Second Chance Love (21 page)

Chelsea could not meet Elizabeth's eyes.
At some point, she'll need to remember to breathe
, thought Elizabeth.

I did not know that Steve had such a mean streak
.
No. Wait, that's dumb. If every loving thing he says to me is true, which I believe it is, then anyone who hurts me can expect him to go for the throat in my defense.

Steve turned again to Simon. “Again, I'm very sorry. None of this involves you. Come on, Lizzie, let’s go find Gail. She can introduce us to her new catch.” He gave Elizabeth his elbow, nodded again to Simon, and walked toward the back of the ballroom.

Elizabeth couldn’t resist a small peek over her shoulder at Chelsea.

She looked just in time to see Chelsea's dress-contoured derrière disappear through the exit, with a bewildered Simon in pursuit.

Chapter Thirty-One

After the intensity of quarterbacking a successful society charity event, Elizabeth found great relief in her day job's predictable sedateness. For a few days after the gala, her world consisted of days at
The Prints and the Pauper
and evenings with Steve. And Thanksgiving was coming.

How nice to have a great reason to consider the meaning of the holiday, and not to contemplate spending it with a cat, a TV dinner, and an Agatha Christie book
.

“Oh, Honey, that’s wonderful. And sad, too, I know.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll find a nice little place to live and we’ll be fine. I never needed all that space, anyway. I lived in about three rooms and the rest all went to waste.”

It still surprised Elizabeth how well Steve was adjusting. If he ever had serious doubts or bouts of depression, she could not detect them. At times, Elizabeth wondered if he were holding something back, too accustomed to the habit of a private mental fortress.

“The condo is set to close in mid-January, so I’ll start looking for a new place in a few weeks. What do you think, Lizzie? Should I start looking for a place that will accept a cat?”

“No, no need. Sebastian isn't looking for a new home.”

Steve took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a 'you're being obtuse' look. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Seriously, what do you think?”

“I think…” Five seconds elapsed. “I think I'm going to keep my own place, and not come share your little bachelor pad with you.”

“But if you moved in, it wouldn’t be a bachelor pad any more, would it?”

“I don’t know. Would you still be a bachelor?”

Steve did not answer. He had come to call this
Liz-Jitsu
, in which the conversation used his own strength of viewpoint against him, causing him to lose the argument. It had grown on him, even become endearing.

Within a few minutes, the delicious aromas of Maybelle’s informally tabled the residence discussion. Maybelle burst from the kitchen to hug them both. “Where have you two been keeping yourselves? I used to see you in here three or four nights a week, and now I hardly see you at all. You’re not cheating on me with a taco truck, are you?”

Steve laughed. “No, Maybelle, but I admit that I'm having a torrid affair with Lizzie’s home cooking.”

Maybelle laughed. “All right. What happens in home kitchen stays in home kitchen. You want to look at the menu or should I just bring you something good?”

Steve glanced at Elizabeth for confirmation, then said, “Bring us your best.” Maybelle smiled and retreated to her kitchen.

For a few minutes, Elizabeth asked Steve about the details of the condo sale. Then he brought up Thanksgiving.

“Shall we have dinner at my place?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That sounds nice, but I think you're forgetting your mother. Since she can’t come to us, we need to go to her. And while we're at it, this is a good time to invite Gordon."

Steve's face fell. "That sounds a lot less enjoyable than a candlelit dinner at my place."

"That's because you aren't thinking of anyone but us, and you're missing part of it for me." She took his hand. "Your mother used to think I was dirt. Now she treats me like, well, not a peer, but a person. Thanksgiving is for family, for those who have family. If not for us, she will spend it with minions who got stuck with a Thanksgiving shift, bringing her a plate of turkey and cranberry sauce to eat alone, or with Gordon. Do you really picture him bringing her home-cooked food? And while we're at it, inviting him will signal to your mom—and to him—that we accept their relationship. She has done a classy job of showing her acceptance of ours, and unless I miss my guess, she's not much used to eating crow. If we do anything else, we will be pushing her away."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"I understand." Her voice softened. "It's all right, Steve. It's been some time since holidays meant time with people who didn't want anything from you but your time and love. For me, no one except Sebastian has wanted even those, so I do understand. We both have to adjust. Now what I want is Thanksgiving with you, and with other people who are happy to get together with us, like I've been missing all along."

“Okay, Lizzie. If that’s what you think is best, I'll do it.”

Her eyes smiled.

She gets her point across, but she never rubs my face in it. She knows how to hand the football to the ref and walk to the sidelines. This is what it's like to be spared a lifetime of Chelsea Stanton Thanksgivings
.

He had a brief mental image of a TV holiday special, a zombie show.
The heartwarming classic,
A Very Chelsea Thanksgiving
, in which the undead invade homes to dine on the diners, not their dinners
.

Maybelle soon began to unload plates of roast beef, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables at their table. "Okay, Thanksgiving with my mother. But will we be dining on Turkey au Café Rehab?"

Elizabeth giggled at the awful faux French accent. Maybelle nearly dropped a gravy boat, stifling a belly laugh until she managed to set it down. "Don't do that to me while I'm serving, or if you get decorated, I take no responsibility." Even nearby patrons were chuckling.

"Sorry," said Steve with false gravitas. Maybelle finished.

"Bawn appiteat, Mawnsure, Mudomm," she said, snickering all the way to the kitchen.

“Of course not,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll cook.”

“Have you ever cooked a turkey dinner?”

“No, but it’s nothing that Max and I can’t handle, I’m sure.”

“It’s all settled then.”

“I'm looking forward to it. I’ve grown pretty fond of your mom. Ever since she’s been sick, she’s been a different person. I had always hoped we could be friends, and now it feels like maybe we finally are.”

After eating enough to last them through lunch the next day, Steve paid with cash and left his customary tip. As they donned their coats and scarves and headed for the door, Maybelle hugged Steve, then shooed him out. She pulled Elizabeth close, then whispered something that Steve couldn’t hear.

When they got back in the Taurus, he asked, “What was that all about?”

“Nothing important, just girl talk.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Steve awoke early on Thanksgiving, a gray, rainy day. He had asked Elizabeth to spend the night, but she had declined, saying she had been spending entirely too much time away from Sebastian. She had promised to catch a bus to his condo in time to get things ready.

“Suzi? Start the coffee, please, and I’d like some music. Classical, please.”

“Coffee will be ready in three minutes, Steve.”

As the beginning movement of Mozart’s
Jupiter
played, Steve slipped into his soft sheepskin slippers. While waiting for the coffee to finish, he toured his condo's less-used rooms, making a mental inventory of what he would take with him. In his office, he saw the small book of poetry that Elizabeth had written for him twenty years earlier. He riffled through the pages, stopping to read one of his favorites. Its title was
Through a Window,
and it described a fleeting moment when she had glimpsed him on the school bus and realized for the first time that she loved him. Every time he held the book, he marveled at Elizabeth’s love.

Steve sighed, went into the kitchen, and poured himself a perfect cup of Brazilian Roast.

I don't care about any of this stuff. The world can have everything else but her, and I'll be just fine. Do I have the right to ask her now, when I’ve lost everything, when I am starting completely over?

His heart knew the answer, but his brain was not quite processing it. His upbringing reverberated through his mind, beginning with his father's words: “Your first responsibility as a man is to take care of your family. Everything else is secondary.” His dad had passed away before the age of sixty, overworked and overstressed. His mother had picked up that drumbeat and continued it ever since. When he had been unable to imagine being broke, he hadn't worried much about it. There had been no one special to take care of. Now that there was, he felt bereft of the means to do so.

He sipped his coffee, reaching no resolution, feeling no better about it.

An hour later, Elizabeth walked in, lovely as always, wearing a simple sage green dress she had picked up at Gail’s shop earlier in the week and comfortable flats that didn’t emphasize the half-inch of height she had on Steve. She’d been letting her hair grow out all year and wore it loose, falling around her shoulders. She carried only a bouquet of autumn flowers.

“Umm, Lizzie? Was I supposed to do the grocery shopping? Because if I was, I’ve completely fallen down on the job.”

She smiled. “Nope. You have nothing to do today except be handsome and charming.” She paused. “Oh, and be nice to Gordon at dinner.”

“I will, I promise. But isn’t it going to be difficult for me to be nice to him at dinner if we don’t have any dinner?”

“It would, but I’ve got it all taken care of. We’re not supposed to meet your mom and Gordon for a few hours yet. What say we hop in that sexy four-door of yours and take a drive out in the hills? Do a little leaf-peeping?”

Steve squinted at her for clues. Nothing. He sighed: "Okay, I’m all yours. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here, with a nice fire going, and watch the parade and football games on the big screen?”

Elizabeth's look told him that it just might be his dumbest suggestion ever. He nodded. “Right. A trip to see the leaves it is, then. Let’s go.”

As they drove the twisty road that led up to the hills outside of town, Steve tried to avoid comparing the Taurus to the Mercedes, with middling success. It was easiest when Elizabeth reached out, took his hand in hers, and found some quiet holiday music on the radio. Then everything seemed perfect. They drove until they found a small roadside stand that was somehow open on Thanksgiving morning, selling hot cider and warm slices of pumpkin bread spread with real butter. Elizabeth got out to buy some.

“I thought I was watching my calories,” Steve said, accepting a piece of pumpkin bread.

“Silly, this is Thanksgiving. The one magical day when calories pass magically through your body without landing on your thighs.”

“Mm-hmm,” Steve munched. The rain had dwindled to a mist. About a mile past the stand, he pointed at a trail leading up a small hill covered in autumn foliage. Elizabeth nodded, and Steve parked the Taurus.

They hiked slowly up the trail, gloved hands nestled together like teenage lovers. It led up to a little grotto with a white bench, flecked here and there with rust. The maples that towered over them had carpeted the ground in reds and browns and golds. An old-fashioned wooden swing swayed from one sturdy branch. Elizabeth laid her head against Steve’s shoulder and sighed.

“I never knew things could be this good,” she said. “All those years, just surviving. I feel so lucky.”

“Lizzie, you know I am not a religious man. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to church, and I don’t plan on ever going back. Sitting here with you on a day like this, though, this is as close to a religious moment as I will ever get.”

Elizabeth smiled, kissed him, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I pray enough for you for both of us.”

“Good. I need it.” He looked at his watch. “What time are we supposed to be at Mother’s for the Thanksgiving Fast?”

“Two o’clock,” Elizabeth said.

“As much as I hate to, then, we had better go back.”

If I had the courage God gave a gnat, I would ask you to marry me right here, right now. Will there ever be another moment as perfect as this?

“Thank you for bringing us out here, Lizzie. No football game could compare to this.”

The return drive went by too quickly. Before they were ready for the sweetness of the morning to end, Steve was parking in front of the rehab center. The temperature had dropped near enough to freezing to produce a few stray, windblown snowflakes. As Steve darted around the back of the car and opened Elizabeth’s door, he looked left and right.

“What in the world are you looking for?”

“Food! That pumpkin bread just made me hungrier. I have this growing fear that you're about to subject me to institutional food.”

Elizabeth looked at him as if that were an odd notion, but said nothing more as they walked into the facility. It took her back to her own mother's last days, which had ebbed away in a rundown, smelly hospice staffed by underpaid, overloaded personnel. This facility was bright and clean and cheery, with helpful people at every turn.

Margaret's room was on the second floor, looking out on an inner courtyard. Steve knocked quietly in case she was asleep.

"Come in," said a deep male voice.

That set Steve back a step. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him.
Be nice.

Steve nodded.
I will
.

Margaret was in bed, with Gordon holding her hand. The rest of the room had been transformed. A long table adjoined the bed in an L-shape around Gordon, and it was loaded: a golden turkey, huge bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, yams, rolls, asparagus, fruit salad, and much more. Hovering over it all was Maybelle.

“Maybelle?” Steve asked. “What are you doing here? I’m pretty sure you have a restaurant to run, on today of all days.”

“Not today. I decided to close up. Everyone that didn’t cook can go eat Chinese food. I wanted to take care of you, Elizabeth, and your mama today.”

“And Gordon,” Margaret said, patting his hand.

“Yes, and Gordon. Steve, you have left enough tips over the years to buy my place twice over. Today, you just worry about you, all right? I've got this.”

Steve found himself shocked mute. In his life, he did for others. Others had not done for him. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms as far around Maybelle as they would reach, and hugged her tight.

When he broke the embrace, his face was a little wet. “So this is what you two were whispering about behind my back. I’m going to learn to keep my nose out of things more often. Maybelle, this looks incredible, but that's the only thing about this that doesn't surprise me.”

Steve walked around the bed to give his mother a hug, but ended up in an embarrassing tango with Gordon, who stood up at first to shake his hand, then tried to just get out of his way. Finally Steve laughed, shook Gordon’s hand, said “Happy Thanksgiving,” then leaned over and gave his mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She still felt far too frail.

Maybelle had broken out four wine glasses and pulled the cork on a bottle of Pinot Noir. “This will go perfectly, I think.”

“Why only four glasses, Maybelle? You’ve got to stay and eat with us,” Elizabeth said.

“I am not going to intrude on this family meal,” Maybelle said, pouring the wine.

“I think you’re just as much a part of this family as me,” Gordon said. “Probably more. You’ve fed Steve here for the last ten years or so. In fact, you’ve probably made him more meals than Margaret did when he was growing up.”

“Oh, Gord,” Margaret said, slapping his hand, a little color rising in her cheeks.

Oh my God. Is Mother flirting with him? I never thought I’d see the day.
“Gordon’s right,” Steve said. “Maybelle, you are very much a part of our family. Please stay and eat with us. It's Thanksgiving. If we don't share your own meal with you, it'd be shameful.”

Maybelle shrugged, but smiled and set another plate.

It was an odd Thanksgiving dinner arrangement. Margaret stayed in bed, with Gordon sitting beside her to assist. Steve, Elizabeth and Maybelle sat around the long table that the rehab facility had provided.

“Who is going to say Grace?” asked Margaret. Steve looked at everyone else in turn. “Don’t worry, Steven. I wouldn’t ask you. Gordon? Will you, please?”

Gordon shifted a little in his seat, then bowed his head.

“Heavenly Father, bless this wonderful meal that our friend Maybelle has prepared with such love, and bless each person about to partake in it. Most of all, Lord, thank you for second chances. Oftentimes, they are all the sweeter for having waited. Amen.”

After an instant of silence, everyone echoed: “Amen.”