Second Chances (17 page)

“Life can't just be about you,” Mom said softly into the silent void surrounding us, as if I didn't have that knowledge rammed down my throat on a daily basis. To her credit, her golden-green eyes were full of compassion. She added, “Not now. Not with Camille having a child. The girls need a stable home. They need you and their father under one roof.”

“Good-night,” I told her, my voice strangled. And before I could say another word, I removed myself from the bar.

I walked
briskly into the night air, wanting (but not giving in to the urge) to the slam the screen door with the full force of my mood. Restless clouds rolled across the sky, randomly blotting out the stars and chasing across the enormous silver-dollar face of the full moon. I couldn't sit on the dock in my current emotional state, and so I set out around the lake road, wishing, longing, fantasizing that somehow Blythe would come pulling up in his truck like he had the first night we'd kissed. I played that moment over and over in my mind, hugging myself again, as though to hold those memories inside where they'd be safe.

We would make it work. We would, and Mom would just have to accept that. I knew she wanted me to be happy; that just got tangled up in what she thought was right. I knew she loved me and had no desire to hurt me. But she didn't know Blythe like I did, she didn't understand what we had. I was so agitated that I made it all the way to Fisherman's Street in no time flat.

Might as well keep going
, I thought.
Check out my new house
.

I slowed my pace slightly as I stepped onto the sidewalk of Broom Street, where the little blue house we'd looked at this afternoon sat quietly. There was one streetlight just across from it, projecting a white phosphorescent glow, and a handful of porch lights glimmering here and there. The street itself was otherwise dark and calm; not even a breath of wind moved through my loose hair. The clouds had almost totally obliterated the moon, though I could see its faint sheen behind the not-quite-opaque gray of the sky, as though it were shining behind a smoked-glass window. I figured I would sit on the swing for a moment, chill out and collect myself, before heading back to Shore Leave. I wished that I could call Blythe and tell him I'd found us a place; I'd written today, but I hated the delay in information. I climbed the porch steps and settled onto the hanging swing, setting it into gentle motion with my foot.

I decided I quite liked the porch at night. Of course, I couldn't see Flickertail Lake. I couldn't smell the scent of the lakeshore, but it was peaceful and homey, nonetheless. The chains gave a faint chiming with each backswing. I reached into my shirt and pulled out Blythe's letter and caressed it as I imagined caressing every inch of his skin when he was in my arms again. I tilted his words into the faint shine from the streetlight, reading them again, though I'd almost memorized the letter by now.

Joelle
, he'd written.
I close my eyes and see yours as I lay here at night trying to sleep. Your eyes that are so insanely beautiful, green and gold at the same time. God, I wish I could write this better and really let you know how I feel because it's like I'm dying inside without you. My heart is yours forever, Joelle. I can see you so perfectly, and feel you against me, where I want to hold you always. I will never stop loving you and never stop wanting you. I see your soft sweet mouth, baby, your lips that taste like
—

“Hey, that's private property!” someone said then, sounding as though he was on the porch with me.

I jumped and looked wildly around, then realized that a kid was standing on the porch next door, leaning way over the railing and peering into the darkness as though trying to decide how much of a threat I posed, and if he should call the cops or not. And Landon's go-to law officer, Charlie Evans, was the last person I wanted to see at the moment.

“No, no!” I said, getting to my feet in a hurry and moving immediately towards the railing nearest him. “It's okay! I am going to be renting this place! Your aunt, Liz Worden—”

“Oh,” he said then, and his voice held a cease-and-desist tone. “Yeah, she mentioned. Sorry. It's just late and I didn't think anyone should be over there.”

“No, that's actually really nice that you worried about it,” I said. In the darkness I couldn't tell much about him, other than he seemed to be somewhere in the mid-teens. “I'm Joelle Gordon.”

“Jake McCall,” he said politely. “We've lived here since I was little.”

“Well, nice to meet you,” I told him. “My girls are probably about your age.”

“I'll be a senior this year,” he said. “How about your girls?”

“I have three, and they're 17, 15 and 12. Do you have any sisters?”

“Nah, just me and Mom.”

“Well, hey, good to meet you,” I said again. “Thanks for taking care of the flowers over here.”

“No problem. Good to meet you, too. G'night,” he said and retreated inside his house.

On my new porch I shook my head, tucked Blythe's letter gently back into my bra and smiled into the darkness.

I debated
calling Jillian for a ride as I walked slowly back around the lake. I was wearing tennis shoes without socks and my right heel was raw. I was just reaching for my cell phone when it buzzed with an incoming call and Jilly's name flashed onto the screen. Of course she'd sensed it.

“Where are you?” she asked immediately.

“On Flicker Trail,” I told her. “I just went to sit on my porch swing for a while.”

“You did? At this time of night?”

“Mom and I had…some words,” I said, though I hadn't said much of anything.

“She said,” Jilly affirmed. “She told me and Ellen what she told you, and I was all like, ‘Are you effing kidding me?'”

“You didn't say that.”

“Noooo…but I thought it. Jo, don't listen to Mom. I mean, I know she loves us, but she's so easily manipulated. She lets Jackson bulldoze her.”

I sighed and stopped walking. My heel was really hurting.

“Do you want me to come and get you?” my sister asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I'll be right there.”

Twenty minutes later I was at her kitchen table; Clint and my girls were over at Mom's playing a game of Monopoly they'd started around 2:00 in the afternoon. It was currently half past 11:00.

“You want a rum and coke?” she asked, peering into her fridge as I slumped at the table. I wanted to pull out Bly's letter and keep reading it, but Jilly would be irritated with me. “How about a wine cooler?”

I giggled a little at that. “Is this eighth grade?”

She laughed too. “Yeah, true. They were on sale and looked good. Kiwi-strawberry, I think.”

“So where's Justin tonight?”

“He's out with Jackie, actually. The two of them drove into town and are probably at Eddie's. I guess Jackson told Justin about what he'd said to you on Sunday.”

“Ugh, what did Justin say?”

“He told Jackie he was out of line, but he also believes that Jackie is sorry for what he's done, like everything he's done,” Jilly said. “He's buying into to it, too.”

“Well, maybe he is sorry,” I said. “Mom sure as hell seems to think so. But that doesn't mean anything anymore.”

“Well, don't let Mom get you upset,” Jilly said again. “Besides, she's excited at the thought of Camille living here with the baby. She's helping her plan the nursery. And Ellen was talking about finding Clint's old crib in the attic.”

“You know, I've been thinking about that all afternoon. Maybe Milla would be better off here. And under other circumstances she might be moving in with Noah. God, I can't imagine my baby is that old. At least here she'd have a little more privacy, and then Tish and Ruthie could each have their own rooms at our house.”

Jillian turned to look at me, her eyes overflowing with sincerity. She said, “Jo, don't let Mom influence you in any way over this. I'm so happy you're staying around here. I don't care if you moved in with me for good.”

“Aw, Jills,” I said, tears brimming in my own eyes. “Thank you. I've missed you so much. I don't know how I would have gotten through the summer without you.”

“Same here,” she said.

By Saturday
I was edgy and irritable with everyone. My daughters had taken to avoiding me in the last 24 hours, and I knew I was acting ridiculously. I was just so tired. At night I alternately rolled to the other side or punched up my pillow in an attempt to make it fit better under my head. Last night Gran had grumped at me, “Joelle, I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”

Blythe's letter looked like a relic from World War II, the way I clutched it at night and wore it next to my skin all day. I'd mailed him two more and received another from him just today, which I'd taken out to the dock to read after lunch rush. It just served to make me miss him all the more; by the time I'd accepted the collect call charges, my nerves were as frayed as pieces of old rope. I had given him the house phone number in a letter, so I could at least have privacy while everyone else was over at the café.

“Joelle, sweetheart,” he said, his warm, deep, dear voice in my ear at last. I curled around the phone and swore to myself that if I started to cry and wasted this phone call in tears, I would never forgive myself.

“Blythe,” I said, and he heard it in my voice anyway.

“Sweetheart, don't cry,” he said softly. I could tell he was doing his utmost to sound cheerful. Being strong for me.

“I'm not, I'm not,” I insisted and inhaled deeply. “It's just so good to talk to you. I don't think you know how much I miss you.”

“Believe me, baby, I do. God, if I could just hear your voice every day. You sound so close.”

“I got your letter,” I told him. “I wear it in my bra all day and sleep with it at night.”

He breathed out in a rush and said in a strangled voice, “Don't mention your bra, baby. I wish I was there taking if off of you. With my teeth.”

“Me too, oh my God, Blythe. And I found us a house, like I wrote in the last letter,” I told him. “It's not huge, but I think you'll like it.”

He sounded like he was smiling as he said, “It sounds great, honey. I'll do whatever I have to do, work construction, whatever. I'll support us, don't worry.”

“I'm not worried,” I told him softly. “I just need you. Being apart from you just makes me realize it all the more. I love reading what you wrote. It makes me blush, though, I have to say. I should have known you'd have a way with words.”

He was definitely smiling now; I could sense it even across the miles separating us. He said, “The blush that starts on your cheeks and goes down from there? That blush?”

Even now that heat was spreading over my body. I said, slightly breathless, “Yes.”

“The one I'm going to kiss every inch of the moment I see you, everyone else be damned?” he went on.

“Yes, yes, and yes.” I pressed my free hand against my belly, which was suddenly weightless. “Oh God, Blythe, I can't wait.”

“Shit, I just have a minute left, baby. Write me another letter, I love getting them. But don't worry about me, truly. It's not so bad here, and Rich and Mom came to see me yesterday.”

“They told me,” I said, trying not to get panicky now that it would be another week before we talked again. “I'm so glad they're close to you. Rich said you looked all right and I know he wouldn't lie to me. Your mom was worried you'd be losing weight.”

He laughed a little. “Mom thinks they serve bread and water and nothing else. Not that it's much better, but I'm all right.” His voice grew deeper and tender with emotion as he said, “I love you, Joelle. I love you with everything in me.”

Tears were flooding my face now. I said, “That's all I need in the world. I love love love you. I wish I had a shirt of yours to sleep in, wrap around my whole body.”

He laughed, a little choked up too, I could tell. He said, “Soon you'll have me.” And then, in a hurry, “Bye, sweetheart. I'll call you next week, same time, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, but again he was cut off abruptly, and I sat alone holding the dial tone, trying to catch my breath. My chest hurt.

Two weeks down.

On Monday I met Liz at her
office and signed the rental property and insurance papers. I signed up for a six-month stint; that way, if we found something better this fall or winter, it wouldn't be such a commitment to break. An hour later, after we'd had lunch, she turned over two sets of keys to me, along with a folder of information about the house itself.

“I heard you met Jake,” Liz said as we parted ways in the realtor's office parking lot.

I laughed at the memory. “Yeah, he's a neighborhood watch and security officer all rolled into one.”

“He's a nice boy, takes care of his mom,” Liz said. “He's the one to call if you need help with anything before your hunky man gets back to town.” And she grinned at me with a saucy expression as she climbed into her car. “Or call us. I'll send Wordo over if you need help with heavy lifting or something.”

“Thanks, Liz,” I told her, flushing a little. We'd discussed Blythe at length over lunch.

Her opinion was, “‘If that's who's coming home to you at night, Jo, who cares where the hell he works?'”

“See you later,” she said, waving as she pulled away.

I called over the café and got Jilly. “Hey, is Camille around?”

“Yeah, she's having a strawberry shake,” my sister said, then leaned away from the phone to call, “Milla! Your mom's on the phone for you!”

“Hello?” my daughter asked moments later.

“Hey honey,” I said. “I just got the keys to the house. You wanna round up the girls and drive them over? Just ask Grandma if you can use the station wagon.”

“Sure,” she said. They'd seen the outside of the place yesterday, so I didn't need to give directions. “We'll be there in a few.”

At the house I stood in the front yard and regarded the porch, the steeply angled roofline with its two symmetrical windows popping up like afterthoughts through the shingles. The siding was relatively new, the blue of rain-heavy storm clouds. Under the afternoon sun I walked around the foundation, studying everything with a sense of wonderment and growing excitement. When compared to the property I'd left behind in Chicago, this house was a joke. But I loved it already, and felt a sense of accomplishment. I'd taken a step away from the dependent wife I'd been for way too long.

I'd signed Jackie's papers last night; the gray folder from his law firm was in the trunk of my car, just waiting until he showed up at Shore Leave yet again. I dearly hoped that when I'd handed over the documents he'd be on his way back to Illinois. And Mom would just have to deal.

“Hey there,” I said suddenly, pausing in my walk as I spied a lanky orange cat stretched out in the wilting ferns on the north side of the house. It had the look of a serious predator, crouched low in wait. As I watched him, the cat regarded me with golden eyes and opened his mouth in a small mew. He was wearing a collar, so I didn't worry and left him to his devices. Around the side of the house I clicked open the gate in the shoulder-high wooden fence, letting myself into the backyard. The grass here was browning, surrounding two decades-old cedars along the back fence, in addition to a row of healthy-looking lilacs. In the spring, if we were still here, they would be a treat. The backyard faced east and was full of welcome shade at this time of day. I climbed onto the deck, which was simple and sturdy.

I was contemplating where I might put a grill when I heard Mom's station wagon chug into the driveway, followed by the excited voices of my girls. I called, “I'm back here, guys!” and Tish and Ruthie came barreling into the yard, excited and chattering.

“Mom, this is so cool!” Tish said, and I grinned at her enthusiasm. “Can we go inside?”

“Here,” I said, handing her a key. “Check out the bedrooms upstairs.”

They went running back around the house, startling the cat, who shot onto the McCalls' porch next door. I followed more slowly; Camille was just climbing out of the car. She paused and studied the house with both hands curled around the top of the open car door, the sun beating down on her head. I opened my mouth to speak when I heard someone behind us say, “Hi, Joelle. You guys moving in today?”

I turned and spied Jake, who'd just pedaled up on an off-road bike. He cruised over into our driveway and grinned politely at me, bracing the bike with one foot on the ground before turning his attention to Camille. She tossed her hair over one shoulder and looked back at him with tepid detachment, barely offering a smile. I said hastily, “Milla, this is our neighbor, Jake McCall. Jake, this is my oldest, Camille.”

He blinked once, as though in slow motion. In the daylight he was lean and lanky, all legs and elbows, though his height suggested that he'd fill out one day. He had shaggy, tangled dark hair (as though it had been contained under a helmet for the duration of his ride), freckles over his tan, and eyelashes that would make Gran say he should have been a girl.

“Hi,” he finally said, and immediately cleared his throat.

Camille managed a small, tight smile before heading silently into the house, leaving me groping for something to say that might smooth over her obvious rudeness.

“So, is that your orange cat?” I asked, and he refocused on me with effort, still staring at the screen door through which my oldest had just disappeared. For a moment my heart bumped in sympathy for him; if there was anyone off limits at this moment in her life, it was Milla. My lovely, cold, distant and hurting girl.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at his own porch. “That's Taffeta Kittypants.”

I laughed in surprise and he grinned again, reminding me of Clinty. He seemed to exude the same amiability.

“I know it's a dumb name,” he said. “But we've had her for so long we can't change it now.”

The dormer window to the right suddenly creaked in protest at being forced open and Tish appeared. She yelled down, “Mom, I'm taking this room!”

“Okay,” I called up. “Does Ruthie like the other one?”

“Yeah, she wants the peachy-pink one.”

“Your other girls?” Jake guessed.

I nodded. “That was Tish, and Ruthann is the youngest.”

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” he said, and waved as he glided back over to his own driveway.

I banged in through my new screen door and called, “What do we need first in here?”

“A radio!” Tish called from upstairs. Ruthie appeared on the landing and added, “A cat!”

“Oh, no,” I said firmly. “Well, what do you guys think?”

“It smells funny,” Tish said, pounding down to join her sister on the landing.

“No, it's just stuffy. Remember, a woman Gran's age lived here alone and never opened the house up.”

“Did she croak in here?” Tish wondered aloud, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

“No, my kind-hearted child. She went to live in the nursing home,” I replied.

“Let's see the basement,” the two of them agreed, and disappeared that way. I followed them but stopped in the kitchen as I saw Milla looking out in the backyard, her arms wrapped around her belly.

“Mom,” she said. “Have you thought about what we talked about this weekend?”

I bit my bottom lip, sensing a gulf forming between us, but unsure how to bridge it, or even paddle across it, at the moment. At last I said, “Yeah. I think it would work out pretty well. If that's what you want, honey.”

She peered back at me, so pretty and vulnerable-looking. It made my heart clench up like a fist. But then she smiled, a genuine smile, and looked exactly like Jackson for a split second. “Thanks, Mom. I really do.”

I went and wrapped my arms around her, expecting her to shrug away, but she surprised me and hugged me back hard for a moment, until from downstairs Ruthie suddenly shrieked and Tish yelled, “Um, there's a
huge
bug crawling on the carpet, Mom, hurry!”

Jilly, Clint
and the girls helped me the rest of the week. Mom and Ellen even pitched in, getting our belongings boxed and loaded; Mom had given me a fair number of cast-offs from the house, which I did appreciate. She had not again mentioned our conversation; part of me was grateful and another wished she would apologize. I felt as though she owed me one, but I didn't press the issue. By Friday night we'd successfully unloaded the haul, I'd arranged for electricity and water, as well as a phone, and Jilly and I had just gotten back to Shore Leave, dusty and sweaty, ready to celebrate our hard work with a couple of beers and a dip into the lake.

“I'm just jumping in, fuck it,” Jillian said as I put my car in park and ran one hand through my damp hair.

I giggled. “Thanks for helping all day.”

“Oh shit. Don't give me that. Come on, let's get in the water!”

It was after 8:00, and the dinner crowd had thinned out. Mom, Ellen, Gran and Sue Kratz, who filled in on summer weekends, were rolling silverware at a porch table.

“You girls hungry?” Ellen called down as Jilly and I made our way across the parking lot.

“Just hot,” I responded.

“We're hitting the water,” Jilly explained, and suddenly we were both running, as though we were 11 and 12 again, pausing only a second to shed our shoes, laughing hysterically as the dock shuddered beneath our bare footfalls. We leaped at the same instant, the lukewarm water of the lake closing momentarily over our heads; when we surfaced, I could hear the womenfolk laughing up on the porch.

“Ahh, that's perfect,” I said, ducking under again, then stretching out to float on my back, studying the expanse of familiar sky above the lake, a rich baby blue as the sun sank into a purple spill of low-lying clouds. Jilly swam under me and blew bubbles; her head popped out near my stomach and she smoothed back her short hair with both hands.

“Now if only we had a beer,” she said, treading water, looking no older than the girls. I grinned at her, my stomach feeling all at once buoyant; I had a house, my girls were happy to be staying in Landon, I'd signed my divorce papers and best of all, Blythe would be calling tomorrow. I'd written him enough letters by now that he'd have an album's worth when he got here. And getting his letters in return filled me with unexpected delight; I loved holding the paper he'd held to write the letter, touching the words his hand had written. He'd drawn an arrow showing me where he'd kissed the letter near his signature, so I could kiss the same spot, which I had. Too many times to count now. Again, I kept this precious information to myself, not about to withstand Jilly's merciless teasing.

Jilly caught sight of Clint coming outside and hollered, “Son! Get us something to drink!”

“You want to get us fined?” Mom called back, standing on the porch carrying a tub of rolled silverware, but I could tell she was smiling as she went back inside. Clint and Liam, who was ever-present these days as August drew to a close and the threat of school in a few weeks made the kids increasingly hedonistic, came out onto the dock to hand off two beers to Jilly and me.

Clint, whose hair was still wet from swimming all afternoon, sat and kicked his toes in the water. He said, “Aunt Joey, it sucks that you guys aren't gonna be living here anymore.”

“Aw, buddy, we'll be just over in town. And we'll be out here all the time.”

His face was still glum. I added, “And Camille will still be living here.”

“Yeah, but she's so grumpy all the time. She's no fun anymore,” he said honestly.

Jilly snapped, “Next time you're carrying a baby, you see how ‘fun' you feel.”

Clint raised apologetic blue eyes to his mother. “Mom, I just mean she's not the same.”

“It's okay, Clinty, I know what you mean,” I told him. “She's moody these days.”

Justin, with Liz's triplets in tow, suddenly appeared from the direction of the parking lot. The triplets kept going, banging into the café yelling for Ruthie.

“Hi, babe,” Justin called down to Jillian and she lit up like a sparkler.

“Honey, go get Justin a drink,” she told Clint and he sighed, but did as she'd asked, Liam on his heels.

“You coming in?” she asked Justin, as he sauntered onto the dock and planted both hands on his hips. He was wearing jeans and a dirty work shirt, his hair sweaty and his hands streaked with motor oil. He grinned at her and then said, “Not in these clothes.”

“Take ‘em off then,” she challenged.

I picked up the gauntlet, adding, “Oh, he wouldn't dare.”

Justin's beautiful dark eyes, brown as fresh-shelled pecans, smoldered at Jillian, and I could tell he was considering. She waggled her tongue at him, adding, “Oh, he's way too conservative for that.”

In response he began unbuttoning his work shirt. We giggled and splashed at him, and I whistled shrilly as he stripped off his shirt, baring his muscular chest and lean belly. Our antics kept me from noticing that someone else was coming down the hill from the parking lot, and by the time Justin had shucked his jeans (I don't think he actually would have if he'd not been wearing boxers) and cannon-balled into the lake with a huge splash, it was too late. Jackie was standing in the spot Justin had just vacated. He was sporting much more lawyerly look this evening, but he grinned at us as though amused.

Jilly shrieked as Justin hauled her into his arms and pitched her about three feet into the air. She surfaced and jumped on him, laughing and struggling to dunk him under. I swam to the edge of the dock and stood on my tiptoes in the mushy, lake-weedy bottom and looked up at Jackson, who tilted his face and returned my gaze, his eyes still amused but holding something else now, something that it made my insides twinge a little to see. He was looking at me with what appeared to be a combination of regret and love.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft.

“Hey,” I said back.

“So, you left me a message,” he added.