Second Chances (2 page)

Wait—somebody was coming. . .

In less than the blink of his eye, from one moment to the next, his brother Terry sat on the bench beside him.  He looked the same as he always did.  Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, full of laughter and life.  No—that wasn’t right.  Something about the whole scene was off.   When Ryan remembered grief tore at his soul.  Terry couldn’t be here—he died. 

"Yep, I know, I’m dead."  Terry’s voice held a touch of laughter, as if he’d read his mind.

"It’s just a dream, Ryan.  I can still talk to you in your dreams if I try really, really hard."

"You can?" 

"It’s not easy.  It’s hard work to break through the layers between.  I chose a place you’d remember."

Ryan laughed.  "Oh yeah, how could I forget the day you broke your arm going down the slide backwards.  I caught holy hell from mom when we got home." 

Terry joined in the laughter.  "Yep, it hurt like holy hell, too."   He shifted on the bench next to Ryan, turned to face him, leaning in closer. 

"Bro, there’s something I need you to do for me.  It’s asking a lot and I know you won’t believe it’s possible, but bear with me.  I don’t have a lot of time.  To create a dream and hold it takes almost all the energy I have; manifestation onto this plane can only be done for very brief periods."

"Anything, Terry, I’ll do anything.  Just ask."

Terry reached out as if to touch him but drew his hand back slowly. 

"It’s possible for me to come back . . ."

"What!  How?"

"No, just listen.  I can come back on the anniversary of my death, but only for that one night—from midnight until dawn—if I have . . ."

The incessant clattering of the bedside alarm slammed Ryan out of the dream.  His body jerked upright into a sitting position, his face and chest drenched with sweat.  A chill set in as it dried on his skin, leaving goose-bumps behind.  Air sawed in and out of his chest as his breath wheezed through his lungs.  Reaching to the side table, he slapped his hand down onto the still buzzing alarm clock with more force than was called for.  The shrill tone died mid screech.  Glancing at the empty spot on the bed next to him, the sound of the shower in the master bathroom clued him in to why his wife wasn’t lying there. 

Falling back against the sweat-dampened pillows, he scrubbed his hands over his face and waited for his heartbeat slow to normal.  He had a few minutes before Rose would finish her shower and he needed to be composed and calm before she came out.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew she realized something was wrong; he just couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the dreams.  Not yet. 
If not now, when, jackass?

There was only a week until the anniversary rolled around. 
I can hold out for seven more days.  She never needs to know I’ve lost my mind and I’m talking to my dead brother.

Seven days until Christmas. 

Terry loved the holidays—all of them.  But Christmas was extra special for him.  He’d met his wife, Sharon, at the hospital Christmas party and from that minute on they were inseparable.  By Valentine’s Day he’d proposed and by the next Christmas Eve they were married.  Ryan and Rose had surprised them with a honeymoon getaway at the fancy lodge in the mountains.  It wasn’t a true honeymoon—they’d planned a formal longer trip for later when they could take time off from the hospital.  They’d talked about how they were scrimping and saving every extra dollar toward a two-week cruise around the Greek Islands and put off any thought about a honeymoon until then. 

Rose wouldn’t hear of it and told Ryan under no circumstances could they spend the beginning of their married life without a special wedding night.  They were getting married and needed to have at least a long weekend away to spend together; just the two of them.  Since Sharon and Terry were both athletic and loved winter sports, the lodge in the Colorado Mountains outside Aspen seemed the perfect place. 

Ryan secretly made the reservations, paid all the expenses and he and Rose surprised the happy couple with a combination wedding and Christmas present of the resort trip.  Three days and two nights with all the bells and whistles.  Champagne, hot tub, the whole package. 

Ryan still remembered the look on Sharon’s face at the small intimate reception after their justice of the peace wedding.  Sheer joy radiated in her smile and he found himself smiling at the memory.  It had been nearly two years ago.  Sometimes it seemed like it just happened. 

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood and made his way to the kitchen and switched on the coffee maker.  Rose set it up ready to go the night before, so all he had to do was push a button and
voila
, coffee. 

At the sound of Rose making her way down the short hallway from the bedroom toward the kitchen he turned to greet her, plastering a smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  A bang followed by a muttered curse.  She always ran into the console table at the end of the hall.  Why she wouldn’t let him move it, he didn’t understand, but each time he offered, she refused. 

"Morning, hon." He pulled her close into a hug, kissing the top of her head.  Her arms wrapped tightly around him.

"Good morning to you, too.  Coffee ready?"

"A couple more minutes."

She looked at him before glancing away but not before he saw something flash in her eyes.  He wasn’t sure what it was, it was gone in an instant.   Opening the cupboard, he took down two mugs and got the creamer from the refrigerator. 

"Do you want breakfast?"  A brief smile accompanied Rose’s question. 

He shook his head.  "Not this morning, I’ll get something at the station later."

"Okay.  Just don’t forget to eat something."  Coffee was poured into the mugs and she silently handed one to him, black, then added cream and sugar to her own.  Bringing the cup to her lips she took a sip, closed her eyes and smiled.   

"Are you and Jake ready to go tree shopping tomorrow?"  Rose asked.

"We have the whole afternoon scheduled just for you, hon."

Rose’s lips twitched at the corners and he watched her try to cover it by lifting her mug to her lips.  He knew she was remembering the tree trimming fiasco of three years earlier. 

"The whole afternoon, huh?  Promise me you’ll actually take the time to tie the tree down this time, okay?"

Ryan laughed and Rose joined in.  He thought back to that blustery winter day three years earlier when he and Jake had left Rosie at the condo doing her annual Christmas baking.  She spent at least two days each holiday immersed to her elbows in vanilla, flour and cinnamon, baking and decorating cookies, cakes and pies.  She’d delegated him and Jake to pick out a tree to put in front of the big bay window in the condo’s living room.

The weather forecast predicted snow but not until late evening.  Piling into the SUV they’d headed for the tree farm outside town where the local tree growers let you pick you tree and cut it fresh.  The drive, while long, was worth it each year and they ended up with the most fantastic tree that would be the spotlight of the apartment.

Snow fell lightly as they reached the farm.  Bundled up to their necks with thick jackets, gloves and the scarves Rosie insisted they take, their quest for the perfect tree commenced.  Ryan would pick one and Jake would veto it.  Too lopsided on one side.  They walked a bit further and Jake pointed out another choice.  Ryan laughed and said no, it was too tall, wouldn’t fit in the apartment.  The next tree was too skinny.  Or the branches weren’t symmetrical. 

Finally close to an hour and a half later, they found the perfect tree.  They both agreed, not too tall, not to skinny.  Rose would love it.  Within a short time, it had been cut, wrapped in netting and swaddled like a newborn infant, attached to the roof of the SUV and they were on their way home. 

Within five minutes of starting the trek back home the snow turned to a mix of sleet and ice.  Huge pellets pinged against the roof of the vehicle and slush built up in clumps on the sides of the roadway.  A flash of movement on his left caught Ryan’s eye.  He grabbed the steering wheel tight, twisted sharply to the right and skidded on the fresh ice.  The car spun in circles, first left, then right as he turned into the skid.  Heart pounding he pumped the brakes and once again turned the wheel away from the icy pavement with a final thunk, skidding to a stop on the side of the road.

The engine idled as the wipers whispered across the windshield.  Pine needles and snow splattered across the moving blades creating a slushy, ice-coated pattern with each sweep of the wipers.  Adrenaline pumped through his body, racing through his blood.  He drew in a long calming breath before glancing at his friend in the seat beside him.  Jake’s fingers held a death grip on the dashboard where he’d braced during the spin. 

"You okay?"

Jake eased back in the seat, releasing his grip on the dash.  He opened his mouth but no words came out.   Nodding his head, he indicated he was unhurt. 

Ryan leaned back in his seat.  A strange gurgling noise from the opposite seat swung his attention back to Jake.  His eyes rounded as he pointed to the front of the car.  Following his friend’s silent direction, Ryan gazed out the front windshield, his heart still performing a flamenco rhythm in his chest.  As he watched, the carefully wrapped tree landed with a thump on the hood of the SUV.  With a muffled thud, the branches tangled with the rhythmically swinging wiper blades.  Gaining forward momentum, the tree cut a path across the hood, gaining speed as it slid.  A blur of green and brown skimmed across and down over the hood, whooshing like a toboggan onto the snow-covered ground in front of them. 

The two men sat frozen in stunned silence.   Watching the scene before them in almost slow motion the tightly wrapped netting unraveled and branches unfurled from their confinement, spreading outward in their evergreen glory.  Ryan looked at Jake and he looked back.  Laughter erupted, filling the interior of the car.  Ryan laughed until his sides hurt. 

Finally wrestling the tree into submission, they’d rewrapped the netting in a tangle of branches and twine.  They managed to secure it to the roof of the SUV and transported it back to the condo.  In the end, despite the struggle and accompanying aggravation, it had been worth it all to see Rose’s face when she spotted the tree. 

It hadn’t exactly survived unscathed.  Several of the branches were broken or partially torn off.  Sap seeped out of the broken places, oozing a trail onto the floor of the condo as they carried it from the door to the big bay window in the living room.  The tree top had taken the brunt of the accidental sled-ride down the SUV’s hood and had snapped off.  By the time he and Jake stood it in the tree stand, it no longer resembled the mighty evergreen they had chosen.  Instead it looked like a refugee from
A Charlie Brown Christmas
. 

Instead of being mad, she’d hugged them both and declared it the most beautiful tree she’d ever seen.  She promptly handed them strings of lights, ordering them to wind them around the tree and she’d opened the boxes of ornaments.  They’d spent the rest of the evening decorating the tree, drinking hot cocoa and Ryan didn’t think he’d ever loved her more than at that moment. 

Swallowing back his chuckle at the memories, Ryan attempted a serious expression and turned to his wife.

"Well, it’s not supposed to snow tomorrow, so I think we’re safe.  We’ll head out from the station after shift and find you the perfect tree."

Q
uinton Chase stared at the calender on the shiny polished surface of his mahogany desk, noted the date boldly circled in red.  Seven days to ensure everything was planned out to the last specific detail.  No single item left to chance.  He knew his job, his responsibilities and he was damn good at them.  As a Fate-Keeper, those responsibilities weighed heavily on his psyche.  Each task completed, each couple reunited helped to balance out the debt he owed The Fates. 

Healing hearts and restoring other’s faith in love and forgiveness was both his punishment and his redemption.  When his indentured time to The Fates ended, perhaps he’d be able to forgive himself, too. 

Pressing the button on his phone, mere seconds passed before his administrative assistant, the ever efficient Marcia, answered.

"Yes, Mr. Chase?"

"Is everything in place for the twenty-fourth?"

"Of course, sir.  The honeymoon suite has been booked.  The front desk has all the couple’s information and the room has been prepared to your exact specifications."

Quin breathed a sigh of relief.  He knew better than to question Marcia’s efficiency.  After all, she’d been with him a very long time and never forgot or mishandled one of his
special projects.

"Thanks, Marcia.  I’ll have the letter ready for delivery this afternoon and we’ll get the ball rolling."  With a quick tap of the button, the intercom disconnected, the only sounds in the quiet office space the crackles and pops coming from the logs blazing in the giant stone-carved fireplace.  Reaching down, he pulled open the bottom right desk drawer and retrieved the manila folder marked ’Terry and Sharon Jackson’. 

Opening the file, he lifted out the single photograph inside, a color five by seven photo of a laughing couple, the man’s arm around the woman.  She faced him, her right hand braced against his chest, her other arm draped around his neck, her body leaning in toward his.  They both laughed as snowflakes fluttered around them, captured forever with the click of the camera.  Even through the two-dimensional photograph, the love shining in their eyes blazed so brightly it was impossible to miss. 

Such a short amount of time they’d had together, he mused.  Their time cut short here at
his
place.  A love like theirs should be honored and that was exactly what he was going to do. 

Pulling forward the keyboard tray on his desk, his hands flew across the keys, the words seeming to take shape without thought as he typed.  He knew he couldn’t send the letter directly to its intended recipient; knew that wouldn’t work.  A more circuitous and circumspect route was necessary for his plans to succeed.  An intermediary—and he knew just the person.  Jake Stone.