Second Chances (16 page)

I understood what he meant; it was how I'd felt when the girls and I had first arrived back in May.

“Jackie…” I said tentatively, but he dropped his hands from his face and glared at me, as though to blame me for everything. And without another word he spun and walked briskly towards Shore Leave.

“I'll leave the papers for you,” he said without looking back.

I stood there a moment, watching as he retreated. I waited until he was out of sight, then drew a deep breath and headed in the same direction.

In Jilly's
kitchen that night, this time with no kids around, I told her the whole story.

“I knew he'd make a move,” Jilly said. “He actually kissed you?”

“With tongue and everything,” I said, anger again seeping into my belly. With grim satisfaction I added, “Blythe would kill him. But he'll never know. I'm not risking that.”

“I knew Jackie was wavering,” she said. “I knew he was reconsidering. Well, don't buy it.”

“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “Do you really think—” “No,” she assured me, and then indicated the gray folder on the table, emblazoned with the words Rockford, Gordon & Bunnickle, Associates at Law. When Jackie had first been made partner, I'd been so thrilled to see our name on the building. It seemed so permanent, giving our family so much security. Now I could hardly wait to shed it, detach it from my first name. I had to admit that in my notebook I'd been doodling ‘Joelle Anne Tilson' with regularity, then surrounding those curlicue words with interlocking hearts. Jilly continued, “Have you read through everything?”

“Not all of it,” I admitted. “I trust that Jackson won't try anything sneaky when it comes to this.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I don't think he would either,” she added. “Anyway, who cares if he and his home-wrecking whore get the townhouse? I remember it being big and echo-y and cold. Besides, you get Blythe.”

I grinned at her, feeling a welcome rush of gratitude. “That's a damn good trade,” I agreed. “And thank God that Lanny wrecked our home. I would never have known, Jilly. I would never have come back here.”

“Yeah, let's call her and tell her thanks,” Jilly teased, and lifted her glass of beer-ita to toast mine.

On Tuesday the 12th, Jilly and I
were joined by Liz Worden, Justin's little sister who also worked as a realtor. She'd called to say that she had found a place that I might like, just a few streets off of Fisherman's, and came to pick us up in the late afternoon.

“And it's fine for Ruthie to sleep over tonight?” Liz asked as she drove around the lake road and turned back into town.

“For sure,” I told her. “Thanks for the invite. She's excited.”

“Jills,” Liz said, catching my sister's eye in the rearview mirror. “I just want you to know how happy my brother is every time I see him. I'm so glad you guys are dating.”

Jillian leaned forward. “I'm glad, too. I really like the shithead.”

Liz and I laughed, and Liz shook her head. She looked exactly the same as she had as a child, coming out to Shore Leave with Dodge. I knew that she understood Jilly was downplaying her feelings, as she always did. “Well, good deal,” she teased back. And then asked, “You girls having a big birthday bash this month?”

I turned in the seat to look at Jillian; to be truthful, our birthdays had been the furthest thing from my mind. They were one day apart, in just a few weeks. My birthday was the 30
th
and Jilly's the 31
st
, and as kids we'd always had a huge, mutual celebration as a sort of last hoorah to summer.

Jilly said, “We should renew our old tradition and have a kick-ass party.”

“Sure,” I said. “That would be fun.” And maybe, since Blythe would be out a couple of days after that weekend, I would actually feel like celebrating.

“Here, Jo, it's just off Second,” Liz said, taking a right. All of the streets in Landon were familiar to me, though we'd never lived anywhere but Shore Leave. This particular one, two blocks and one right turn from downtown, was lined with ancient maples whose branches stretched across the street to touch fingertips. The houses were circa 1950, square and squatty, with dormer windows, enclosed porches and single-car garages. Liz parked at the curb of a small, neat, dark-blue place with white shutters and a white front porch, no enclosure.

“This one just came up for rent,” Liz explained, hopping out.

I took a bit more time, truly attempting to imagine my family in this place. I felt as though I should experience a chill, a bone-deep
knowing
that this was the right place; I liked it, but I wanted to feel more certainty. I'd spent a few days looking at places with Liz, before I'd driven to Oklahoma, but given the size of Landon, there wasn't much available. And I had to pick someplace, unless I wanted to continue living in my childhood home with my daughters, mother, aunt, grandmother and my lover.

Would the girls like this place? Would Blythe? Would he want to move in with us right away? I truly hoped so, but we hadn't talked about it. I would ask him this Saturday. No, I'd write a letter. He'd mailed one back to me, which I'd received yesterday; it was currently pressed against my chest, tucked safely in my bra. Though slightly uncomfortable, I couldn't bear to part with his words for even a moment, though I didn't share that with anyone, least of all Jillian. There was a limit to even her patience with me.

Jilly had hopped up the porch steps and was leaning over the rail, examining the Russian sage bushes that were blooming in a mass of pale purple. I stopped and rubbed a stalk between my fingers and then inhaled; not much smelled better this time of year.

“Look, a swing,” Jilly said with delight.

I climbed the steps in her wake and joined her on the wooden swing suspended from the overhanging roof. The porch was the width of the front of the little house, old and slightly creaky, but pleasant. The floorboards were a worn gray, but the potted petunias that seemed to be everywhere gave it color and personality.

“Who takes care of the flowers?” I asked Liz, who was attempting to unlock the front door.

“Oh, the neighbors,” she explained, gesturing at the house next door. “Mark's step-sister lives there, so her son is technically our nephew. I told him I'd pay him to take care of the plants. He was kind enough not only to agree, but won't take money.”

“That's nice,” I said.

“Oh, Jake's a good kid,” Liz agreed. “Here, I finally got the door open.”

We followed her into the front room. It was almost a perfect square, empty of any furnishings, with a gleaming wooden floor; an archway straight across led through to the kitchen. A set of wooden steps climbed the wall to the right, turning a corner at a small landing. There were built-in shelves in the walls, which were painted a buttery yellow.

“The kitchen is pretty big,” Jilly called, ahead of us. I followed her again, while Liz struggled to open a few windows.

“It's a little stuffy in here,” she explained.

The appliances were harvest gold; someone had obviously remodeled the space, but I would guess that had been in 1975 or so. The floor in here was a continuation of the wide, walnut-brown planks from the living room. There was a nice center island between the kitchen and a tiny dining room, where a buffet server was still pushed against the far wall. There was no other furniture, at least in view. A sliding glass door led to a small deck in a fenced backyard. I peered out and caught sight of a brick patio where you would step down into the yard from the deck.

Jilly was turning the sink on and off, opening the cupboards and the fridge.

“There's a nice pantry, too,” Liz added. “And three bedrooms, two up, one down.”

“Well, Tish and Ruthie would have to share,” I mused. “But that's all right.” I didn't add,
Blythe and I will be taking the room downstairs.

We checked out the second-floor bedrooms, which were teacups, but also wood-floored and painted in pale, pastel shades, one peach, one green. Almost Easter-egg-like. There was a bathroom between them with fixtures from the build date, I was certain. The tub was a claw foot and had no shower.

“Oooh, that is so pretty,” Jilly observed, standing on tiptoe and sticking her head over my shoulder. “I love those old tubs.”

“Yeah, but is there a shower anywhere?” I asked.

Liz called from one of the bedrooms, “Yeah, downstairs in the three-quarter bath.”

“You could always get a shower head in here, too,” Jilly added. “I like this place. It has a good vibe.”

I agreed with her, though it might have been simply inspired by the peaceful mellow sunlight slanting in through the windows. We examined the basement last, which was the first carpeted space in the house. This could be the TV room, I decided. And the bedroom down here would be mine and Blythe's.

Don't count your chickens before they hatch
, I suddenly found myself thinking, and shivered a little. Dammit, I hadn't slept enough in the past week, and it was aggravating my superstitious side. I peeked into the space, which was also carpeted in a neutral cream. There were two tiny windows, up high near the ceiling, where the ground gave way. The closet was a joke, but again, this place would be a rental, and just temporary.

Until what
?
Until you get a better job? Until you and Blythe go back to school and earn more money? Your savings will barely get you into the place, let alone sustain you here.

I shrugged away those thoughts and pressed my fingertips to the crackle of paper under my shirt, Blythe's letter to me.

“I like it,” I told Liz. “How soon should I let you know?”

“Well, sooner the better,” she said as she relocked the front door.

I debated for about five minutes; just as Liz pulled into the parking lot at Shore Leave, I said, “Okay, I'll take it.”

“Girls, I
found us a place to live in town,” I told them at dinner that evening, as they sat on the porch sipping root beers and eating tuna sandwiches.

“You did? But I love it here,” Tish groaned. “I don't want to leave.”

“What about being so squished up in that loft?” I asked.

“Well, I wouldn't be squished if I were here by myself,” she said, craftily. “I could have the space to myself.”

“And not live with us?” Ruthie gaped at her.

“It's not like I wouldn't see you guys every day,” Tish insisted.

“Honey,” I began, but Camille piped up then, interrupting me.

“Mom, I've really been thinking about something,” she said and we all looked questioningly at her. “I talked to Grandma about it, and she said fine as long as you agreed, Mom.”

“Agreed with what?” I asked, thinking,
Thanks, Mother
.

“Well, I thought I might just stay here and have the loft all to myself. I could get it ready like a nursery, and Grandma and Auntie Ellen will help me. And I like being here on the lake. I don't want to move. What would you think, Mom?”

My mind was racing ahead. I finally said, “I'll have to talk with Grandma,” thinking,
Will I ever
.

She shrugged. “All right. But it's a good idea, if you think about it.”

“What about the house you found today?” Ruthie asked. “Is it nice?”

And I told them what I thought.

It was
well after dark before I managed to snag my mother alone. She was wiping down the bar counter, humming softly to herself, a second bar towel slung over her shoulder. Her long graying hair was caught up in a tortoiseshell comb and she was sporting a pair of the feathered earrings Aunt Ellen made, peacock-style.

I sat at the empty bar and leaned over it, stretching my hands palms-down toward my mother. She looked up and smiled, then caught sight of my expression and sighed.

“I'll bet,” I said, but not as meanly as it the words implied. She moved opposite me and tipped her chin slightly to study my eyes unapologetically.

“Did Milla chat with you about staying out here?” she asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah, I've actually been considering it all evening. It's not a terrible idea, although I hate the thought of her not living under the same roof every moment. But Mom, what I really hate is how you bypassed me in the whole decision. You could have talked to me first, then your granddaughter.”

“It was actually her idea, Joelle, not mine. But I think it's a good one. If you're not going to be moving home to Chicago, it's reasonable that she and the baby have some of their own space.”

“You know we're not planning to move back to Chicago,” I said steadily.

She was silent for a moment, and then said, “Jo, I love having you up here, so close. But have you really thought this through?”

I felt a creepy little ripple start in my stomach, edging upward and outward.

Mom continued on as though not noticing my expression. “Jackson has been trying so hard. Haven't you realized?”

“Meaning what, exactly?” I asked, keeping my voice light with effort.

Mom pinned me with her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. I had my doubts about him earlier this summer, but he's proving himself. He wants to be in your life again. He wants you to move home. He's realizing what a terrible mistake he's made.”

“So you've chatted with him about this?”I snapped, my face hot.

“A little,” she admitted, catching me off guard. “He is sorry for a lot of things. Would you really throw away your marriage and everything the two of you have built together to stay in a little rental house in Landon?”

I swallowed down the bitter anger that was trickling into my throat. I knew,
I knew
, she was just trying to be reasonable. I knew she believed what she was saying. But she didn't truly
know
. She had never looked into Blythe Tilson's eyes and seen the incredible magnificence of his love.
Oh my God, Blythe
. I breathed in and let it out slowly, missing him with a palpable ache that had settled behind my breastbone like lead. Out of nowhere I heard myself ask, “When was the last time you saw Mick?”

Mom's eyebrows lifted a bit and she straightened ever so slightly. She seemed to be considering where I was going with this particular question, though I truly didn't know myself. Finally she said, “You know, he called us once when Jilly was about three or so. He was near, in the Twin Cities, and he wanted to know how we were doing.”

“Why? What was it to him at that point?” I demanded.

Mom shrugged. “Aw, Jo, he wasn't a bad guy. Just an immature one. But I did love him. After all, he gave me you and your sister. But I honestly can't imagine how my life would have been with him here. I'm happy taking care of this place with Ellen. We do better than any menfolk, I think.”

“But don't you get lonely?” I pressed. “What about Rich? Have you guys ever thought about…you know…”

Mom actually laughed, bending back and wrapping one arm around her ample waist. She said, “I'll have to let him know you asked.”

“But you've never…”

“Heavens no, Joelle. What a question. Rich is one of the nicest men I've ever had the privilege of knowing. He's one of my dearest friends. But you know how much he loved Pamela. She was the love of his life, which is why he's so good to Christy and…Blythe.”

Just hearing his name made my heart rate increase.

Mom rushed on, “I like Blythe very much, Joelle. I know you say you love him, but I remember how much you loved Jackson once upon a time. And he's your children's father. He has a good job and the two of you have made a beautiful home in Chicago. I just don't want you to throw that away. You know what Ruthie said the other day?” When I didn't immediately respond, she answered herself. “She said how happy she was to see you and her dad talking. The girls need the two of you to be together, to try again. You know it, Joelle.” And then she leaned back, content that she'd spoken her piece.

I knew if I opened my mouth I would say something I would come to regret later. Something like,
Are you fucking blind? Is my own happiness worth nothing at all?
Or,
How dare you bring
my
children into this?
But in the end I remained silent, though I felt as if I might implode.