Second Chances (20 page)

Much later I curled up on the couch in Jilly's place; I'd intended to wait up for her, but exhaustion had dragged me under and I'd slept before she came back, if she even had last night. I figured I needed sleep anyway; I intended to head out early, get on the road before dawn. But that didn't happen. It just wasn't in the cards on this last morning of August.

I came awake reluctantly, snatched from a restless dream, and realized Mom was bending over me. The incongruity of Mom in Jillian's apartment at this hour of the morning disoriented me. I whispered, “What's…”

Tears were streaking over her cheeks and her hands were on my shoulders. Fear entered my throat like a white-hot poker, flashing through me instantly. I sat up too fast and demanded, “Oh God, what's wrong?”

Mom knelt then, putting her face level with mine. She said in a tiny voice, “It's Gran. Oh, Joelle, she's gone.”

“Gone? Gone where? Oh Mom…oh no…” My voice died out to nothing as everything inside of me swelled with despair. Tears sprang into my eyes as I pitched forward and into Mom's plump, warm, comforting arms. She held me and sobbed against my shoulder. Her hair was loose and smelled of her pillow. I clung to her, sorrow ricocheting through my heart.
Gran, oh Gran. No, no, no
.

“But she was just…having cake…last night,” I wept, my forehead on Mom's shoulder. “She was just having cake.”

“She loved you girls so much,” Mom said after a time, pulling back a fraction and regarding us. She added gently, “You and Jillian especially. You were the light of her lives.”

I cupped a hand around my eyes.

“They're all over at the café. Dodge is here, Jilly and Justin are on their way, and Rich is coming home.”

I sat straighter at her words, my thoughts racing ahead. This meant I couldn't leave. I couldn't go to Blythe, not in the wake of this. My heart panged with new despair.

“Mom, when did you talk to Rich?” I asked.

She scooped her long hair into one hand and blew out a breath, her cheeks puffing out. Her eyes and nose were red, her lips swollen. She said, “Just a bit ago. He's flying home as soon as he can. Surely you're not thinking…”

I shook my head. “No, of course I'll stay here.” But the words were bitter in my throat, a taste like iron.

“Good,” Mom said, rubbing my shoulders. For a moment her expression changed markedly and she said, “Honey, Jilly is going to have big news.”

“News?” I parroted dumbly.

“Just yesterday Justin asked me for permission to propose to her. He was going to last night. Oh, Jilly...Gran would be so happy. We have to happy for her, despite everything.”

I felt I couldn't quite handle one shock on top of another, but I said, “Of course we will.”

The morning
sky was heavy, its underbelly of indigo rain clouds scuttling across a darker backdrop of steely gray. Intermittent rain slashed over the porch and the air was chilly, almost autumn-like. But inside Shore Leave the lights glowed brightly and kept a little of the gloom at bay.

Hugs and murmured words were all around. Coffee and then food, as those who'd come to celebrate birth yesterday came now in sympathy as news of Gran's death spread through Landon, toting casseroles and breads, plates of cookies, cakes in dented aluminum pans with rollaway tops. At one point I found myself wondering why Gran wasn't in the room, enjoying the company. For a second I thought about going to get her. Just before noon Cal Price, whose family had run the funeral home in Landon for generations, pulled into the parking lot driving a hearse. Across the crowded dining room, my eyes met those of Mom, Jilly and Aunt Ellen. The four of us were caught in a web of silent understanding, and moved as one to the porch.

Ellen's knees sagged a little, and Mom bolstered her. Cal, who was only a little younger than Gran had been, came right up onto the porch and hugged all of us in turn. He said gently, “I'm so very sorry, girls.”

His sons carried Gran out on a stretcher and she was covered carefully with a sheet. I was immeasurably touched to see Cal holding an umbrella over her body as they carried her through the misting rain. I stood in a tightly-woven knot with Mom and Jilly, Ellen and the kids, who'd come outside with downcast lips and eyes. We were all soaked to the skin, but there was no question of moving. At the last moment Clint broke free and darted over to where the younger Prices had opened the back hatch of their vehicle. They looked at him in surprise, but I knew what he was doing. He bent and touched the sheet over Gran's face. Dear, sweet Clinty. He murmured something to her. Jilly made a choked sound in her throat and ran to join him, and then we were all there, clinging to each other and touching Gran with gentle, loving fingertips, bidding farewell to the woman who'd given so much, whose love had shaped each of us in countless ways. And we all stood and watched the ruby taillights of the big cumbersome vehicle as it crunched away over the gravel, bearing Gran down the lake road from Shore Leave for the last time.

Much later
Jilly and I were slumped at table three, eating leftover birthday cake, the last ones in the café. It was nearly midnight, and we were exhausted; Jilly's eyes were so shadowed she appeared to have been punched. I'm sure mine looked the same. We'd run through the gamut of emotions today and were just relieved to be in one another's presence, alone. The kids had all fallen asleep in sleeping bags on Jilly's living room floor, needing one another as much as Jilly and I did right now. Outside the stars had winked on full-force, the clouds having shredded up and blown away to parts unknown. Mom, Dodge and Ellen were sitting around the fire; Justin, too. He was so worried about Jillian (after all, it was her birthday and they were newly engaged). I noticed that his lawn chair was angled so he could watch the screen door for the moment we came back outside.

After a moment I took my sister's left hand into mine and admired her ring again. Despite everything, I was thrilled for them, and tilted her delicate hand side to side to admire the sparkle. I said, “Don't put anything off for your wedding, you know Gran would never want that.”

She nodded, wiping stray tears. “I won't, I promise. I'm so happy, Jo, underneath. And Justin's so worried today. My sweetheart.”

I said softly, “Mom said Gran had talked about a memorial service once, but didn't want a funeral.”

Tears glistened on Jilly's cheeks yet again as she whispered, “She wants to be scattered over the lake.”

The bite I'd just eaten lodged in my throat, but I was determined not to cry anymore tonight. My head was already aching. I swallowed, though with difficulty, and then said, “Did you hear Mom wants to do the service on Wednesday?”

“Rich'll be home by then,” Jilly said. And then, “What about Bly? Oh Jo, I know you were going to drive down there today. I'd forgotten.”

“He gets out on Tuesday. I haven't talked to him in weeks,” I said, trying not to let my agony over that supersede the agony of today. “When Rich gets here I'll find out what's going on. Oh, God, Jilly…”

“Jo, you're trembling,” Jilly said, pressing a soft palm on my forearm. “It's all right.”

“I didn't get to tell you about last night,” I said. “About what Jackson said.”

“I heard you'd danced. Clinty told me,” Jilly responded. Her eyes grew sharp with distrust. “Why, what did he say?”

I summarized, including the incident at breakfast yesterday morning. And then I told her about the conversation with Gran, just yesterday and about a million years ago.

Jilly's lips tipped up at the corners, despite her tears. “You listen to Gran. You promise me, Jo.”

“There was never a doubt in my mind,” I told her. “And you and Justin go right ahead with your wedding, all right?” Jillian nodded, swiping at her eyes and then her nose. She looked out the wide front windows, towards the group at the fire pit and then said, “Come on, Jo, let's go sit with them.”

Justin's dark eyes caressed Jillian as we approached and without hesitation she moved to sit on his lap, where he curled her close within the strength of his arms. She settled her head against his wide shoulder. As I took my own seat, across from them, I smiled. And knew Gran would have too.

Monday passed in a haze. We'd closed
Shore Leave for the time being. I was useless; we all were. We spent the intermittently rainy day crowded around albums and piles of loose photos that Mom and Ellen carted down from the attic, bursting with Gran in all the seasons of her long, fruitful life. Mom wanted to make a couple of collages for the memorial service on Wednesday.

“Oh, look at this one! Gran looks so young,” Camille said yet again, holding aloft a black and white snapshot of Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie, sitting outside by the fire pit, bare feet propped up on wooden stumps, both grinning and holding beer bottles in a salute to the camera. Or maybe just life in general. The year on the back of the picture was scrawled in faded black ink. 1948.

“Look, I remember that bathing suit,” Jilly said, gesturing to another picture, in which Gran was wearing a polka-dotted number, her hair, which had been shoulder-length, hanging loose. She had a cigarette clamped between her teeth and her hands cupped around the heads of Jilly and me, around ages four and five.

“Yeah, she always loved polka dot prints,” Ellen said fondly.

“And big hats,” Mom added. “Here's one of Dad. Wow, I didn't know Ma had any pictures of him.”

We crowded around to look at the photo; he'd been lean and lanky, mustached and handsome, squinting into the sun of a long-gone afternoon in the 1940s. After much digging, Mom found another, the one she'd been looking for, featuring Gran and the same man. This one they hadn't realized was being taken; they were down by Flickertail Lake and his right hand was touching her back, his left pointing out towards something on the water. Gran had her hands clasped beneath her chin; they were both in profile.

“That's a great shot,” I said. “What were they looking at?”

“Lord knows,” Mom said. “But it's a good picture of the two of them. We should get this enlarged, Ell.”

Clint asked, “Did Gran ever have another boyfriend?”

“No, not that we ever knew,” Ellen filled in, but then she tipped her head in speculation. “Wait, though, I remember when Jo and Jilly were little there was that man who came to replace the phone lines. Remember, Joanie?”

“Ooh, what's this?” Jilly asked, her ears perking. “An illicit romance?”

I giggled, hoping that Gran had taken advantage of a relationship like that.

“Eww,” said Tish.

“Nothing that dramatic,” Ellen said, sounding amused. “But they did see each other for a while. What was his name?”

“I'd have to think,” Mom said. “I remember one night Ma came back from dinner with him and her hair was wet. And I knew she hadn't taken a bathing suit!”

The kids made a collective sound of surprise while Jilly and I laughed heartily. It felt good to laugh like that.

Clint gaped at us and asked, “You mean Gran was
skinny-dipping
?”

Jilly and I laughed even harder.

“She was a woman way before she was your gran,” Camille chided him.

“Yeah, but…” Clinty was at a loss.

I headed through the pass-through door between dining room and kitchen, meaning to grab a plate of cookies. Thanks to the generosity of the housewives of Landon, we probably had food enough to get us to winter. I didn't notice Ruthie behind me until I turned around and she said, quietly, “Mom, did you talk to Daddy last night?”

I set down the plate and looked into her eyes, my youngest and sweetest child, the one who would no doubt take the news of our ending relationship the hardest. She couldn't see her father's faults, nor mine if truth be told, and I wasn't going to elaborate in that fashion. But she had to know that it wasn't to be. I chose my words with great care, saying, “Yes, we did talk a little.”

“Did you open up your rings?”

I pushed aside any anger that Jackson would dare get her hopes up in that way and said, “I did, but Ruthie…”

She burst into tears before I could say another word and I moved to gather her in my arms. She allowed it, wrapping her slim little arms around my waist and clinging. My heart ached for her. She was so little, when it came down to it, and there was a part of me that truly considered sacrificing my own happiness for hers, that would have gone home to Chicago and tried again. I imagined that for a moment in the stainless-steel kitchen at Shore Leave with my lips pressed to the top of Ruthie's head, her dark curls that smelled of Jilly's coconut shampoo. Imagined returning to Chicago and our townhouse, and the fairly privileged lives we all had lived there. For a moment I let last weekend play out in my mind…had I slept with Jackson in that old twin bed and gone that route. And then I shuddered and rocked my daughter side to side and thanked the powers that be that I would never have done such a thing.

Finally Ruthie calmed down and whispered, “But Daddy loves you, Mom.”

I said against her hair, “He might think he does, honey, but he really loves the memory of us. He loves what we used to have. We were really happy here, a long time ago. He misses that. But our lives are so different now.”

“But why?” she asked plaintively.

I smoothed strands of hair from her golden-green eyes that were still wet with the aftermath of tears. She looked so vulnerable as she questioned me, and I gulped a little, but finally said, “Because we changed, honey. Sometimes people do that. In fact, it's good for people to change sometimes. But I want you to know that whatever I feel for Blythe in no way changes what I feel for you girls. I will always love you girls with all my heart and nothing could change that. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, barely audible. I squeezed her close for another moment. She said, “I'm sorry about Gran, Mom.”

A few tears slid over my face at that and I wiped them roughly on my right shoulder. I said, “I know. And I'm sorry that I can't make things work with Dad. Will you forgive me?”

She nodded against me and for that moment it was all I needed.

Jackie stopped out later that day and asked if the girls and Clint wanted to go into Bemidji with him for dinner. It was kind of him to realize they needed distraction. To his credit, he didn't mention any of what he'd brought up at my birthday as we'd danced. He hugged everyone, including me, and told us how sorry he was and that he'd have the kids back before late evening. I watched them drive away in Jackson's familiar car and then rejoined Mom, Jilly and Ellen as they chose pictures to showcase the important moments of Gran's life. I knew I would have to talk with Jackie eventually, sooner than later certainly, since he was heading back to Chicago. But I was relieved not to have to face that particular conversation tonight.

The four of us worked through dinner, eating from the various casseroles lined up in the fridge, making sandwiches later when we were hungry again. Finally Ellen made a big blender full of grasshoppers to congratulate our hard work; by 9:00 we'd filled five large poster boards with artfully-arranged pictures. They were roughly chronological and Mom and Ellen lined them up across the tops of the booths for safe-keeping.

“We'll have to get a couple of easels,” Mom mused.

“And flowers. She'd want that,” Ellen added.

“Who's coming?” Jilly asked, coming up behind Ellen and hooking her arm around Ellen's waist. Ellen patted Jilly's arms with affection.

“I would expect anyone who wants to pay their last respects,” Mom said. “But just us for the…”

She had choked up and I went immediately to her side, Jilly the other. We put our arms around her and she was able to finish, saying, “The scattering of her ashes.”

Ellen joined our hug and whispered, “I just can't believe Ma's gone. It doesn't seem possible. She hadn't left this place in almost all of her adult life.”

“I'd get so cranky with her,” Mom said, punishing herself. “But she only ever meant well. She gave us so much.”

“Aw, Joanie, there wasn't much Ma loved more than a good argument,” Ellen said.

Mom sniffed agreement and then said, “I know. Thank God for Dodge.”

Jilly eased free and nodded outside, saying, “Kids are back.”

My sister went out on the porch, clicking on the light as she did. I folded my arms and didn't budge, and Mom observed, “I saw you and Jackson dancing Saturday night, Jo.”

“He told me he still loved me and that he wants us to come home with him,” I said quietly, seeing both my own defensive reflection in the window and the kids piling out of the car and hugging their dad good-night.

“Oh, Joelle,” Mom said. But then she lifted her hands, palms up, and backed off. Her eyes clearly told me what she thought, but I didn't let her upset me again.

I saw Jackie coming up the steps in the wake of the kids, who were carrying leftover boxes from a seafood restaurant.

Dammit.

I clacked out the screen door, telepathically (I hoped, anyway) ordering Jilly to remain on the porch with us. The girls and Clint headed into the warm glow of the café, where Mom was already pulling a dishtowel from a pan of brownies. Jackie hesitated with one foot on the top step, his hands gripping the rails on either side of the steps. In the semi-darkness he looked young and lean, his cheekbones sharply defined, like the Jackson of my youth. He kept his eyes steady on mine.

“Thanks for taking the kids,” I told him.

“Of course,” he said and shifted his gaze to include Jillian. “I'm so sorry, you guys. Jo, I'm staying through Wednesday.”

I nodded.

“Have you been thinking about…everything?” he asked then.

“Jackie, I'm staying here,” I told him quietly.

He drew in a breath through his nose and said, “Don't do this, Jo.”

“It's done,” I said, not without sympathy. Beside me, Jilly moved one hand and touched my back gently.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said, but he backed up and turned away. At the last moment, just as he reached his car, he looked up at me and added, “I love you. And I'm not giving up.”

“Oh good Lord,” Jilly said as he drove away. For a moment we stood in silence.

“I'll be on the dock,” I said finally.

The day's
rain had passed over Landon and the sky was satin-clear, the air brisk. I wrapped myself in an old cardigan and was sitting there in a sort of emotional stupor, thinking about my last conversation with Gran when my cell phone buzzed. I jumped a little, hoping beyond hope that it might be Rich, with news of Blythe. And then I saw who was calling and fire ricocheted through my blood along with disbelief, sent my heart on a collision course with my breastbone. I almost couldn't breathe as I opened the front cover to answer.

“Joelle, it's me, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice filling up all the emptiness in my heart and soul, my senses absorbing the sound like the precious gift it was. He rushed on, “I'm out, love, I'm here at Mom's. Rich told me everything. I'm dying to get to you.”

“Blythe,” I whimpered, cradling the phone, his voice, as close to me as possible. I started weeping, unable to help myself. Everything within me reached out for him, longing and need and desire and love. Oh, how I loved him. My heart was throbbing the force of it through me.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I'm not there,” he kept saying, his voice tortured. “Oh Joelle, honey.”

I drew in a shaking breath and then spoke in a ragged torrent of words. “Blythe, oh God, I'm so glad to hear your voice. I've missed you so much. I've been so worried about you. Are you all right, baby? Rich said you looked rough the last time he'd seen you. I should be there, I want to be there so much…but Gran…”

“Honey, Rich told me. I'm so sorry. I'm coming tomorrow. Rich and me are flying up there. But I'm going crazy here. Mom keeps telling me I can't just jump in my truck and go. I love you, my sweet girl. God, I love you. I have all of your letters right here. They're all ragged from me reading them so many times.”

I laughed a little then, so unbelievably happy to have his voice in my ear, the prospect of him being here tomorrow. It was almost too much to bear. I said, “I have all of yours too and I kept them next to my heart every day. Oh Blythe, you couldn't call me. And Rich told me he and your mom couldn't touch you when they came to see you. I plan to never stop touching you, just you wait.”

His voice was silky with desire as said, “Baby, I will take you up on that. I'm a little starved for touching right now.”

“I'll make up for all of the last month,” I promised. “Did you get out early? I thought tomorrow morning…”

“They released me 12 hours early. I'm lucky they allowed it. And Dale said if I have a job in Minnesota the state should allow the move.”

“Oh thank God,” I breathed.

“And happy birthday, my sweet girl. I'm so sorry I missed it.” His voice grew even more tender as he asked, “What happened with Gran? I can't believe it, Jo. I can't imagine her being gone. She was the one who hired me up there, who decided I was a decent person just by looking into my eyes. I'll never forget that.”

“She died in her sleep,” I said softly. “It was peaceful. But I'll miss her forever.”

“Sweetheart,” he breathed. “I know you will.”

“She told me something so important on Saturday. Jilly and I had our birthday party that day, and Bly…” I trailed off for a moment, wondering if this was the time and place to tell him everything. But I refused to hang up and part from his voice before morning light, at the earliest. I wrapped the cardigan more tightly around my shoulders and moved from the dock boards onto the glider.

“What is it, honey?” he asked. And as though reading my thoughts, he added, “I'm not letting you go tonight. You're going to keep the phone open on your pillow so I can hear you breathing even after you've gone to sleep.”