Welcome to Last Chance
Read Welcome to Last Chance Online
Authors: Cathleen Armstrong
Tags: #FIC042040, #FIC027020, #Self-realization in women—Fiction
© 2013 by Cathleen Armstrong
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Ebook edition created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4257-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Cathleen Armstrong packs a lot into her debut novel: the suspense of danger lurking on the edges of Lainie Davis's life, a touch of can-this-really-go-anywhere romance, small-town friendships becomin
g like family, and the disappointment of family being less than ideal. With an eclectic cast of characters and well-developed plot,
Welcome to Last Chance
pulls the reader in from the first blink of the warning light on the dashboard of Lainie's car to the happily-ever-after waiting at the end of her last chance to get her life right.”
â
Beth K. Vogt
, author of
Catch a Falling Star
and
Wish You Were Here
“An outstanding debut novel!
Welcome to Last Chance
gives us a warm but never sentimental view of small-town life, sprinkled with characters full of quirks and faultsâall seen through the eyes of a tough but fragile heroine. Cathleen Armstrong has crafted a story to cherish.”
â
Sarah Sundin
, award-winning author of
With Every Letter
“With equal parts hope, charm, and tender faith, Cathleen Armstrong spins a tale as warm and welcoming as a roadside café on a dusty highway. Exit from the fast lane and visit Last Chance. It's a place you won't soon forget.”
â
Lisa Wingate
, bestselling and award-winning author of
Firefly Island
and
Blue Moon Bay
For Ed,
who never doubted for a moment
W
riting, it is said, is a solitary pursuit. If that were the whole truth, you wouldn't be holding this book in your hand, because it never would have been written.
My never-ending thanks to my first critique group, nonfiction writers all, who would settle in to hear my story like kids at bedtime. Loving thanks to dear friend Pat Sikora who applied prayer, encouragement, and outright nagging in equal parts when my feet would drag. The brainstorming with Lauraine Snelling and the reunioners helped me through the hard parts, and the accountability of the BIC coffee shop crowdâDineen Miller, Shelley Adina, Kristin Billerbeck, and Camy Tangâkept me writing when I wanted to wander. Massive hugs to Katie Vorreiter and Kathi Lipp, who walked with me every step of this journey. I am absolutely indebted to Marcy Wedeymuller, who went over the manuscript with a fine-toothed comb before I ever submitted it, saying, “Drop this,” “Beef this up,” and “This made me cry.” And if it hadn't been for my agent, Karen Solem, who took a chance on me and my manuscript, and the team at Revell who believed in my story, there would be no book. My deepest gratitude to each and all.
T
he warning light, some sort of car part with a circle around it, flashed on sometime after midnight. At least, Lainie Davis guessed it was that late. The clock on the dashboard had read 5:11 since she drove the car off the Long Beach lot three days earlier and headed east. Each mile driven was one mile farther away from Nick and the shadowy world of drugs and dealers that was turning him into a frightening stranger. Now, as she was daring to breathe again, that red light mocked her. “Really thought you were going to make it this time, didn't you? Nice try.”
“Nope, you're not doing this.” Lainie swallowed fear with a practiced gulp and kept her voice light. “It's just a little electrical short, that's all.” She gave the glass a sharp rap with her knuckle. The light flickered and went out.
“That's more like it. I knew you were fine.”
Long ago Lainie had learned the value of a little sweet talk, and about the time the air conditioner gave out, forty-five miles east of Palm Springs, she had begun crooning to her ancient Mustang. And until now, less than two hundred miles from her destination, her cajoling had kept things running smoothly.
“Hang on till we get to El Paso, baby, and I promise you'll never have to go anywhere again. But you've got to get me there by morning, no discussion.”
She caught her long hair with one hand and twisted it up, letting the hot wind rushing through her open windows blow across her damp neck. “Sheesh, it's got to be nearly a hundred out here. Does it ever cool off?”
The light flickered and came right back on. “C'mon. Off.” She slapped the instrument panel with the flat of her hand.
This time it didn't even flicker.
“Don't do this to me.” Lainie's voice rose above the roar of the wind. “You can't break down and leave me stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere.”
The light stayed on, but the old car seemed to show no other changes.
“Okay. Deep breath. We're going to be just fine. You're as likely to have something wrong with your light-turner-onner as with your engine, right? We'll just take it easy.”
She slowed a bit and patted the dash.
“You know, if anyone could hear me, they'd say I was nuts. And if the radio worked, we could both listen to somebody else's voice.” She peered into the darkness rushing past. “Man, it's empty out here.”
She glanced at the instrument panel with its glowing red light. The needle was to the hot side of center, but not all that much. Maybe it had always been there? She dropped her speed by another five miles per hour and pulled into the slow lane. Just ahead, on the other side of a barbed wire fence, a small sign read “L
AST
C
HANCE
FOR
F
OOD
â22 M
ILES
.”
“Well, that's scary.” Lainie smiled in spite of herself. “Last chance till when? Doomsday?”
She checked the temperature gauge again and her smile faded. It was definitely showing hotter than it had been. She lowered her speed five more miles per hour and drove another fifteen minutes
before looking down. She began to regret tossing her cheap cell phone in a trash can on the way out of town. At the time it made her feel bold and free; she was cutting all ties with her old life. But now she would give anything to have a phone at her fingertips.
The lights of an approaching semi loomed up behind her until her car was filled with their glare. At the last possible moment, the truck swerved around, the long, angry blast of its horn fading into the night with the taillights. Lainie stuck her fist out the window. “Jerk.”
To her right, another small sign read “L
AST
C
HANCE
FOR
G
AS
â10 M
ILES
.”
“Just ten more miles, baby. There'll be someone there who can help us, even if we have to wait till morning to talk to him. Just don't quit on me out here.”
The engine had never been quiet, and driving with the windows open made the interior yet noisier, but even with the sound of the wind and the roar of the passing eighteen-wheelers, Lainie heard the knocking when it began under the hood.
She blinked back tears. “Please, please, please.”
She didn't know if she was begging the car for a few more miles, imploring the gas station to appear on the horizon, or beseeching whatever god looked after exhausted women driving broken-down cars through the hot desert night, but she repeated the word like a mantra. “Please, please, please.”
The small sign said “L
AST
C
HANCE
FOR
R
EST
âE
XIT
N
OW
.” Lainie changed her “pleases” to “thank-yous” and pulled off the interstate onto a two-lane road that disappeared into the darkness ahead.
“Now what? Where's the gas station?” Lainie looked around in growing panic, but she could see nothing, not even a way back onto the interstate. She could only drive forward, and the needle in the temperature gauge was nosing its way into the red zone.
Without the noise of the interstate traffic to muffle it, the knocking in the engine sounded as if it would pound its way through the hood, and the headlights seemed to be fading as well.
“Keep going, keep going, keep going.” Lainie couldn't hear her own whisper over the noise.
Out of the night, barely illuminated by the last glow of the fading headlights, a small square sign appeared. “W
ELCOME
TO
L
AST
C
HANCE
, P
OP
. 743, Y
OUR
L
AST
C
HANCE
FOR
THE
G
OOD
L
IFE
.” On cue, the engine sputtered, wheezed, and died, and the car coasted silently to a stop on the empty road.
“No.” Lainie began with a whisper and rapidly rose to full volume. “No, no,
no!
”
So much for sweet talk. She bounded from the car and heaved the door shut with all her strength. The resounding slam was satisfying, but Lainie was just getting started.
“You did it, didn't you?” She kicked the already dented door, then kicked it again.
Lainie slammed both palms down on the hood and jerked her hands away from the searing metal with a cry of pain. She sank to the ground in the dim glimmer of the dying headlights. “Stupid car. Stupid, stupid car. Stupid.” She threw her head back and howled her anguish to the silent sky.
Finally, frenzy of wretchedness spent, she pulled herself to her feet and slumped against the bumper. “Now what?” She was weary, almost as if she had walked all the way from Long Beach to this deserted corner of desolation. “Wait till morning, I guess. Someone's got to come by here sometime.”
Lainie slid behind the wheel and leaned back against the headrest. Her hand groped for the half-empty bottle in her improvised cup holder and raised it to her lips. The water had been icy when she bought it last time she filled the gas tank, but it had gone
beyond tepid well into warm. She made a face and spat it out the window.
“Wonder how long before sunrise. And I wonder how hot it gets out here.” Lainie had felt the heat of the Mojave Desert of California and the Sonora of Arizona as she traveled through. She was pretty sure she had been gaining altitude over the last few hours; nonetheless, the thought of sitting in her car while the desert around her heated up made her uneasy. She had heard gruesome stories of people stranded in the desert and how quickly they died of dehydration and heat prostration. Spitting that mouthful of water out the window suddenly seemed an act of foolhardy waste. She found the bottle cap on the floor and screwed it onto the bottle with an extra twist.
“I can't just sit here.” Lainie got out of her car again and leaned against the door. She could hear the faint snarl of the big rigs gearing down as they roared through the night, full of power and purpose. She considered walking back to the interstate and trying to flag one down, but after only a few steps it was so dark that she could no longer see her feet on the road. She decided to stay with her car.
“Okay, you've rested. Let's give it one more try.” Lainie got back behind the wheel and turned the key. The starter groaned and whined.
“It's all right. Take your time.” She tried again, sat a moment, and tried yet again. The engine coughed to reluctant life. Lainie kissed her fingers and patted the dash.
“That's my good girl. Just take it easy.”
Slowly, following the nearly nonexistent beam of her headlights, Lainie crept down the road. She was on top of the curve before she saw it, but her snail's pace made the turn easy to make. The night was so black she hadn't seen the huge outcropping of rock, but
as the road curved around it, she found herself, not five hundred yards from where she'd broken down, in the town of Last Chance, population 743.
The town was as silent and seemed as deserted as the lonely spot she had just come from. But there were a few streetlights, some stores with darkened windows, and down the street she could see an intersection where a single stoplight blinked red. Just at that moment, with a loud clunk that sent steam and smoke pouring from around the hood, the engine quit one last time. Lainie fought the steering wheel into a turn and made it almost across the parking lot of the High Lonesome Saloon before the car came to a complete and final stop.
For a minute she just sat. This, she knew, was as far as this car was taking her. The beer sign in the window of the bar was still lit, and there were two pickups parked in front. Lainie opened her door and slowly got out. It was still hot, and her shirt stuck to her back. Her hair hung in strings down her neck, and she tugged at the hem of her shorts as she walked across the parking lot and pushed open the door.
The room was small and dark, with maybe four booths along one side and a long bar fronted by a few stools along the other. But it was cool, and the smell of stale smoke and sour beer was familiar and welcoming. The bartender and the bar's single customer looked up as she entered.
“Evening.” The bartender glanced at his watch. “Barely made it. We close here in about fifteen minutes.”
“Could you give me a beer? Or if not that, a soda? Just make it cold.”
“I'm afraid this near closing it's going to have to be a soda. What can I get you?”
“Whatever's closest and coldest. Oh, my car's in the middle of
your parking lot, and if you want it moved you're going to have to help me push it. Sorry.”
The bartender craned his neck to look out the window. “Nah, it'll be all right, least till morning. Then you can get Manny from Otero Gas and Oil to give you a hand with it.”
“Evenin', pretty lady.” A wiry older man leaned on his elbows at the far end of the bar. Foam flecked his salt-and-pepper mustache, and his watery eyes narrowed with the effort to keep her in focus.
Lainie barely glanced at him. “What time does the station open, and where can I stay until then?”
“Manny gets there about eight, I think.” The bartender rubbed the back of his neck. “But as to where you can stay, I'm not sure. There's only one motel in town, and it's closed.”
“For good?”
“I'm just tryna be friendly, that's all.” The voice at the end of the bar was aggrieved.
“No, it'll be back open in a few days. The owner's out of town till Friday, I think.”
“Great.” Lainie was too tired even to be surprised.
“Stranger comes to town, you oughta be friendly, that's all I'm tryna say.”
“Les, that's enough. You go on and wait in the truck. I'll be done here in a little while.”
“I'm not waitin' in your old truck. I'm gonna drive my own self home. And it'll be a cold day in the hot place before I come back here, you can bet on that.” Les slid off his stool and stood swaying slightly before he began navigating toward the door. “Jus' tryta be friendly. Jus' try. World's a cold old place.”
Lainie watched him find the door on his third try. “Should he be driving?”
“Nah, he's not going anywhere. I got his keys from him an hour
and a half ago. I'll drive him home when I close.” The bartender glanced at the neon lit clock on the wall. “Which, according to the laws of this state, is right now.”
He smiled at her, a nice smile, and walked from behind the bar to wipe down the tables and empty the ashtrays. Lainie liked the way his plaid shirt tucked into his jeans, and on him, the wide belt and silver buckle didn't even look hokey. She had seen worse, and maybe he was the Good Samaritan type. A furtive glance at his hands revealed surprisingly long and graceful fingers but no ring.
She tugged some of the snarls from her hair with her fingers and sat up straight on her bar stool, arching her back just a bit. “Don't suppose you have an empty spot for me tonight at your place? I'd be out of your hair in the morning.”
