Second Chances (19 page)

Jilly seemed to relax a little. “I know,” she breathed. “But I'll feel better when Jackie goes home, all the same.”

By the
next weekend we'd been living in our new house on Broom for six nights now, and the girls were getting the hang of the routine. And getting used to living in a separate space than their big sister.

I missed my oldest. I knew she was just around the lake, being pampered and cared for like an infant herself, by Mom, Gran and Aunt Ellen; Dodge, too, to be fair. He'd built her a changing table and repaired Clint's old crib like new. I'd been bringing the girls back over to Shore Leave every day, working lunch for Mom, though we'd been existing under a modified silent treatment since last Saturday. She'd have to tell me when I got a table, for instance. I was ashamed for being so rude to her; I loved her. But at the same time I was appalled that she'd let Jackson influence her to the point that she'd challenge my decision so openly. That she'd sink to playing the guilt card with me, implying that I was doing my girls a grave disservice by refusing to take their father back into my good graces.

The morning of my 36th birthday dawned rosy and golden. I woke in my new bedroom, in the basement of my new place, in the full size bed Mom had given me. I'd bought pretty rose-pink sheets for it, and a bunch of new pillows, recognizing that we'd need a bigger bed pronto. Blythe would never be able to squeeze in here with me, though I didn't plan on letting him have any space apart from me once I'd gotten him back into my bed. I rolled onto my other side, curling up both knees and imagining that his chest was beneath me, and that I could feel and hear his heart softly pounding against my cheek. I dug my fingers into the sheets and then pressed them to my face. Right now his hands would be caressing my spine, slowly, building up to more.

Blythe, Blythe, oh God, soon
. I felt a rush of excitement and let it seep into me. I just had to get through the party tonight (which Jilly and the kids were really thrilled about, and therefore I must be too), and then tomorrow I was driving back to Oklahoma. Blythe would be out on the September 2nd, which was next Tuesday. Rich and Christy had been to see him yesterday and he'd been in better spirits. Christy and I had talked for a while and she'd assured me three times that she'd passed along the message to Blythe. His cell block was still not allowed phone calls unless there was an emergency. The way my heart was longing for him felt like one to me, but I breathed deep, pressing my hands on my belly and reminding myself that I would be with him, actually be able to touch him, in three days. And Dale seemed to think that Blythe would be able to come to Minnesota, especially with the excuse of a job.

“Happy birthday, Mama!” came Ruthie's voice then, from the door at the top of the basement steps.

“Thanks, honey,” I called back. “You guys are up early!”

“We had to make you breakfast,” Tish informed me, and I could suddenly smell maple and cinnamon.

In the kitchen they had competently prepared French toast with actual French bread, my favorite. I grinned and hugged them both tightly against my old robe, which I'd wrapped over my PJ top.

“This looks great, you guys,” I said, allowing Ruthie to seat me at the table, upon which they'd arranged a tall glass vase full of the Russian sage from out front. They'd also found a few other flowers I didn't recognize, dark green stalks with spiky yellow blossoms. “You two have become pretty good cooks this summer. And these flowers are really beautiful.”

“Well, someone has to cook for us,” Tish joked, standing at the stove with spatula poised. “And Jake from next door helped us pick flowers. He's nice.”

“Yeah, he's a nice kid,” I agreed. “And I cook.” I searched back, and then back further, to recall the last time we had eaten something I'd prepared, rather than the food from Shore Leave. I amended, “Well, I will start cooking again.”

The girls joined me and we feasted on the sticky delicious toast, along with hazelnut coffee and bacon. The little dining room was at the back of the house and caught the radiance of the morning sun. I hadn't put up any curtains yet, so we all basked in the golden warmth. I was still feeling good about everything, my heart light, when Ruthie commented, “You know, it's been so good to see Daddy this month.”

“He's been glad to see you, too,” I told her immediately. My warning bells should have been clanging, my red lights flashing, but I went on calmly eating.

Then she asked, “Mama, can't he move in here with us?”

My fork stopped on its journey to my mouth. I looked over at her and was horrified to see tears balancing on her lashes. My heart lurched. Tish, too, had stopped eating and was regarding Ruthie with surprise. I noticed Tish kick her sister under the table, but it was too late.

“Ruthie, Dad is moving back to Chicago,” I said gently, watching her warily. I let my hand rest back on the table. “He's going home to Lanny, honey. Remember?”

She nodded as though her throat was too jagged to speak. But then she sobbed out, her voice a plaintive wail, “I don't want him to go, Mom. I want Daddy to stay with us. Don't you still love him at all?”

My entire body felt as though I'd been hit by a truck. Metaphorically flat on my back, I tried to regroup. I said, my voice faint, “Ruthie, honey, I loved your dad very much once. But I don't…”

“Don't say it!” she yelled suddenly, my Ruthann who had never once truly raised her voice to me. Tears splashed over her face. Tish's mouth was open in surprise. This was 10 times worse than I'd imagined. She cried, “You won't even see how sorry he feels!”

Ruthie threw her fork onto the table, bolted from her chair and streaked upstairs to her room. Her door slammed with vigor, leaving Tish and I at the table.

“Jeez, Mom, I'm sorry,” Tish said then. She tucked her curly hair behind her ears and then went on eating as though nothing had happened. But for me the food might as well have been dust. I couldn't eat another bite.

Shore Leave was a sight under the
afternoon sun. Mom and Aunt Ellen closed up after lunch and had spent the afternoon, along with Dodge, making the yard and the porch festive. I pulled into my customary parking spot, Tish in the front seat beside me, Ruthie rather silent in the backseat. But as we parked, even she couldn't keep up the despondent attitude. The girls piled out and ran for the fire pit, where Clint and Liam were decorating the lawn chairs with balloons. “Hi, guys,” I said, approaching with only a little hesitation.

“Hi, sweetie,” Aunt Ellen called, and Mom smiled with genuine warmth. Apparently my birthday allowed for a ceasefire.

“It looks pretty here,” I said.

“Thanks.”

I stood and leaned one hip against the big charcoal grill we hauled out for special occasions, such as our Fourth of July Eve party. They were hanging up the paper lanterns and strands of Christmas lights. Ellen added, “Happy birthday! Your gran made a humdinger of a chocolate cake for you two. It's like the old days all over.”

I smiled and smoothed the skirt of the pale blue sundress that Tish had insisted I wear. My hair had not been cut once this summer and was due for a serious trim. It hung well past my shoulder blades, and the sun had bleached it near to the color of Jilly's.

“Jo, you look about 20,” Mom said then, studying me, pausing in her work for a moment. She gave me a fond smile, and I felt myself smiling back.

“Well that's just what a girl close to 40 likes to hear,” I said.

“Close to 40” Ellen scoffed. “Wait three more years to say that.”

I made my way towards Jilly's in search of her, but hadn't walked more than 20 paces when I saw Gran moving slowly along the lake path, leaning over her cane. I jogged up to her, reaching her slightly out of breath. She held out her free hand for my arm, saying, “Well look at you. What a sight you make, you pretty girl.”

“Oh Gran,” I said, loving her so much. I decided to tell her so, right there. “I love you so much.”

She gave me her prune face, crinkling up. She said, “Help me up to the porch, girl. My back is aching today.”

“You shouldn't be walking this far without someone,” I said gently, easing my arm under hers.

“Sure I should,” she bitched at me, holding tight. I studied her hands as we walked, her dear, worn old hands with their brown spots and wrinkled skin and pointy nails painted with the shiny-clear toner she'd always favored. I thought about how those same hands had touched and taught me in myriad ways ever since the day I'd been born, 36 years ago today. Cupping my head, against my cheek just for love, wiping my face with edge of a handkerchief she'd licked to moisten, cleaning, filleting and frying a lake trout. I'd watched her hands pat dirt around seeds dropped into the soil; pull back on a fishing line; with pointer finger extended as she skimmed down the words of a recipe in some ancient food-splattered book she and Minnie shared. Stirring cake batter in the yellow celluloid bowl with the chip on the rim. Spread on the table as she painted her nails. Her hands had been so much stronger then; it hurt me to see how frail they looked under the August sun.

“Here we go,” I murmured as we reached the steps and I guided her up to her chair. Ellen and Mom had drifted over to the fire pit to direct operations.

Gran sat down, laid her cane alongside her chair, and thumped the tabletop with both fists. “Joelle, I know it's your birthday, but go and grab me a drink, will you?”

“Of course,” I told her, ducking inside the café. I slipped behind the bar to the beer fridge and grabbed Gran a light one.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a drink. I joined her at the table, studying her face for a long moment until her eyes flashed to mine. Their golden-green depths were serious. She added, catching me off guard, “Joelle, don't choose Jackson. He'll let you down, honey.”

“I know,” I whispered, hurting as I thought about Ruthann's words at breakfast. I looked out over the familiar expanse of the lake, gleaming under the late-summer sunshine. When I looked back at her, Gran was still studying me with uncharacteristic somberness.

“But what about the girls?” I asked, low and painful, unable to stop myself. I felt like my soul was tearing along a fault line as I asked her, my voice almost inaudible, “What if by choosing Blythe I'm letting them down? Doing them wrong? Cheating them out of their parents being together?”

“Joelle, don't tell yourself that for a moment. That is a bunch of hokum,” Gran said, rapping her beer bottle on the table. “If Jilly was sitting here she'd agree. And you know it in your heart.”

I nodded, feeling tears prickle in my eyes. She caught one of my hands in both of hers, holding it tightly.

“I do,” I told her, and knuckled my eyes with the other. “I do, Gran.”

“You go tomorrow and get your man,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “Promise me, Joelle.”

“I promise,” I told her.

And later wondered if she'd somehow known.

Everyone showed
up and as far as I could tell, a gay time was had by all. I felt pushed to the periphery, though of my own accord. Drinks were flowing, there was food enough for any 10 parties, and Eddie Sorenson and Jim Olson were rowdy on the guitar and fiddle, respectively. High school friends, regulars at the café, my family, all were present. I danced a little, not wanting to disappoint my girls. And it brought a smile to my lips to see Camille even seeming to enjoy herself as the evening wore on and the stars flickered to life both above and reflected in the surface of the lake. Noah's parents showed up, but they were kind and gracious to her, and she didn't seem embarrassed at their presence. By the time Mom had lugged out the enormous chocolate birthday cake with about a million candles glinting on the top, the crowd was ripe to sing ‘Happy Birthday' to Jilly and me. I caught my sister's hand as we blew out the mass of lights on our cake, grinning at the flashbulb like a kid as Dodge snapped pictures.

Jilly had been in Justin's arms the entire evening and I was happy for her. But once the cake had been eaten, I was debating the possibility of sneaking away, at least to the dock. The mood was mellow and everyone was partnering up as Eddie switched to a slower tune. He and Jim played their own version of songs, giving everything a sort of bluegrass feel. But they were good, and it was the music of my childhood. I was about to make my escape, at least for a while, planning to enjoy the music from afar, when I looked up and saw Jackson coming through the crowd, his eyes pinned on me.

I knew he hadn't been here all evening. I was sure of it. From the corner of my eye I saw Ruthann light up. I spared a look her direction to see her grinning from ear to ear. Camille and Tish seemed to be in on something too, observing from the sidelines as their dad approached me, and I felt a panicked flock of birds take wing in my stomach. My heart was thudding, but in dread.

“Happy birthday,” Jackson said, reaching me, his handsome face beaming with his warmest smile. Once upon a time my entire insides would have melted away. But now I felt wooden. My gaze flickered around in desperation, searching for Jillian. But she was on the opposite side of the huge crowd of dancers, locked in Justin's arms, unaware of what was going on with me. My eyes went back to Jackson, who was wearing a sport coat.

I opened my mouth, but he was faster, saying with sincerity, “You look so beautiful, Joelle.”

I blinked at him. I realized he was reaching into his pocket, and before I could react he'd produced a small silver package, tied with a glistening green bow.

“What's this?” I asked, my throat dry.

“It's something I want you to have,” he said, looking intently into my eyes. “But first, will you dance with me?”

Ruthie had edged over to us, and her eyes were glowing with happiness. She wheedled, “Come on, Mom, dance with Daddy.”

I swallowed hard, feeling like a trap had just sprung closed over my leg. I started to say ‘no,' but then I caught sight of my daughters, our girls, all suddenly clustered together, watching with such hopeful expressions.

“Okay,” I said, and Jackson grinned and handed off the wrapped package to Ruthie.

Despite the fact that he'd been in my arms more than just about anyone else in my life, his shoulders beneath my left arm felt foreign. He gathered me close with no such evident compunctions, as we'd danced together a thousand times since high school. His chin was just at my forehead. His right hand pressed low on my back and he curled the fingers of his left tightly through mine. I distractedly looked over his shoulder, my stomach jumping with nerves. One dance and that was it.

“Jo, you feel so good,” he said, low, his lips near my ear.

Wisely I said nothing. I would be lying if I said I didn't have a moment's pang that Jackson was trying so hard. His hand had once been so welcome holding mine, skimming all over my body. I was steeped in sudden, clutching regret at our failure, the fact that this was the last time I ever planned to dance with someone I'd once considered myself in love with. Someone who'd given me three beautiful children and with whom I'd planned to spend the duration of my life.

“God, I miss you,” he went on, and I could tell he meant that, or at least did right now. He was swept up in the wistful atmosphere of our unchanging hometown, the memories, the love we'd once shared. And our girls. It was so hard to deny them what they wanted, but I could tell they were part of this whole scheme. They loved Jackie still. They just wanted their parents to be together, like any kids.

“Jackie…” My eyes grew teary without my permission. People were dancing all around us, smiling, talking, laughing, and yet it was like he and I were in a small amber-tinted bubble, crystallized as versions of our former selves, the couple we'd been once upon a time. I felt as though this moment was as clearly a fork in a road as any in my life. Part of me was in Jackson's arms and another was poised, shivering in a sudden breeze, at the juncture of a divided path. It would be so easy to sink into his words and let myself believe him.

“I want you to come home with me,” he said then, and I closed my eyes, not letting any tears fall. I'd known this was coming. Trust him to do this in a crowd, with our children as witnesses. But he was a lawyer, accustomed to getting his way, and it was a tactic. “Your wedding rings are in that package, Joelle, and I want you to put them on again and come home.” His voice was full of feeling. “I have never been so face to face with regret as I've been this last month. I've been so wrong. Jo, God, please believe me. Please, baby, come back with me.”

No.
My entire body rebelled against all of this, but most especially the endearment. Only one man was allowed to call me ‘baby,' and that was the last straw. Thankfully the song was ending on a drawn-out note, and I eased back from his arms.

Jackie kept my hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles before releasing me. He said, “Think about, Jo. I'm going home this week.”

Still I hadn't spoken. It stunned me that he'd say these things, allow himself to become so vulnerable to me.

He said, “I'll come back in the morning. Sleep on it, Joelle.” And then, as a final low-down blow, his eyes bearing into mine, “I love you. I truly do. And I'll spend the rest of my life showing you.”

And then he turned and walked back through the crowd.

My girls
were giggly with excitement later. I spied them in a big group of their friends, sitting around the fire, even Camille, who waved cheerfully at me as I walked by en route to the dock. Jackson had disappeared. Jilly was undoubtedly somewhere having incredibly hot sex with Justin; I hadn't seen either of them for the past half hour. Mom and Ellen were carting food back into the café. Two-thirds of the guests had headed home, though two of Gran's friends, women around her age, were still sitting with her at a porch table, enjoying coffee and slices of cake. But I walked briskly away from all of that merriment to the sanctity of the dock, where I kicked off my shoes and took up my customary place at the end, letting my feet sink into the water. In my hand was the package containing my wedding rings.

I set that beside me and looked out over the lake. It was pleasant down here, and so blessedly familiar. My soul had been etched with the contours of the scene before my eyes right now, the constant ripple of the water, the shapes of the trees lining the far shore, the way the lake curved out and around a natural bend. The scent of the lake, musky and green and tinged with fish. Above me, against the darkened sky, were the small unmistakable shapes of brown bats in their choppy, erratic flight. Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie had years ago built bat houses to attract the creatures, which ate their weight in mosquitoes on a nightly basis. I drew in a deep breath and held it, and when I exhaled, I murmured Blythe's name like an incantation.

Tomorrow I would be on the road. My bag was packed, Tish and Ruthie had their overnight things for the next few days, as they'd be staying at Shore Leave in my absence. Tish had filled me in on several of the shin-digs they had planned for this last week of summer; school began Tuesday the 9th, just after Labor Day. I would be home by then, Blythe with me.

It hurts you about Jackson, though, admit it
. I didn't hate him. In fact, he'd successfully manipulated me into feeling sorry for him. Inadvertently my fingers went to the gift-wrapped box. It may be over between us in my mind, but I wasn't totally heartless. He'd said all of the things I would have given my eye teeth to hear last winter. But thank God he hadn't then. I would never have come here to stay and would have continued living half-alive, my soul trapped behind a barrier I'd never even known was there. I could never go back to that.

But you'll have to hurt him. And the girls.
I did know that. But, far worse than any empathy I may dredge up for Jackson, it tortured me to think about my girls wanting something so badly that would never again happen.