Second Chances (18 page)

“Yeah, I signed all those papers. They're in my car if you give me a minute,” I said, but he didn't seem inclined to move just yet.

“You found an acceptable place to rent, Liz was saying.”

“Yeah, and I really like it,” I told him. “Did Mom tell you that Camille is going to be living here though?”

He nodded. “I think that might be a good idea for her.” He cleared his throat and added, “If you think it's best.”

I nodded without comment.

“Well, I just came out to…” his voice drifted into silence as he continued staring at me.

“Dad!” Ruthann shrieked from the direction of the café and Jackie turned to smile at her; I used this opportunity to hoist myself out of the water. I braced on my elbows but felt my water-logged jean shorts threatening to slip down past my ass crack. I made an inadvertent noise of alarm, and Jackson spun back around and bent immediately to help me out of the lake. I had no choice but to allow him to haul me ungracefully out of the water by the armpits. He lifted me without effort, but I got the sleeves of his dress shirt all wet.

“Sorry,” I said, gesturing at the wet spots. I felt terribly uncomfortable as I scraped my hair over one shoulder and squeezed it out, and also self-conscious; Jackson's gaze slid down my soaking front, where the outline of my breasts and belly was altogether too visible. He looked back at my face almost instantly, but the old heat was in his eyes. He swallowed and turned back to greet Ruthie as she scampered down to hug him. I shouldered around him and made my way back to the café, trying to pretend I didn't feel him watching me.

Rich called
me on Saturday afternoon.

“What do you mean, they all lost phone privileges?” I wailed.
No, no, no
. “Rich, I'm coming down there, I can't handle this anymore.”

“Jo, honey, his whole cell block is being punished for something, not Blythe individually. He's all right, sweetie, just missing you so much. When Christy and I saw him yesterday he looked a little rough. They'd just let them know about the phone thing and he's upset. His eyes look like he's not sleeping.”

“Oh, Rich,” I moaned, in agony. I said again, “I can't take this anymore. I have to see him. Tell him I'm coming down there.”

“Now, Jo, I don't think that's necessary. He's done the week after next. And Joanie told me that you and Jillian are having a big birthday party next Saturday.”

“I don't even care about that,” I said, chewing my thumbnail to bits. “Not if Blythe isn't here. Rich, I'm so glad you're down there. Is Christy all right?”

“She's fine, honey. Truly. And pretty soon this will all be behind you guys. Now, listen, Bly would want you to enjoy your birthday, I know it.”

I sighed, curling up on Mom's couch; I'd been in her house when Rich called, where I'd been gathering the last of my bathroom supplies. I hadn't yet showered in my own house, since I'd been missing shampoo and soap this morning.

“He loves that you've been writing to him,” Rich went on. “He keeps all those letters in the pocket of his jumpsuit.”

Tears filled my eyes and I pressed a hand hard to my chest. I couldn't bear to picture him behind the bulletproof glass, cradling a phone receiver as he talked to Rich. His huge shoulders would be hunched forward, and I could see the shadowy smudges under his eyes; he'd looked that way back in July when I'd broken up with him, thinking it was the only choice we had. I could have kicked myself and broken ribs for being so blind. I tried hard to draw a deep breath and finally asked, “When will you see him again?”

“We'll go over in this next week,” Rich told me.

“Can you hug him for me? I don't suppose you can,” I said bitterly.

“No, we can't touch him,” Rich said. “He looks like he could use a hug, too.”

I wanted to scream out my defiance at these rules. It wasn't fair to Rich, but I yelled, “
That is so unfair!
”

“Jo, honey, it's all right,” Rich said again.

“I'm sorry,” I said immediately. “I'm just so damn tired. I miss him so much I can't sleep or eat. I'm a fucking mess.”

“Now, that's the last thing he'd want to hear,” Rich admonished me gently. “And I hear you have a nice little new house?”

I sniffled, pulling myself together. “Yeah, it's over on Broom Street.”

“That's a pretty little street,” Rich said. “Now, Jo, why don't you go and find your sister and have some fun this evening? No more moping, okay, doll?”

Good old Rich
. I said, “I will, I promise. Please tell Bly that I will see him before we know it. I'm counting the hours.”

“That's more like it,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, I'll talk to you soon.”

Three weeks down.

Gran was out on the porch sipping
from an iced glass when I drifted uselessly back that way, carrying a plastic basket of toiletries. Lunch rush was over, dinner rush not yet begun. She waved me over and I joined her, setting the basket on the seat to my right. I leaned and sniffed at her drink, then asked, “Gran, can I have a sip?”

“We haven't had a proper margarita night in too long,” Gran mused, sliding her vodka lemonade my way. “Why are your eyes red, girl?”

“Oh, Gran, I'm just so blue,” I said, feeling tears again as I took a long drink from the skinny pink straw.

Her gaze sharpened beneath her floppy hat brim and for a moment she looked just like Jillian. She asked, “Are you pregnant?”

I sniffled again, tired of sounding so pathetic, but unable to stop myself at the moment. “No, Gran, I'm not. I just had my period.”

She appropriated her drink from my grasp anyway and said, “Well, good. One of you at a time, huh?” and then cackled, though not unkindly. It was hard to explain how Gran's sense of humor was intertwined with her love for you; she showed affection rather oddly.

I said recklessly, “I wish I was, Gran. I'd have Blythe's baby gladly.”

She blew out a breath at me and said, “Joelle, you've got it bad for that boy.”

“Gran, Blythe is no boy,” I said, feeling defeated. My family was set against me.

“Oh, I know. He's more a man than any man I've ever seen,” she said, sounding sassy, as though she was about 25. She grinned at me with her eyes sparkling. I managed a small smile, which she'd intended.

“I fucking love him with all my heart,” I said, letting my head fall back a little, looking straight up at the sky. I felt sort of guilty for swearing, but Gran didn't seem offended.

“I know it,” she said. “And I know that Jackson is sniffing around you again. You watch out for him.”

I lifted my face and looked gratefully at her. She rapped her drink on the table and added, “No matter what your mother says, all right?”

“I will. Thanks, Gran,” I said. “How about we get started with margarita night a little early?”

She grinned at me in a web of wrinkles, her eyes still sparkling. “Now that sounds more like the Joelle I know.”

“Ooh, ooh!
Let's do a chorus of ‘Strawberry Wine'!” Jilly said excitedly. She launched whole-heartedly into the first verse of one of our old favorite songs, tipping her lips up towards the black-velvet and diamond-spangled sky.

I laughed and raised my green goblet in praise. Gran rocked side to side, her own mug brandished high. Mom and Ellen, who had already been laughing, collapsed against each other. I felt good, better in the company of my mother especially, than I had in a while. I was also pretty drunk; though I'd promised myself I would quit being a bad example for the girls, it seemed justified tonight, when I'd been counting on hearing Blythe's voice and was now denied the privilege. Not only that, but it was a Davis family Saturday margarita night. The kids, including Liam and two of the three triplets, were holed up in Jilly's apartment, supposedly watching movies and eating fudge. What they were really doing was anyone's guess; at their age, Jilly and me and our gang would have been swigging misappropriated wine or beer and enjoying a rollicking game of Truth or Dare. I took a moment to be thankful that my kids had never proven as wild as my sister and I (and their father, for that matter) had been. Then again, my Camille was pregnant. Right now she was out with her father; Jackie had taken her for a special father-daughter dinner in Bemidji, just the two of them. Though she'd tried to disguise it, I knew she'd been pleased.

I wobbled to my feet and joined Jillian in the final verse, then we belted out the chorus together. It was pretty pitiful and anyone on the streets of Landon, just across the lake, could surely hear. The last note hovered over the water and was greeted by the sudden wailing of a loon out on the water. Another responded moments later.

“Oh, I love to hear them,” Ellen said. “Seems like it's been a while.”

“You girls ready for another round?” Gran asked, lofting the pewter pitcher that had been in our family for this noble purpose since before the grand opening of Shore Leave, over 60 years ago.

“One more,” I said, though I knew shouldn't. I knew I would feel like shit in the morning, but since I didn't get to talk to Blythe tonight, I would feel that way anyway. What was a headache on top of that?

Gran gurgled yellow-gold slush into my glass, and then Jilly's. I drank deeply, then backhanded my mouth. Mom waved the pitcher away and Ellen said, “Ma, I'm full up.”

“Here's to Joelle's new place,” Gran said then, grinning at me. “We're so happy for you, girl.”

“Thanks, Gran,” I said, chiming my glass lightly against hers on the second try. “I'm happy too.”

“Me, too,” Jilly added enthusiastically, and Ellen echoed the sentiment and blew me a kiss.

Gran sent a look at Mom, who was gazing reflectively out over the lake. Mom seemed to come back to herself and said, “Of course, honey, I'm happy to have you here.”

“But?” I asked belligerently.

Mom reeled in her gaze and looked into my eyes. She said, her voice soft, “Joelle, I gave you my opinion. But it's in your hands now.”

I felt combative, all of a sudden. I said, “Well, if that isn't the most passive-aggressive statement I've heard tonight.” Everyone's spine seemed to straighten at my tone. I'd slurred over the words ‘passive-aggressive,' but I continued anyway, “But that's just so
like
you, Mom.”

“Dammit, Joelle, don't talk to me like that,” Mom said. “You know what I said was true. Your children miss their father. They shouldn't have to choose between the two of you.”

“Joanie,” Gran snapped. “That's not a fair statement.”

“Ma, please,” Mom said to Gran, though not without respect. Her aggravation, however, was apparent.

“You've been letting Jackie play you all month,” I accused. My eyelids felt hooded and I knew I should shut the hell up, right now. But something in me kept pushing, setting free all of the resentment that had been boiling under the surface of my skin. “He's limping along to get your…sympathy. And you're falling for it, hook, sinker and line!”

Something about that hadn't sounded right, but Mom got my meaning. Even in the meager light from the candle lantern in the center of the table she appeared to flush with temper. She said, her voice tight, “You are throwing away a second chance with a good man. Your
husband
. Your children's
father
.”

“Mom, he doesn't deserve her anymore,” Jillian said quietly. She was looking between Mom and me with her eyebrows quirked at half-mast, drink forgotten in her hand. She hated conflict of all kinds. Gran watched with her mouth set in a grim line.

“He made a mistake!” Mom said again. Jackson could not have paid her to be a better cheerleader for him.
Jesus
. “Doesn't he deserve a chance to show you he's sorry?”

“No, he doesn't,” I managed to say past the ball of anger in my throat. I turned to implore Ellen, certain she'd be on my side. “Wha' do you think?”

Ellen sighed and said, “Joelle, it's not for me to say.” She said anyway, “I know you love Blythe. But it wasn't that long ago you were still crying in the night for Jackson. I say, just think about this. Think it through.”

“You too?” I gasped. I was stunned.

At that moment the man we'd been discussing came driving into the parking lot, Camille in tow.

“Screw this,” I muttered, slapping my drink on the table; it sloshed over the side and onto my wrist, but that didn't slow my progress. I stomped down the steps and headed for my car. I wasn't thinking clearly and just wanted to leave. Obviously no one in the vicinity was going to allow that in my current inebriated state.

Camille climbed out of Jackie's car and regarded me with surprise as I breezed by her, en route to my purse, sitting innocently on the passenger seat. I opened the door and dug through it, at last locating my keys with a grunt of satisfaction. Behind me I could hear voices clucking in alarm. The next thing I knew Jilly was by my side, saying, “Come on, Jo, let's get you to bed.”

“No,” I snapped at her, shrugging off her gentle touch on my shoulders. “I wanna gome.”

“You are home,” she murmured in my ear. “Come on, please, Jo. You know you can't drive anywhere.”

“Motherfucker,” I tried to say. I moved out of her grasp and stumbled around the hood. I felt tears on my face because Blythe was in my thoughts. I just wanted to talk to him. Couldn't I just have that? I had needed it so badly tonight. And he needed me.

A man's strong hands were around my upper arms now, but not the ones I craved. Not the ones I wanted.

“Easy there, Jo,” Jackson was saying, near my left ear, and his voice was teasing me a little. He went on, easily, “Where do you think you're going?”

“Get away from me,” I said, or at least that's what I intended to say. Ineffectually I shoved at his chest.

“I'm sorry, I can't,” he said, his mouth against my hair. Even in my drunken state I sensed he intended that to convey more than one meaning.

The next thing I knew I was seeing everything upside-down, my head lolling back over his forearm as he lifted me into his arms and carried me back to the porch, Jillian dogging his footsteps.

“No, take her to the house,” I heard Mom direct. “Camille, come up here, honey.”

Jackson redirected his route into the darkness, Jilly still clinging to us. I felt as though I was being rolled down a steep hill and managed to make a sound that alerted Jillian. Not a moment too soon she yelped, “Jackie, she's gonna puke!”

Jackson knelt and managed to get me around to my knees. I felt his hands gently gather my hair before I retched, hating myself for acting this way, for being so vulnerable. Jillian patted my back, saying over and over, “It's all right, Jo, it's all right.”

“God, this is just like high school,” Jackson observed wryly from behind me. I felt his hand on my back too, low on my spine. I would have bucked it off if I hadn't been engulfed in another round of vomiting. The only person whose hand could touch me there was Blythe.

After a time I'd brought up everything in my appreciable body. I muttered, “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Jilly said one last time. “Come on, let's get you to bed.”

Without asking permission, Jackie hoisted me up into his arms again. “Where we headed, Jill?”

“Our old room,” she said, and I watched from my disabling vantage point as Jilly opened the front door for him, clicked on the hall light, and then he followed her up the steps.

“This is where you've slept all summer?” Jackson asked me in disbelief as I was deposited on the twin bed. God, the bed where we'd made love many a stolen time as teenagers. He remained sitting on the mattress beside me, his hand lingering on my waist.

I felt too miserable to continue looking at him and rolled to my other side with a groan.

From out in the hall Jilly said, “See you in the morning, Jo. Come on, Jackie.”

One of his hands was stroking slowly over my ribcage, which I knew Jilly could sense if not see. He leaned down to press his lips to my shoulder, saying, “I'll be down in a minute.”

“No,” my sister said, and I was so grateful to her that I tried to make a sound, but I was so depleted. “Let's go.”

And without further argument, thankfully, Jackson followed her out of the room. I curled into a ball and passed out.

I opened
my eyes to late-morning light and winced, slamming them shut instantly. Ball bearings seemed to chase each other around inside my skull, but I deserved every moment of it. How stupid had I been last night? I recalled what had happened after Jackson had put me on the bed and was doubly glad for my sister. Not that I'd have allowed him to do anything, but he would have tried. He would have used his advantage and he would have tried his best. It made my stomach cramp with rage. I had been a walking disaster last night; if any of my daughters had behaved that way I'd skin them. I'd understand, but I'd still be unduly harsh with my punishment.

I slept again until late afternoon, waking with a dry mouth and throbbing temples. I imagined a glass of water on the nightstand. I finally pulled my sorry self to a sitting position and remembered that I didn't have clean clothes here any longer; all of my things were at my new place on Broom Street.

“Jo, you awake?” I heard Jillian calling up the steps. A moment later she popped into the room and said, “Ye gods, you need a shower.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I saved your ass last night,” she said, sitting on the foot of the bed and regarding me with somber cerulean eyes.

“I know,” I said. “He wouldn't have gotten very far, believe me. For one thing, I reek like puke.”

“He is determined though,” she said. “Jo, I'm scared he's going to convince you, take you away back to Chicago. Don't let him.”

“Jilly, oh my God,” I told her, aghast that she'd even think such a thing. “Give me some credit. I might have been wasted, but if he'd tried to kiss me I'd have kneed his nuts.”

“Yeah right, you could hardly walk. I'm not saying he was gonna force you. I was afraid he'd charm you, dredge up the past and make you nostalgic. If anyone could manage that, it's him. I saw his eyes last night. I told him Blythe was coming back, and he was all like, ‘Well he's not here now, is he?'”

“But he will be,” I said, and drew a breath, picturing Blythe's beautiful face, his smoldering smoky eyes. “And Jilly, my heart is his. Jackson could never change that, not anymore.”