Second Chance at Love

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “You think you can fix everything, don't cha? Even stuff that can't be fixed. My little girl, Jolene, wanted to die in peace, but no, Thomas wouldn't let your mother go. He insisted she get chemo. Suffer? My baby girl suffered like Christ on the cross, but Thomas wouldn't let up. Kept begging her to live. Kept pushing and pushing!” With a mean shove, Poppy pushed our table toward me. My empty water glass toppled over.

  While I was trying to keep my glass from falling to the floor, Poppy stood up between the table and the booth bench. He leaned toward me with both palms resting on the tabletop. When his face was inches from mine, he started up again.

  “Your mama didn't want to let him down. Couldn't stand up to your dad. When I called her to see if I could come visit, you know what she said? Huh? Do you, Miss Smarty-Pants? She said, 'Pop, I can't stand for you to see me like this. Stay away and keep me in your prayers.' Because Thomas had to have his way. Yep, you're just like your daddy. Push, push, push! Well, there's a limit to what people can take, and I done reached mine!”

  All eyes were on me. Necks craned around the sides of the other booths so people could stare. I began to feel dizzy. Stars swam in front of my eyes. Every muscle in my body wanted to get up and run, but I didn't dare. I didn't think my legs would carry me. Not as tired as I was.

  I hunkered down, cowering like a beaten dog. I turned this new information over and over in my head. My father had forced my mother to have chemo? Dad had been the instrument of my mother's pain? That wasn't how I remembered it. All I could remember was the loving, caring moments when Dad nursed Mom.

  “You're wrong, Poppy,” I said, drawing myself up to face him.

  “No, Missy. I ain't. You're the one who's confused. You're just like your daddy. He used to come here to spy on me and stick his fingers in my business, too.”

  With that, he slid out from between the bench and the table. He took two steps toward the door and then turned back as if he'd forgotten something.

  For one crazy second, I thought he'd decided to apologize.

  Instead, he wagged his index finger in my face. “Let me tell you something, Cara Mia. Life ain't a series of problems with tidy solutions. No, it ain't. Things go wrong. Hearts get broken. You wake up one day and discover all your prayers and hopes and plans don't count for nothing!”

  As I watched in shock, Poppy stomped out of the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 9

  I wanted to crawl under the table and die. Every patron in the deli had turned to stare at me. Their expressions ranged from horrified to empathetic.

  Why on earth had I ever come back to Stuart? I must have been nuts!

  Skye tucked her order pad under her armpit and walked to the center of the restaurant. Clapping her hands, she said, “Show's over folks. Get back to eating. We've got fresh rye bread coming out of the oven.”

  Reluctantly, diners turned back to their meals. Skye raced over and set down a fresh glass of ice water. I couldn't even look her in the face. I slumped back into the corner of the booth and tried to sort out what had happened. I've never been hit by a bus, but I'd bet it hurt a lot less than Poppy's diatribe.

  Was it true that my dad made my mother go through chemo?

  My hand trembled as the water glass touched my mouth. I took sips to calm myself.

  No wonder Poppy and Mom didn't get along. I'd never seen this side of him, but then, for the past twenty years, most of our communications had been brief. Even when Poppy visited at the holidays, he would return home quickly. Now I wondered if that had been by design. Was it possible that my parents had been protecting Tommy and me?

  Skye set a steaming hot Reuben sandwich down in front of me and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”

  I wasn't, but the scent of sauerkraut and cheese made my mouth water.

  “He can be mad all he wants, but you still need to eat,” my waitress counseled me.

  The rich fragrance of the corned beef proved irresistible. I picked up the sandwich and took a big bite. It was almost too hot, but I fanned myself and chewed. Skye refilled my water one more time.

  “I put your grandfather's chips on your plate,” Skye continued. “No sense in them going to waste. I'm going to bring you a nice cup of tea on the house. Just let me get Lou's carry out order to him, and I'll be right back.”

  I nodded numbly.

  True to her word, in a few minutes, she slid a cup of hot water and a chamomile tea bag onto the table. While I chewed and stared off into space, she tore open the paper wrapper, dunked the tea bag in the mug, and turned a bread plate over the hot water. “Needs five minutes to steep. I'll remind you.”

  The food revived me. Between bites of the sandwich and fries, I crunched my dill pickle and sipped ice water. As the adrenaline left my body, my mind went blank, which was probably a blessing, because I was tired of thinking. Skye would wait on other customers and check back on me frequently. She brought me more hot water and another tea bag. When I seemed indifferent, she brewed the tea for me. It was nice to be babied. By the clock on the wall of the diner, I'd been sitting here for nearly an hour and a half.

  “Don't worry about it. Dick's been awful cranky lately.” She picked up tea trash.

  “He has?”

  “Yep. About a week ago he got in a shouting match with Mr. Humberger. The owner told them to take it outside.”

  “No kidding?” I almost groaned. Maybe I had made a mistake. Maybe I hadn't rescued Poppy. Even so, my intentions had been good. I didn't deserve the public tongue-lashing.

  I could count on one hand the number of times in my life that my father had raised his voice. Despite all the stereotypes of Italians being hot-headed and emotional, my father had been the original cool dude. He'd only ever gotten upset when someone cheated us or upset Mom or me. After Poppy's imitation of Mount Vesuvius, I realized that I could trace my own temper directly back to my mother's side of the family.

  As I sipped the tea, my sense of well-being started to return. I burrowed into the nook between the back of the booth and the bench. So what if Poppy was mad? He'd get over it.

  I considered my options. First, I could simply turn around and sell The Treasure Chest to Cooper Rivers. I knew he wanted it. I might lose some money for the real estate commission, but I'd get out from under the property. Second, if Cooper didn't want it, I could fix up the building and flip it. Dad had often flipped property, so I knew what to do. Or, I could keep it.

  “Wrap the rest of your dinner up for you?” Skye startled me from my thoughts.

  The sandwich had been massive. I'd eaten only half of it, and I'd been sitting here for a long time. I nodded. I was so tired, I could have fallen asleep right there in the booth.

  “Could I please have a piece of tinfoil for my sandwich? I hate Styrofoam,” I said.

  “I've been trying to get them to switch to containers that you can recycle.” She reached for my plate. “But it's been an uphill battle. They think I'm some sort of tree-hugging fool.”

  Her eyes were definitely sky blue, which was probably where she'd gotten her name. Freckles danced across her nose, except where it was peeling a bit from the sun. Guessing by the leather “friendship” bracelet on her wrist, Skye was a free spirit.

  As I waited for the foil, I turned my thoughts to finding a place to crash for the night. I didn't have a car. Stuart wasn't a big city, so there weren't any taxis roaming the streets. My cell phone was dead. Even if I wanted to call Poppy, I couldn't. I could ask Skye to call a cab. And then what? Pay for another cab in the morning?

  I needed a place to rest my weary head, and I needed it fast. I longed for the apartment above The Treasure Chest.

  The apartment I had the key to.

  Why not stay there? Supposedly the utilities were still on. If I was lucky, that old refrigerator in the back was still working, so I could eat my leftovers for breakfast. I could spread out Tommy's sleeping bag, the one in my trunk, and sleep on the floor in one of the new apartments.

  T
he more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. Why not spend the night in The Treasure Chest? I'd signed a contract and paid my earnest money. What was the worst that could happen? I'd get arrested for squatting? Not likely given my signed intent to buy the place. Digging around in my purse, I found my spare car key and the key to the building.

  Skye handed me a brown paper bag. “I wrapped your sandwich. I put an extra dill pickle in a second piece of foil. Also, I wrapped up chips in wax paper for you. Anything else?”

  “You've been wonderful,” I said. I paid the bill in cash and left a generous tip inside the leather folio. “I like your earrings and your bracelet.”

  “I love making jewelry. Especially using unexpected materials. My dream is to make a living selling stuff I make. Maybe next time you come in, I'll show you pictures of my pieces.”

  “I'd like that,” I said and took my leave of Pumpernickel's.

  Twilight had crept up softly and deepened into darkness. As I walked away from the well-lit intersection and along the side of Essie's store, my path grew harder to see. Not surprisingly, the security light behind Poppy's gas station wasn't working. I added that to my mental “to do” list. Using the remote open button, I popped my trunk. There wasn't much illumination thrown by the inside lamp, but it served my purposes.

  Rummaging around, I found the flashlight I kept next to the spare tire. When switched on, it flickered intermediately. Pounding it against my palm gave me a watery beam. That would do to get me inside The Treasure Chest. I also snapped up Tommy's sleeping bag. He'd asked me to bring it in case any pals from St. Louis wanted to spend the night in his dorm room.

  Next up, clean clothes. After slamming the trunk, I unlocked my car. From the back seat, I retrieved a small travel bag with my toilet articles and a change of clothes. I also slid my cell phone into my pants pocket.

  After locking the car, I hightailed it across the alley by the faint light from my flashlight. The security light behind The Treasure Chest was out. No surprise there. Juggling my purse, the food, the sleeping bag, my travel bag, and the flashlight, I accidentally gave the door a hip-bump.

  It flew open. My things clattered to the ground. I was so tired I could barely stand up. I figured I'd retrieve my belongings later. First I needed to get inside the building.

  What was it with people in Stuart that they didn't lock their doors? First Poppy and now Hal Humberger. I shook my head in dismay. Geez.

  Reaching into the black void, I flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

  “Oh, come on!”

  Training the wan beam of my flashlight on the threshold, I stepped inside Essie's back room. There used to be another set of switches, as you entered the sales floor. I had no choice but to keep going toward them, using one hand on the wall as my guide, and hoping my flashlight kept working. As I moved along, I felt more confident. I walked out onto the sales floor, moving the light this way and that—and tripped over Hal Humberger's body.

  CHAPTER 10

  As I threw out my hands for balance, my flashlight hit the floor and rolled away. Although I stumbled forward, I somehow managed to stay on my feet. Once I caught my balance, I turned and ran. I was almost at the back door when I heard footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.

  I was not alone.

  I froze. As slowly as I could, I sank to my knees, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.

  The footsteps continued. They were more muffled now.

  Was the other person coming or going? I couldn't tell. I tried to stay quiet but I panted with fear. My senses were alert, and I strained to listen. Was anyone else in the building with me?

  A squeak, a protest of metal on metal suggested that the front door was being opened. Thunk! With a rattled of glass, the wooden door was slammed shut.

  The intruder had left the building.

  Listening carefully, I could hear a car motor crank and turn over. Headlights sent a horizontal stream of brightness bouncing across the display window, suggesting the driver was backing out of his or her parking space. The car shifted into gear and pulled away.

  For good measure, I remained in my awkward kneeling position for what seemed like a long, long time. My legs ached. My heart was banging around in my chest as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

  My ears also made an adjustment. I could hear an appliance humming, probably a refrigerator. But I couldn't hear anyone else breathing or moving. Just the sound of my heart pounding.

  Was Hal Humberger really dead? It sure seemed that way to me. He had been sprawled face down. I'd actually tripped over his leg, but he hadn't made a sound. Was it possible he was unconscious? Alive and needing help?

  Should I go to him? Try to rouse him?

  Another car drove by. It slowed as it passed in front of the building.

  What if the killer had come back?

  I needed to leave—and I needed to go now!

  I shoved my way out of the back door, stumbling off the stoop, and into the alley. I went flailing into the night, tripping, stubbing my toe on a rock, running, fumbling my way toward Pumpernickel's, the only business I knew was open. I could hear cars rumbling through the intersection, around the corner. I could see the street light up ahead. Picking up speed, I raced toward it. Spurred by fear that the killer might be looking for me, I ran faster than I've ever run in my life.

  The crosswalk signaled flashed in my favor, so I sprinted across the street.

  My heart thumped in my chest. My breath came in ragged gasps.

  What had I walked into?

  Had I panicked and left behind a man who needed help?

  Or was a killer on my heels?

  My legs felt like rubber bands. I reached the front door of the deli, threw open the door and hurled myself at Skye, who was standing over a table of diners.

  “Skye!” I grabbed her. “He's dead! Dead! You have to help me!”

  “What?” Her blue eyes grew huge in her face.

  Her customers were two old farts with hearing aids. They cupped their hands over their ears and shouted, “Huh?”

  I realized how ridiculous I looked. I let go of her and added, “Help me. Please?”

  Smiling at the diners, she excused herself and steered me through the swinging Dutch doors and into the kitchen.

  “Who's dead? Are you okay?” She looked me up and down.

  “No! Yes! I mean, I think I found a body. My phone is dead. Out of juice.”

  “Just a sec.” She finished writing on her order pad, and then passed her order to the chef and gave him special instructions to “hold the mayo.” That chore dispensed with, she unclipped her phone from her waistband and handed it to me. I dialed 911, identified myself, and stuttered the nature of my call.

  “I found a man and I think he's dead. But I don't know for sure.”

  The dispatcher requested the address.

  “Essie's place.” I couldn't come up with a street name or number.

  “Tell them it's the old Trash to Treasures building across the street from Pumpernickel's. Everyone knows where it is,” suggested Skye.

  That worked. The dispatcher told me that officers and an ambulance were on their way. I promised to meet them at the site.

  “Cindy?” Skye crooked a finger at another waitress, who was loading a tray with bowls of soup. “Could you finish up Table Six for me? Got an emergency here.”

  While she untied her apron, I asked, “Got a flashlight?”

  “Everybody in Florida owns at least a dozen flashlights. Going without power is a way of life for us.” Skye dug around in a low cabinet. “See?”

  She held up a honking big flashlight with a bulb the size of a large onion.

  CHAPTER 11

  “A dead man? Are you sure?” Skye asked, as we trotted out the front door of the deli.

  “I think so. I'm pretty sure it’s Hal Humberger there on the floor at The Treasure Chest. He didn't move. I suppose he could just be unconscious.”

  “Hal Humberger,
the real estate agent?” She jogged along beside me.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “What on earth were you doing in Essie's store this late at night?”

  We moved away from the streetlamp and into the dark. Her flashlight lit the ground like the sun at high noon. I made a mental note to buy myself a couple of those big dudes.

  “I planned to spend the night at The Treasure Chest. I bought it today.”

  “You what?” Skye stopped in her tracks.

  “I bought it.”

  “Oh. Is that why Dick was so mad?”

  “Yep. When he stomped out, I didn't have a place to spend the night, so I figured I'd stay in The Treasure Chest.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was brave.”

  “I didn't expect to find a corpse there!”

  We rounded the corner of Essie's building and approached the back door. Now that I realized whoever had been in the building had left, Skye was with me, and the police were on their way, I felt a lot more confident. I also felt stupid. My things were scattered there on the ground. The door was still open, as I'd left it. Skye shone her light into the doorway, but we still couldn't see much.

  “Where is he?” asked Skye.

  “About a third of the way in the building,” I replied.

  “And you're pretty sure he's dead?” said Skye.

  “I think he is. My flashlight wasn't working well and then I dropped it. So I didn't get a really, really good look.”

  “So maybe he isn't dead,” she said. “Maybe he just fell down. Maybe he just fainted or something. We should go in and check on him.”

  “Uh…” I stalled. I did not want to go back in the building. Not yet. “I heard a door slam right after I tripped. And someone drove away. What if there's a murderer on the loose? What if he's waiting inside?”

  “Come again?” Her expression was one of puzzlement. “If they drove away, the person is gone, right?”

  “Maybe. I don't know.” My shoulders drooped in defeat. “It could have been a trick.”