Second Chance Friends (22 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I promised you that if the guy ever woke up, I'd tell you what Marty Squire said about you that time I ran into him.”

It took a moment for said promise to click, but when it finally did, Karen found herself somewhat curious. She was
high on good news. “Okay,” she said. “Lay it on me. What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I'm going to marry that woman someday.'”

“He said that?” Karen asked. Antoinette nodded. “Well, that's just ridiculous. I already got my one miracle.” Karen cracked the window open and laughed as the wind blew through her hair.

•   •   •

Antoinette waited in the car while Karen practically sprinted into the hospital, moving past the information desk so quickly the elderly woman manning it barely had time to look up from her novel, much less offer to help. But Karen didn't need any help anyway. She knew exactly which elevator would take her to 502.

She had to force herself to slow down, catch her breath, calm herself before the elevator doors opened. When they finally parted, she saw the same sleepy floor as before, only this time no nurses were in their station. Karen could hear someone talking inside a room to her left, but she veered right and marched straight to Curt MacDonald's room.

The door was wide open, and she could tell from the light spilling into the hallway that the curtain was drawn as well. She took a breath, braced herself, and stepped inside.

A girl in scrubs was taking the bedding off the bed Curt MacDonald had been lying in before. She was the only one in the room.

“Oh, hi,” she said when she saw Karen. “Can I help you?”

Karen pointed blankly at the bed. “The man who was here. Curt?”

The girl turned her mouth down in a fake pout. “You just missed him.”

“He left?”

The girl nodded. “Like, literally minutes ago. You might still be able to catch them downstairs if you're fast. I wish I'd seen him go. They forgot a bag.” She pointed to a black-and-white striped tote, which was leaning up against the leg of one of the chairs.

“So he just . . . woke up, and walked out of here?”

“Well, he left in a wheelchair. Hospital policy.” The girl's eyes averted above Karen's shoulder, and Karen turned just in time to see Curt MacDonald's fiancée—Katy—hurry in.

“I forgot my bag,” she said, a little out of breath herself. She walked over and picked it up, and only then seemed to notice Karen. She stopped abruptly. “Oh.”

Karen's eyes glistened with tears. “He came out of it,” she said.

Katy nodded warily. “I don't think you're supposed to be here,” she said. The girl in scrubs wilted and went back to her bedding.

“There's nothing wrong with him?” Karen asked, ignoring her. “Nothing long-term?”

Katy's dimples popped up. She just couldn't help herself. “Walks, talks, feeds himself, everything. Doctors said they've never seen anything like it. But I don't care. All I care about is having my Curt back. What's the difference how it happened, right?”

“Exactly,” Karen said. “Congratulations.”

Katy glanced at the girl in scrubs and took a timid step toward Karen. “Listen,” she said. “I don't want to be rude or anything, but I think you should stay away now. Even though he woke up, I don't think his mom would want you around. You seem like a nice person, but I don't think she'll understand.”

“Of course,” Karen said. “I won't be. I'll leave you alone now.”

She turned and walked toward the door, feeling like she was floating above the tile. For the first time in months, she had hope. She stopped at the door and turned around. “Oh, and Katy? Have a wonderful wedding day.”

The dimples popped out again. The girl's eyes absolutely sparkled. “Thank you. We will.”

•   •   •

The next morning, Karen was the first one in the office. The hallways were silent, the cubicles abandoned. Mr. Sidwell's office door was closed and locked. She headed for the basement, which was chilly and dark, and turned on the lights, switched on the copier and the printer, and started a pot of coffee in the break room. She went back into her office and fired up her computer, listening to it gurgle and click as it blinked to life. She'd never noticed how quiet it was when you were down there alone. Her antics with Antoinette were a lot noisier than she'd realized.

She sat in her chair, leaned back as far as it would go, and closed her eyes. Once again, as she had several times the night before, she felt relief wash over her. Curt MacDonald's limbo state had been weighing on her heavier than she'd ever guessed.

But the relief she felt was not relief for Travis, who would now be much easier to get off the hook. Rather, the relief was for Curt MacDonald, who could now have the life that had nearly been taken from him. Relief for his mother, who'd stayed faithfully by his bedside, who would be fighting for him even now that he was out of the woods.

Relief for herself, for what she was about to do.

As soon as she began to hear the clack of shoes on the break room floor, she got up from her chair and headed upstairs. Antoinette hadn't arrived yet, but that was no big surprise. Antoinette was frequently late, and usually with a good story to tell by way of explanation. Karen decided to take Ant to lunch, so she could hear it all.

Mr. Sidwell was in his office, but still wore his jacket. She knocked lightly on the doorjamb. He turned, a flicker of irritation passing over his face.

“Can I come in?” she asked. “I won't take much time.”

“Sure,” he said. “Let me take my jacket off.” He shrugged out of it and hung it on a hook in the corner, where an assortment of walking sticks and caps and golf clubs transformed the corner into a man jungle. He began sorting through papers on his desk. “What's up?” he asked, not even bothering to look up from his work.

“Curt MacDonald is up. Up and walking right back into his normal life,” Karen answered.

“I see,” Mr. Sidwell said, as if she'd simply told him she'd brushed her teeth that morning. “And I suppose your son has had a change of mind in light of this new development.”

“Actually,” Karen said, “you're fired.”

Mr. Sidwell looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”

She held her palms out. “Just from working with Travis. He has had a change of mind, but I'm no longer helping him. So you're fired.”

“Have you told him about this?” Mr. Sidwell asked, still looking none too pleased.

“Not yet. But I will. It's time for him to learn to deal with his own problems. If I keep swooping in and helping him out, we will never get past this cycle he's stuck in. He needs to learn a lesson. And if that means he learns it in jail, that's the choice he's made.”

Mr. Sidwell sank into his chair, the mail temporarily forgotten. “This is a pretty big lesson.”

Karen leaned forward. “With all due respect, Mr. Sidwell, he almost beat an innocent man to death. He needs a big lesson.”

Mr. Sidwell tented his hands, and pressed his fingers to his chin. He nodded, and finally a smile crept onto his face. “I think you're doing the right thing, Karen,” he said. “And I suppose in light of what you're telling me, I don't mind being fired.”

“About that,” she said. “I might need some legal counsel on another subject.”

“Oh, really? And what is that?”

Karen scooted back in her chair, crossed her legs confidently, and said, “What can you do about grandparents' rights?”

“I
have to go home early today,” Melinda said, fussing with the new curtains, trying to get all the pastel balloons to line up. “Is it right?”

Maddie Routh looked up from the rocking chair where she was sitting, smoothing the pages of a baby journal in her lap. She'd been writing, Melinda could see, but she didn't know what. She knew only that it was good to see Maddie doing something. Something productive. Something other than simply trying to survive a day.

“You've got a weird wrinkle on the left side,” Maddie said. “But it looks fine.”

Melinda peered at the curtain and began rearranging. “Anyway, I have to leave in a bit. I've got something I need
to do. But Karen is coming for dinner, and Joanna should be here in the morning.”

“You know you don't have to keep doing that,” Maddie said. And Melinda did know that. Maddie had come a long way. She smiled sometimes now. Laughed at Melinda's jokes. They'd gone shopping together, twice, and had put together Maddie's overnight bag for the hospital. They'd even gone to the park and eaten ice-cream cones, and Maddie had talked about being at that same park as a child, about being at that same park with Michael. She was able to talk about him wistfully now. She was able to talk about the baby. She was calm and hopeful.

“It's fixed?” Melinda asked, leaning back to assess the curtain.

“No. I mean, yeah, it looks fine now. But what I meant was you don't have to keep babysitting me. I feel so bad about how much I've disrupted all of your lives.”

Melinda stepped off the stool she'd been standing on and wiped her palms on her jeans. “We're not babysitting. We're supporting. You haven't disrupted anything. And I thought you were okay with it.”

“I am. I was,” Maddie said. She ran her hand over the open page of her book again, nervously touching the writing. “I mean, I think I'm getting better now. You can't do this forever.”

“That's great,” Melinda said. “But we still want to be here for you. It's not forever. Just for a few more weeks, balloon girl.” She reached out and patted Maddie's belly, which felt tight and hard under her palm. “We're not doing this
because we have to. We're doing this because we're your friends. I'm your friend.” She patted the belly again. “You're about to pop. Any day now. We're about to find out soon if it's a boy or a girl.”

“It's a boy, I just know it,” Maddie said. She rubbed her belly, something Melinda had seen her do more and more often lately. She'd also heard her humming softly while rocking in the chair. Maybe she really was feeling better, like she said.

“Is this for the baby?” Melinda asked, lifting the corner of the book in Maddie's lap and letting it drop again.

Maddie let out a big sigh. “Yeah. I've been filling out the family history part. It's really helped, telling the baby about Michael. They didn't give me enough room, though.” She flipped to the back of the cover and pulled out several folded sheets of paper, each filled with her tiny handwriting. She ran her finger along the fold of the pages. “He was so amazing. You can't sum up a guy like Michael in one page.”

“This baby will be amazing, too,” Melinda said. She knelt in front of Maddie, resting her hands on the arm of the rocker. “You know that, right? It may not seem like it now, but as soon as you hold him, you will feel how amazing he is.”

Maddie nodded. “I know. This baby has stuck with me through all of this, so I already know he's a fighter. Michael made him that way. And I kind of do feel it now, how amazing he is.”

“It makes me so happy to hear you say that,” Melinda
said. “But you've been fighting right along with him, so I think maybe you made him that way, too. Or her.”

Maddie managed a smile. “Now, go. Do what you need to do. We're fine here.”

Melinda fussed with the curtain for a few more moments, not sure if she was trying to get it perfect, or if she was just being reluctant to let go of Maddie.

“Hey, Melinda?”

She turned. “I know. It looks good. I should go.”

“No.” Maddie picked at the edge of the page open before her, looking uncomfortable. “I just . . . I'm your friend, too. I wanted to make sure I said that. Because I've said a lot of hateful things to you, but you never gave up on me. I know it's all three of you who've helped me, but you're the one who kept pushing. Thank you.”

Melinda smiled. She supposed she was the one who kept pushing. The one who first had the idea to find Maddie at all. The one who pulled her out of the bathtub and insisted she keep living. Maddie wasn't the only fighter. She was a fighter, too.

And she had her own life to fight for.

She looked over her shoulder one last time as she headed out the door. Maddie was bent over the journal again, writing intently with one hand and rubbing her belly with the other.

•   •   •

Melinda was home before Paul, which gave her plenty of time to set the stage the way she wanted it. She started with dinner, which she hadn't made in so long she'd almost
forgotten how. It seemed pointless to cook for two people who would only eat in awkward silence. But today would be the start of something different. Melinda was determined.

So much had happened. There was so much hurt. Yet she saw how Maddie Routh had fought. How she'd fought for Michael. How she'd fought for the baby that she'd so desperately wanted and then so desperately resented. How she'd fought for the love she'd once forged for herself. What would be Melinda's excuse for letting her love just fade away?

While the chicken roasted and the potatoes boiled, she changed out of her uniform and hung it over the treadmill just like she'd done a hundred times. Habit. She picked up the leg of her pants and rubbed the fabric between her fingers. She'd worked so hard to earn this uniform. It was one of her pride points, being an EMT. It was the only thing she'd wanted to be for so long. But the uniform also held a lot of memories, and a great many of them not good. Some of them the stuff nightmares were made of. She used to think this made her special, her ability to keep her cool when confronted with a grisly scene or a stunning trauma or a tragic moment. But now she knew the truth—that only a part of her kept its composure. The rest of her hung on to those moments and let them take her down, slowly and completely, on the inside.

She whisked the pants off the treadmill and took them to the mudroom, where she stuffed them into a garbage bag. Her two weeks were up. Come Monday, she would be wearing scrubs to work. A formality, really, for the person
answering phones at a dental office, but she supposed she would welcome the comfort.

She went back into her bedroom and gathered up her other uniforms and took them out to the garbage as well, shoving them deep within.

She walked into the kitchen just as the oven timer sounded that the chicken was done. She put it on a platter and mashed the potatoes. She dumped the roasted Brussels sprouts in a bowl. She found a book of matches and lit the candles on the fireplace mantel. She combed her hair. She brushed her teeth and put on soft music. And then stood next to the kitchen island wondering if this was trying too hard. Was it too romantic? Would Paul be put off? Were they past this stage? And, if so, would they ever be able to get back?

But before she could make a move to change anything she'd done, the mudroom door opened and Paul stepped in, blinking in confusion.

“Hey,” she said.

“I didn't expect . . .” He trailed off. “Is something going on tonight?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Melinda said, busying herself by searching for a spoon to put in the potatoes. “Maddie is doing much better, so I decided to spend some time with you.”

“Why?” he asked. He let his messenger bag slither down his arm and land on the floor.

Melinda slid the spoon into the potatoes and turned to
him. “Because I love you,” she said. She started to say more, but decided instead to let it sit.

He broke his gaze first, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, sure,” he said. “It's just you haven't done that in a while.”

“There are lots of things we haven't done in a while, Paul,” Melinda said. “I miss you.”

His jaw worked a few times while he contemplated what she was saying. “I miss you, too,” he said. She could see the familiar wall push its way up between them again. He was trying so hard to shut her out, but she could see something else as well. Something in that working jaw. He still loved her. There was a hope they could get back.

“I don't know what you did all that time you were gone,” she said. “And I don't need to know. I really don't. I trust you. You've never betrayed that trust.”

“No, I haven't,” he said, accusation dripping off his words.

“I know,” she said. “You haven't. So I don't need to know what you were doing all that time. But what I'm hoping you didn't do is talk yourself into giving up on us forever. Because you came back, which makes me think you want to make this work. But you haven't really talked to me since, which makes me wonder if it ever will.”

“You haven't exactly been talking, either,” he said, and again Melinda could hear the blame in his words. He was so defensive he almost couldn't speak to her without it. “That's what started this whole mess, if I remember correctly.”

“I know,” she repeated. “But I'm ready to change that. I want to talk to you. I want to cook for you and do things with you again. I guess I'm just saying that I want to try to get us back. I'm willing to do anything.”

“I see.” Still wary.

“So I quit,” she said.

“Quit what?”

She picked up the potatoes and took them to the kitchen table. “My job,” she said. “I quit. I turned in my notice two weeks ago. Today was my last day. Jason didn't even bother to say good-bye, by the way. Not that I really expected him to.”

Paul slumped against the counter. “You quit your job and you didn't even mention it to me? This is what you think is going to bring us back together? Jesus, Melinda, is this what our lives are going to be like now? You doing whatever the hell you want and hiding it from me?”

“I start at Danforth Dental on Monday,” she said. “Making more money than I was making before. Plus free dental care.”

He nodded. “I still would have liked to have a heads-up.”

“The hours are way better,” she said.

“I'm sure they are,” he said. He started to argue more, but she cut him off.

“That way I can be home more for the kids.” She swallowed. “When we have them.”

Paul stared at her harder. She could see the wall begin to chip and crumble. Could feel him leaning toward her, like a flower to sunlight. She could feel it and see it even
behind the anger in his posture. “If,” he said. “I think you mean
if
we have kids.”

She came to him, took his hands in hers. “I was so worried about the pain of someday losing a child that I forgot about the pain of losing you,” she said. “It's the worst, Paul. I kick myself every day for what I did, but I never did it because I don't love you. I did it because my love for you is terrifying, and if loving you scares me, what will loving your child do to me?”

“You made a fool out of me for months,” he said. But his hands twitched around hers. He wasn't pushing her away; he wasn't letting go.

“And I'm so sorry about that. I want to make it up to you. If you want to have kids, we can have them.”

“You can't just change your mind like that,” he said. “It's not the way it works.”

“Yes, I can just change my mind like that. I'm willing to try, anyway. No, I
want
to try. It's not a sudden change. It's been months in the making. Months without you, even when you're here. It's been months with Maddie Routh and Karen and Joanna, and listening to Jason bitch, and I can't explain it all, but I've learned some things about myself. I quit my job, Paul. I'm serious about this.”

She looked up into his face. His eyes were closed, and wetness had gathered beneath them. “This hasn't gone too far?” he asked, his voice raspy.

Melinda leaned her forehead against his chest, feeling his warmth soak into her. “Please, try,” she whispered.

Paul let go of her hands, causing her to blanch with fear. But then she felt his hands, pressing flat against the small of her back, moving to the center as his arms wrapped around her, and then slowly floating up the length of her spine until they were cupping the back of her head. He held her tightly against him. She felt such relief circle through her that she almost felt dizzy. Her arms found their way around his waist, as she turned her head and laid her cheek against his chest.

She could hear his heart beating.

It was a sound she never wanted to forget.