The Chance: A Novel (23 page)

“Don’t buy anything bad, okay?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He nodded fast, intent on his determination. “Only the good stuff.”

“Like dinner.” She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, Jimbo?”

“Definitely. Thank you, Miss Ellie.” He tucked the money into his shirt pocket, grabbed handfuls of his raggedy blankets, and pulled them close to his face.

“You’ll feel better with a good dinner.” The night air was cool for early May, but Ellie had a feeling that Jimbo was more embarrassed than cold. “You need anything?” Ellie had to get home to her little girl. But she had to ask.

“Nothing, Miss Ellie. I’m fine. I’m perfect. Thank you.”

Ellie smiled. “Okay.” She took a few steps back and waved. “See you tomorrow.” Before she turned, she raised her brow at him. “Buy yourself dinner. You promised.”

“Only the good stuff.”

And with that, Ellie turned and crossed the parking lot to her car. The Dodge four-door was a decade old, and the left rear fender had been crushed in an accident by the previous owner. The car had logged over two hundred thousand miles, but it ran. Better than taking the bus.

Ellie climbed in, locked the doors, and headed home.

Her daughter was waiting.

E
llie named her Kinzie Noah Anne Tucker.

Since the name change five years ago, she was just Kinzie Noah Anne. Kinzie, after the street corner where Ellie and Nolan would meet before school each morning, the place halfway between her house and his. Kinzie Avenue. And Noah, the closest girl name to Nolan she could think of.

Kinzie met her at the door. “You’re late.” Her pale blond hair framed the frustration in her pretty blue eyes. “You said nine fifteen. It’s nine twenty-five.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” Ellie set her purse down and swept Kinzie into her arms. The girl was still small enough to pick up. For a long time Ellie held her, and when she set her down, she bent low so they were eye to eye. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” Kinzie’s irritation turned to hurt. “I hate when you’re late.”

“I was talking to Jimbo.” Ellie leaned in and brushed noses with her daughter. “He’s doing okay.”

“That’s good.” Kinzie smoothed out the wrinkles in her T-shirt and managed the first hint of a smile. “Did you tip him?”

“I did.” She straightened and walked Kinzie to the kitchen, her arm around the child’s slim, tan shoulders. “He promised to use it for dinner.”

Kinzie turned her innocent eyes to Ellie. “You said he sometimes lies.”

“Yes.” Ellie nodded, serious. “I think he’s working on it.”

“I prayed for him last Sunday at church.” Kinzie reached for Ellie’s hand. “Come on. I made you dinner!”

Ellie stopped and looked at Kinzie, surprised. “You prayed for Jimbo?”

“A’ course, Mommy. I pray for you, too. All the time.”

“Oh.” They headed for the kitchen once more. “That’s nice of you.” Ellie could thank her roommate, Tina, for Kinzie’s recent obsession with faith. Tina’s little girl, Tiara, was six also, and a few months ago they asked Ellie and Kinzie to join them at church. Ellie passed, but Kinzie jumped at the opportunity. Now Kinzie could barely talk about anything else. In a sweetly sad way, her daughter’s love for God reminded Ellie of herself at that age. Eventually, she would know the disappointing truth. How God lost interest in kids once they grew up.

They reached the counter, and Ellie gasped. “Wow!” She walked closer to the plate of macaroni and cheese, carrot sticks, and toast Kinzie had made for her. “Look at you, Kinzie Noah. What a good little cook!”

Tina walked in and winked at Kinzie. Ellie’s roommate had clearly given Kinzie a little help. This was their routine. Tina worked as a hairdresser, too, but she had the early shift. She picked up the girls from school at three every afternoon and made dinner with them. Ellie was in charge of breakfast and school drop-off each morning. Her schedule was worse. She had only an hour with Kinzie each day, then this little bit of time at night before bedtime.

And they had the weekends. Ellie’s favorite time.

She ate beside Kinzie, captivated by the child’s stories. She hadn’t stopped talking since they sat down. “You know the bunny in our classroom, the one we rescued from the edge of the forest?”

“I do.” Ellie took another bite of mac and cheese. “This is great, by the way.”

“Thanks, Mommy.” Kinzie giggled, completely recovered from her earlier disappointment. “Anyway, the bunny is so cute, Mommy. He looks like a stuffed bunny. And he can do this trick now where he wiggles his whiskers when he wants a carrot, and then sometimes he . . .”

Ellie stared at her plate, trying to focus. The bunny had done it. Triggered another wave of memories. Whatever Kinzie was talking about now, all Ellie could see was the stuffed rabbit, the one she had given Nolan the night before she moved. Did he still have it? Was it buried in a storage unit or thrown out in some long-ago bag of trash?

“Don’t you think, Mommy? We should get a rabbit for our house?”

“Well.” Ellie blinked and looked at Kinzie. “Rabbits are better off outside. Unless they need a little help. Like the one in your classroom.”

Kinzie thought about that. “You’re right.” She sneaked a piece of macaroni off Ellie’s plate. “Tastes pretty good, right?”

“It’s perfect. You can open your own restaurant one day, Kinz. They’ll line up around the block.”

She giggled again, and it gave way to a yawn. “I’m sleepy.”

“Me, too.” Ellie finished her plate and set it in the sink. “Go brush your teeth. I’ll meet you in the room.”

The apartment had only two bedrooms, so Ellie and Tina shared rooms with their daughters. It was the only way to survive the cost of living in San Diego. She watched Kinzie skip off, and she tried to picture her own mother. Choosing a stranger over a relationship with her. Ellie’s anger fanned the embers of a loss that never quite burned out.

She would die before she turned her back on Kinzie.

The thought tried to consume her, but she refused it. She
stuck her plate in the dishwasher and sat down at the computer. Savannah had been on her mind constantly. She typed the city’s name into the Google search line, and a map appeared. Maybe she and Kinzie could drive there sooner rather than later. A few more clicks, and she had directions from San Diego to Savannah: 2,386 miles. A thirty-eight-hour trip.

She stared at the route. For a year she’d been saving, dreaming about the possibility. Dreaming about making the drive she had wanted to make since she was fifteen. She would go past their old house and walk the path from her house to Nolan’s.

His mother no longer lived there. Ellie had read in
Sports Illustrated
that she moved to Portland to be near Nolan’s sisters. Of course, he lived in Atlanta. So it wouldn’t be about finding people. It would be about finding her way back, remembering a time in her life when everything was good and right and pure. A time when she believed. Nolan had moved on by now. The news had him paired off with another celebrity every other month. Even if he never actually dated them, he had choices.

“Mommy . . .” Kinzie called out from the bedroom. “I’m ready.”

Ellie stood and pressed her hand into the small of her back, the place that always ached after a day on her feet. “Coming.” She closed the map and walked to their room.

There was the other reason why she wanted to make the trip back to Savannah this summer. The most obvious reason, the one that was never far from her mind. She had a box to dig up. An old tackle box with two letters—one she wanted back in her possession and one she had wanted to read for eleven years.

Nolan would be in the play-offs, too busy and too far removed to think about the childhood promise they made that long-ago night. Too successful and in demand to remember their one last chance. She would be the only one who would make it back. But if she could figure out a way to get there, she would dig up the letters. She would do it on the day they agreed on, a time that was coming up in just five weeks. A date etched on her heart since she was fifteen.

June 1, 2013.

Chapter
Nine

P
eyton Anders was making a comeback in country music.

After five years without a tour, he had released an album last year that was once again tearing up the country charts. In any other situation, guitar player Ryan Kelly wouldn’t have considered leaving the comfort of his home studio and touring. He’d done that for years, before he connected again with Molly Allen and married her, before he took a job working as a musician in Nashville.

Now he and Molly lived in Franklin, Tennessee. She ran a foundation that had transitioned from helping orphaned animals to teaching music to disadvantaged kids to granting the wishes of terminally ill children. Every night Molly came home with stories of lives changed. Between that and his studio work, Ryan loved everything about being home.

The opportunity with Peyton had come up a few months ago. His manager had contacted Ryan’s. “He wants you and only you,” the man said. “You’re the best. Peyton knows that.”

Ryan was going to turn it down until he talked to Molly.

“Peyton is searching, I really believe that.” They’d met the country singer a year ago at a benefit dinner. Molly had thought then that he was looking for answers to the emptiness in his life. Now she looked thoughtful. “Maybe you’re supposed to go.”

He thought about the nights away, how much he’d miss her. They’d been married only a year. He could never have enough time with Molly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go play for him.” She framed her face with his hand. “You really are the best, Ryan. And maybe something big is going to come from it.”

A week later, he was confirmed on the tour, and now they were a month into it. So far, Ryan couldn’t think of a single redeeming reason why God would want him living out of a bus and playing guitar for the country star.

The guy was as bad as he’d always been rumored to be. He bragged about his drinking and he was reckless with the fans—hanging with girls in his private bus until they pulled out of a venue sometime in the wee hours of the morning. When they stayed overnight at a hotel—the way they were tonight—the girls didn’t leave until checkout the next morning.

But this Saturday night something was different about Peyton.

Portland’s Rose Garden was packed—Molly’s old stomping grounds. Peyton was back on top as a performer, there was no doubt about that. But when the show ended, he pulled Ryan aside. “You busy tonight?”

Ryan would Skype with Molly for an hour, but otherwise he would be in his bus bunk, same as the rest of the band. “I have time. What’s up?”

“I wanna talk.” He looked nervous.

“Okay.” They were just minutes off stage from the show. Ryan wiped the sweat off his brow and slung his guitar over his back. “We’re here overnight. The hotel lobby?”

“I have a suite. How about there?”

R
yan knew Peyton was drunk as soon as he walked into the singer’s room. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat on the table, and Peyton leaned back in his chair, his eyes barely open.

“Sorry.” Ryan hesitated at the door. “Maybe another time.”