Read The Science of Second Chances Online

Authors: Nicky Penttila

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Short Stories & Anthologies, #Short Stories, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Fiction, #Single Authors

The Science of Second Chances (3 page)

BOOK: The Science of Second Chances
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But
here in the present, his little Sam, who never could sit still, rolled onto hands and knees before five minutes were up. “Let me see your face.”

Matt waved him off. “It’s nothing.”

Chip took Matt’s cheeks in both his fine hands, and turned his face toward the light from the window. He saw what he needed to, and let go.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I promised not to. Then again, your mom promised to have and to hold forever.”

“And
all this time, she lied about your girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry, guy. I love you so much. Your mom does, too. You are the beauty in the world.”

“Eeeuw, don’t go spouting that Shakespeare crap at me.”

Matt had to smile, to keep from crying. “You know your Shakespeare?”

“AP English, hello.” Chip rolled to his feet. “Now, what are you going to do about the good doctor?”

“Well, that’s good and fucked up.”

Chip grinned at the language, like he’d finally been allowed into the men’s club.

“You know where she lives, right?”

Matt had to shake his head no. Chip rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to stalk her. Maybe next year.”

“A year is forever. How do you even know she’s not married?”

“She’s not wearing a ring.”

“So you do notice stuff.”

Matt smiled, a painful shadow of Chip’s earlier grin. Sure, he noticed.
Just too little. And way too late
.

 

****

 

A staff meeting, a conference call, and two red-banger emails ate away Samantha’s morning. After the surreal museum experience yesterday, she’d wandered back to the office, forgetting to pick up food. By the time she got home, that single glass of Tempranillo was enough to set her on her heels.

So, she’d seen her girlhood crush, and survived. Now she could get on with the rest of her life with the serenity of closure.

Right
.

Seeing Matt, smelling him, feeling his touch, took her back two decades in the blink of an eye. Nothing had changed, it felt like, while everything had changed in the real world.

Sam didn’t think she was a picky woman, but somehow all the buff hotshot lawyers and scruffy nonprofit managers could never manage to heat her blood. But Matt always could, and did still. She needed to take a sample of him – a saliva swab? A blood test? A stinky T-shirt? – and analyze what he had that was like no other. Then she’d bottle it, and give it to the likeliest of her former flames. The judge, yeah, or the painter. Definitely, the painter.

But that would mean actually seeing Matt again, which was the last thing she wanted to do, right? Seeing him, and his doppelganger, was like a double slap in the face
, now that she’d thought about it. He’d moved on, like she had. Like she’d pretended to.
But she hadn’t really moved on, had she?
Just sort of carried on.

Bullshit
. She had done great things already in her nearing-middle-aged life. She was one of only two women Ph.D.s, youngest research fellow in her cohort, and now deciding which studies were worthy of federal funds. She’d moved across the country, become a city girl, and made the most of her opportunities. If they’d never included many long-term beaux, well, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her life was great. She didn’t need anything or anyone to complete her.

What the hell?
Sam leaned back in her chair, unable to read the spreadsheet on the screen for the tears in her eyes. Something
was
missing, and she could lie to herself all she wanted but it wouldn't make it true. She’d bought into that happy-ever-after crap, and it had branded itself onto her heart. Even scientists could be pathetic romantics. They just took longer to report the results.

A beep from the desk phone jerk
ed her out of her pity party, and nearly out of her chair. What did security want? They usually just sent packages through the detectors, then the mailroom.

“Dr. Dobler. A visitor.”

She wasn’t expecting anyone, or had she forgotten? “What’s the name?”

“Greenleaf.”

Matt
? She almost jumped to her feet. Locking her hand on her chair, she willed her heart to resume its beating, her lungs to resume their processing of air. She took what she meant to be a calming breath.

“Dr. Dobler?”

“I’ll be right down.”

Sam ran to the lav and checked herself in the mirror. Blue blouse, brown skirt, the espadrilles. Dowdy, but at least she matched. She still had lipstick in her bag from yesterday, and quickly made herself up.

But no one was in the security area. The guard waved at the door, and Sam went out. She saw the tie-dye out of the corner of her eye, there in the shadow of the overhanging roof. The tension flowed out of her shoulders, and down to her gut.
I can do this
. She squared to face him and took a step closer. And stopped.

“Sam?”

The boy shrugged, not looking at her, or rather looking at her and then away, rapid like a hummingbird. “People call me Chip.”

“Chip, then.” She crossed her arms in front of her. Was this some kind of sick joke?
Was the boy jealous of her? Protecting his mom? The youngster was half a foot taller than her, but she was pretty sure she had twenty pounds on him, as well as mad skills at jeet kune do.

“What?” she finally said.

“I thought, you know.” He stopped. His hands flailed as if seeking some keyboard or screen to nest in.

“Do you want to text it to me?”

He snorted. “Don’t be dumb.”

“How did you know where I work? Did Matt tell you?”

Chip rolled his eyes. “He’s waiting for a sign from God or something. I just used Google.”

“Wait. So he doesn’t know you’re here?”

Now the hands were flying, starting to pat the opposite arm, to pat his belly, touch his shoulder. Quite the nervous tell.

“Samuel Greenleaf. Where should you be right this minute?”

He slumped and stilled just a little. “We’re at the Archives. I said I was bored and wanted to get to Newseum earlier. The guys aren’t gonna wanna stay long there, but I do. I said.” He shrugged.

Samantha turned away from him. “We’re walking,” she said, and started down the sidewalk. She didn’t turn to look at him, but smiled grimly when she heard his huffs trying to catch up.
“It’s Pennsylvania at Sixth, right?”

“Twenty minutes, tops.”

“So you’ve gone missing a half-hour already.”

“Not missing. They can always text, and they know I wouldn’t miss lunch, at one.”

“It’s twelve-thirty now.”

“See? I won’t miss it.” He was having trouble matching her gait, she could see out of the corner of her eye. All gangly arms and half-steps with those yardstick legs. She racked her brain for what she was going to say to his dad.
Would “No, I didn’t kidnap your child?” be too much
?

As they waited out the red light at Fourth, Chip dipped his head directly in front of her. “Why don’t you look at me?”
he said.

She looked at him until he looked away. They started walking again.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, Chip. Listen, really, what’s going on?”

He stopped, flopping himself down on one of the benches of the
Navy Memorial. He crossed his arms, scowling one of those harmless teenager scowls, more cranky than angry. Water flowed from a shelf into a narrow trough behind him. The image tapped a memory Samantha hadn’t pulled to the surface in years.

She and Matt
had hiked to a waterfall one hot weekend back home. The idea that super flat Ohio actually had its own waterfall had driven them to hike the five miles into the woods that it took to get there. Matt had had some bee in his bonnet that day, and just as they got there, and she was grinning at the waterfall, he turned, glowering and crossing his stick arms. A teen’s glower can be terrifying to another teen.

She couldn’t even remember what he was mad about, but she remembered how they’d made up. A lot of skin, and a lot of water, and the next day sunburn in some surprising places.
They’d still been virgins after, of course, but barely.

She sat down beside her lover’s child. “Listen, Chip. When I look at you, I see your dad at your age. That’s when I knew him.
Then I look closer and I can’t help but see the differences. My mind knows it’s you, but my heart thinks it must have been wrong, it must have forgotten what Matt looked like. I don’t want to forget him like that. I don’t want to accidentally overwrite that memory with pictures of you.”

She wasn’t getting to him. His hands fluttered, touching arms, knees, the air. “Why do you care if those memories are corrupted? That’s ancient history.”

“Don’t you want to grab onto your happy memories, hold tight? What about your birthday parties, or the race you won.” He crossed his leg, ankle on his knee, and rested his elbow on his knee. Tilting his head into his hand, he considered her.

“So
, with Dad, those were good memories, then?”

“For the most part.”

“Want to make some more?”

Samantha pulled away from him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rocked his head on his hand, mouth turned down, like a boy with a secret. “Dad says I fucked things up with you.”

“He said nothing of the sort.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he wouldn’t swear at you.” She stopped
.
Maybe he would
. “It’s not my place to say.”

“To say my mom was a
slut who ruined your life and everyone else’s, too?”

She winced.
“That’s not true. No, you’re right, maybe I did think that, in the beginning. But I was wrong. My life has been good, and so has yours. Sixteen years of marriage and a stable home is nothing to sneeze at.”

“You can’t know what our lives were like.”

She let that go. “I told you the truth. Now it’s your turn.”

He dropped his arm and lifted his head, looking away from her. After a moment, he shrugged. “I’m lucky enough,” he muttered, “I suppose.”

Sam let a long breath out. Had she really won a teen-torment battle? “So.” She stood. “Let’s go. They say newspapers are a dying industry. We might not get there in time.”

He followed, and for a moment she felt a flash of pride. He was a good kid, if typically deluded.
What did he mean, fucked it up?
What was there to fuck up
?

Unfortunately, Chip’s group was not already in the Newseum, but milling about the entrance, debating the merits of the hundred or so newspaper front
pages from around the world posted in cases facing the sidewalk.

“See you around,” Sam said, hoping Matt wasn’t in this group.

“Sam!”

They both turned
. She shielded her eyes to see Matt’s face more clearly. “Chip, you said.”

“Dad’s mad.”

Matt, still just as boyish under his man’s tough physique and knowing eyes, came to meet them. He looked at her, eyes warm, and then aimed a frown at his son. “Going to the museum early? Wanted to get a jump on the ‘Be a Reporter’ line?”

Chip skulked around him, just outside of arm’
s reach. “See you inside, right?”

Matt watched him go into the building, and then turned back to Sam. She let the wave of attraction she saw in his gaze roll through her, trying to feel it
, soak it in, and let it go.

Right
.

“Thanks for bringing my puppy back.”

She had to smile. “What was he up to? I couldn’t wring it out of him.”

“He thought he’d made a bad impression.”

She shrugged. “Teenagers are a rude, possessive, hormone-crazed bunch.”

“You said it, Doc.
Goes double for our Chip. He took the divorce hard, little guy.”

“Is
his mother still in town?”
Mother
. The word burned her mouth.

“Moved to Orlando. That’s what sort of popped our bubble. Her lover got a new job, and she wanted to go with him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.
Guess who he is.”

“Do I want to?”

“Jerry Rafferty.”

“Rafferty? From our class?”

“No, that’s Josh. Jerry was the year ahead.”

“Funny she should fall for him.”

Matt seemed to shiver. “Actually, not so funny.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, you’re right. They’ve been together, on and off, since high school.” He saw when she realized what he was saying. “Yeah, sucks to be a cuckold. At least I knew the word, from junior English Lit.”

So, not an open marriage, then
. “Oh, Matt. I’m sorry.” Sam reached for his arm. How did one comfort a man for such a betrayal? “I wanted better for you.”

BOOK: The Science of Second Chances
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