave school and come home for good. She wants me to go to work for the company.”

Elizabeth took one step back.

“So… so then she wants you to leave, but you won’t be coming back? Ever?”

“No, probably not.”

“And, are you going to do it?”

He nodded. “I feel like I have to. I don’t know what else to do.” Until that moment he hadn’t realized that was his decision.

Her face fell.

“Oh.” He had never heard her sound so small.

In all the years they had been friends, there had never been an awkward silence between them, but there it was. Everything in both their lives had just changed, with no time to absorb it.

“So...” Elizabeth said. “Since I’m going to be right here for three and a half more years, I guess we’ll have to keep in touch through phone calls and letters, huh?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Lizzie, I’m going to miss you.”

And he had.

But he hadn’t seen her again until tonight.

Other books

Fever Season by Barbara Hambly
Slave Girl by Patricia C. McKissack
The Advocate's Devil by Alan M. Dershowitz
The Age of Magic by Ben Okri
An Oxford Tragedy by J. C. Masterman
Silence by Preston, Natasha
Blue Birds by Caroline Starr Rose
Sticky Fingers by Niki Burnham
Soft Skills by Cleo Peitsche