One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1)

by Whitney Walker

  “Not yet, and there is no one else I’d rather spend my time with than you. Let’s go put your coat away.”

  I know better than to argue. I am going to lose. She had a temperamental Irishman wrapped around her little finger, and I am no match for Eleanor O’Reilly.

  “Everything for the party looks beautiful,” I say, shrugging out of the sleeves of my coat as we reach the closet in the back hallway.

  “It’s all Grace. Amazing she pulled it off with that Julia tugging at her all day.”

  “How are the girls?”

  “Grace is toddler-raising tired, and Julia is growing like a weed and getting to be quite the whippersnapper. She reminds me of her grandfather and her mother. I’m sure they didn’t get that stubborn streak from me.”

  I smile, knowing she is plenty stubborn, but it isn’t my place to point it out. My smile fades quickly, however, because each time I think of the little three-year-old never knowing her grandfather the hole in my heart formed by Tim’s death gets a little deeper. Someday she will know I am the reason why.

  “What about you? How are feeling? Mom said you had to see a doctor about some chest pains.”

  “I did but I checked out just fine. Can you relate?” One eyebrow rises.

  I bite my lip outwardly, and my tongue inside my mouth. She is relentless.

  “I didn’t see a doctor recently, except with my mom for her injury.”

  “She says she is doing just fine. I am not missing anything, am I? She just wants to get back to her yoga.”

  Truthfully, she is well on her way to recovery. “She is definitely a terrible patient, pushing the envelope on everything. She does a great job of keeping her Type-A at bay with all her yoga, but without it I can see how she used be one hell of an executive. I think she has pulled the data from every study she could find on the internet about getting back to exercise after injury sooner than later. I’d hate to be the doctor that has to listen to her business case and turn her down. I actually saw her practicing her pitch in front of the mirror. She might have even used PowerPoint.”

  “In all seriousness, J.T.— ” Ellie says in a scolding but loving tone.

  Here we go.

  “You know what I meant about the chest pains. I heard you talk awfully fondly of that girl at Christmas. I saw the way your eyes sparkled when you said her name. I felt your feelings for her.”

  I’ve heard more than enough. “Tim said it best, Ellie. Trouble has a way of finding me. My mother could have died. I’ve already done more death than I can bear.” I pause to swallow the lump in my throat. She seems unfazed. I continue, “Peyton’s ex-boyfriend is still alive. How do I know that he won’t come after me? Or Peyton? I can’t do it. Love isn’t worth the chance. Too much potential for pain.”

  “How bad are those chest pains of yours?”

  I feel claustrophobic in this hallway. She sees through me. I try to talk a good game, but I know my words just now were strained. It does pain me to think about a world without Peyton in it. The world seems a little more dull without her laughter and kisses. I miss her more than I will ever admit. “I’m fine, Ellie, I’ve got this.”

  “Do you now?”

  That damn eyebrow again. No way has John broken my trust. Can she know? “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

  “Pain is hard to manage without help.”

  She lets the words linger.

  My head falls in shame. It’s doubtful she knows, but it’s not an illogical conclusion.

  “How bad is it, J.T.? Is it bad enough?”

  I suck in a breath, eyes still facing the floor. I can’t look into hers. Damn it.

  “Almost.”

  She puts one hand on her heart, and one on mine. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.” I hear her breathe a sigh of relief.

  I look up. “I almost lost the ten-year war. Almost. But I didn’t. I won just one more battle. I can only do this one at a time. John saved me. Again.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she repeats and takes my face in her hands. “Alexandra said it was bad.” Her hands fall to clasped in front of her chest, prayer-like.

  “If I hadn’t called John, if he wasn’t such a willing and able sponsor, and if he hadn’t answered my call, I’m not sure where I would be right now but I am sure it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “You can’t let the bad guys win. We can’t give up on love. We can’t let violence or drugs beat out love. I know you know this, and I know it’s harder to live and love when you are scared of what might happen. There will always be fighting somewhere, but we can’t give up the fight for love. Love has to win, it’s as simple as that.”

  “I love my mom. I have to put her first. I have to protect her. What if something happens to her?”

  “What if it does? There is never any guarantee. That’s something none of us ever have. Would I have loved to have more time with Tim? Of course. First, he was in the service, then a police officer. I knew what I was getting into and so do you. It’s better to know. You make the best of what you have. I may not have had forever, but what if I chose to have nothing because I was scared? I would have missed out on knowing true love. And I believe true love is exactly what is happening here.”

  I’m saved by the bell. There is another guest at the door. I want to believe her words, and I hate the thought of losing Peyton forever, but I just can’t imagine taking this chance. Tim is in my arms, his life draining from his body with every drop of blood pooling on the ground beside us. When his heart stopped beating a part of me died as well. I can’t give away what I no longer have.

  I make my way toward the kitchen and Grace and Julia. Julia darts behind her mother’s legs as I approach. She peeks around and I squat down to her level. I put my hand up and, knowing just what to do, she slaps her small palm against my large one in a high-five. Damn it. I’m reminded of the last time I interacted with a toddler. Tucker. At Jack’s house. With Peyton. I watched her interact with the little boy and could picture her as a mother, something I’d never done with a woman prior. Damn it.

  I am not sure if my mother is purposefully gracious, or if I have been strategic enough to never be alone with her, but we avoid the topic of Peyton through lunch and gift opening. We were full after the spread of Ellie’s favorite, bangers and mash, so we postponed cake in favor of gifts. Now, I just have to make it through cake and then can kindly tell my mother we can discuss anything besides my current situation. It’s going to be a long night.

  Clearing the last of the plates from the table, I follow Grace into the kitchen. I place the stack into the sink, turn on the water to rinse, and open the dishwasher. Grace is retreating to the dining room for the serving dishes, but turns and over her shoulder says, “Hey, leave those. Let’s have cake. Mind grabbing it from over there?” She nods towards the butler’s pantry.

  “No problem,” I answer, turning the faucet to the off position.

  I make my way to the cake. And realize it is, actually, a problem. My heart seems to ache harder and more than I’ve ever felt before. I was wrong. It’s still there. Whatever I thought had died, I was wrong. If it had it wouldn’t hurt like this.

  My hand moves to my pocket and slips inside. I stare at the white frosting of the small circular cake with the three candles perched atop. I close my eyes and rub my fingers across the smooth metal of the dog tags in my pocket. I feel his name beneath my fingers. I owe my life to Tim. I owe everything to my mother.

  I think of Peyton and my birthday. We toasted to new beginnings and I was so filled with hope. I thought my haunted past had lost that day and love was going to conquer all. I thought we had a fighting chance. Sadly, I was wrong.

  Grace appears by my side. “You’ve got this?”

  I can’t answer and just nod. I pick up the cake and she the lighter for the candles.

  I set the cake in front of Ellie. Grace, Julia on her hip, hands me the lighter. “Do the honors. I’ve got baby on board.”

  I light the first candle. Past. I�
�ve got plenty of that. The second. Present. My present is painful. I know what will help, and it isn’t what used to soothe my pain. The last candle takes its time finding the light. I understand. The future takes its time to come to life. Maybe Ellie is right and we have to fight for love because it’s the light in a world of darkness. Can I really believe we have a fighting chance?

  We sing—off key, of course, because the song isn’t an easy one, but Ellie beams, nonetheless. Ellie sucks in a breath and puckers her lips. The three flickering flames extinguish. She looks directly into my eyes. “There is nothing I believe in more strongly than the power of the birthday candle wish!”

  In spite of myself, I find myself hoping she might have made a wish for me.

  FEBRUARY 18th

  CHAPTER 40 | Peyton

  T he sky, the animals, and the people express themselves more freely in Malawi.

  I thought I had seen sunsets. The sun falling into the California ocean is pretty spectacular. But it’s hard to determine in Africa whether the sunsets of the deepest orange and brightest yellow, or the people of all shades of happy are more beautiful.

  Solitary, expansive trees dot the landscape of the harshest conditions. Perhaps they rise just to show off the magnificent backdrop of bright golden seams that gate the heavens. As the honey circle of sun drifts downward through amber shades, burnt orange spreads like wildfire across the sky. Breathtaking.

  We had one day to explore on a safari when we arrived. The sound of the wild elephant’s trumpet, trunk raised in defiance, is oxymoronic, a mix of beautiful yet alarming. We watched two of the largest in the herd hook tusks in ire while mothers herded their young, shielding their eyes from the fight.

  Giraffes ran across the plain looking as if floating on the clouds of dust that follow in their wake. Without seeing it firsthand, it’s hard to imagine the gracefulness of their swift gallop. And the hippos, plentiful in small calves and oversized adults alike, move with the air of knowing they have nothing to fear. Eyeballs protruding like submarine periscopes, it’s hard to imagine they belong to the sizeable creatures lurking beneath the water with their day and night cacophony of grumpy old men bellows.

  But it was the singing of the people that moved my earth. Hair-raising, spine-tingling voices that held nothing back putting forward melodies that inspired tears to stream down my cheeks. I didn’t need to understand the words because I understood the emotion. Happiness was embodied in the high pitches of song and bodies moving, interwoven with one another in dance. Their song and dance emulate life. Unconstrained, no chorus or planned steps, just an innate, uninhibited rhythm to glide through feast or famine, celebration or tragedy.

  I crawl into my twin bed, our last evening, next to my roommate Arianna, to process our day as we have now done for the last nine nights. I remember how I felt more trepidation than thrill when we pulled up to the small lodge after twenty-nine long hours of travel. I didn’t know what to expect. Could I find water? Would there be enough food? Will I be able to sleep in whatever arrangements are provided? What if I get sick?

  Turns out, those were the same questions the people of Malawi ask themselves daily.

  Our hotel room is modest, with wooden log bed frames and just a small nightstand between the two beds. The floor is covered in deep green ceramic tile and there is a toilet. Hot and cold water is available with just a turn of a faucet on a sink and in the shower.

  It’s easy to appreciate when your day has been spent with those who sleep on a flat mat on dirt, use a hole in the ground for a bathroom, and water and light aren’t part of the life equation.

  “How about those legs?” Arianna asks, propping herself up on her elbow to face me, with just her head poking through the mosquito netting. Another luxury where we are.

  “They hurt.”

  “Can you believe we only walked half the distance they do every single day?” She sounds incredulous because she is referring to our six-mile walk earlier in the day alongside twelve mothers, nine of whom carried babies on their backs and a heavy load of water on their heads.

  “No, I can’t. And we had shoes.”

  “And that water from the muddy stream. Yuck. I felt so guilty getting back in the truck and slugging down two clean bottles.”

  “Me too,” I reply. “I’ve felt guilty more than once here. I think I just need to make sure that I appreciate everything we have so much more than before I knew.”

  “Completely agree. I so sucked at carrying the water on my head.” Arianna flops back into the pillows. “It was so heavy.”

  “I know, right! Their poor necks! That is a skill that takes practice. At least we gave the women a good laugh with our trying. I’ve never felt less elegant.”

  Arianna giggles. “It was definitely a vain attempt to impress. It’s okay though, because we had all those shoes to give. I’ve loved giving away all the shirts and shoes we have on this trip!”

  “I can’t believe how much time I’ve spent worrying about having the right clothes and shoes at home.”

  “Well, I share your first-world problems. I am happy to be going home a changed woman. I think forevermore I will just be happy that I have shoes.”

  “I hope I never forget to appreciate. I’d like to think that I won’t take what I have for granted anymore.”

  “Damn. Me too. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. But I can’t unknow.”

  “You know what I think has been equally cool to give?”

  “No, what?”

  I think of our first day here, when I was scared and unsure. I’d never spent time with people that didn’t look and act like me, for all intents and purposes. The second day we visited an orphanage, and eight thousand miles away from home the children were singing and clapping their hands to the ‘If You Are Happy and You Know It’ song we all knew and joined along in English. It was the moment I realized we are so much more alike than different.

  “The hugs.” I’m ending the trip having learned to give them freely.

  “Definitely. Especially today.”

  “Yes, definitely,” I say recalling the emotional experience.

  “My heart is still aching for that mother. How do you pick up the pieces?”

  Her voice breaks, and I know she is holding back tears because I am doing the same. “Together. You pick up the pieces together.”

  We were in the center of a small circling of clay huts with thatched roofs. The women were huddled over a pot hanging in a fire. They spoke in hushed, somber tones and passed babies to one another, and to us, as they took turns stirring their corn mixture. We didn’t know what they were saying but we sensed the heaviness in their hearts.

  From one of the small buildings a woman came running. She fell to her knees with an ear-piercing wail of pain. The lifeless body of a male toddler was lifted toward the sky with both hands. She screamed in native tongue through tears streaming down her face, falling to dot the red, dusty dirt beneath her. She pulled the small child to her chest and bent over him. Other women came from the same hut, too many to have fit comfortably inside. They formed a circle around the distraught mother, holding her, and one another.

  One by one, each woman joined the circle, layer upon layer, surrounding her. We joined the coalition of love. Our tears were her tears. Her heartbreak was our heartbreak. We shared an immeasurable anguish, but together we were impenetrable.

  Arianna and I lie in a moment of silence for the young mother. And the other mothers that were losing their children day in and day out. Our hosts told us of disease, AIDS primarily, but also many dying of diarrhea alone. I vow this won’t be my last trip, and I will do more.

  She interrupts the silence, “I wasn’t sure what to do. I think I learned an important lesson when I went into that circle. You don’t have to know exactly what to do or say, you just have to show up.”

  “You just have to show up,” I repeat, feeling and understanding the meaning of her words. Like carrying the water, it’s going to take some practice, but i
t’s a lesson I am happy to learn.

  “I think I’m leaving a little piece of myself here,” Arianna shares.

  “Me too.” The piece of my heart that broke today will be left behind on that dirt, and with the other women. My heart broke hard today, but like J.T. had said, I believe it’s how the light gets in. Because of J.T., and the people in Africa, I understand how love is the light. I want to share what I have felt, and learned, during this experience with him. I want to tell him I understand what he said in a different way, and how he was right. Now, I know too. You only need love to survive. And how I wish I had the chance for his!

  FEBRUARY 19th

  CHAPTER 41 | Peyton

  H ome!!!!! I’ll text you which door I come out! Missed u!!!

  The captain welcomes us to Detroit. I’ve just texted Jack that I am home. I never expected to be calling Detroit home.

  My life the past four months has been a series of takeoffs and touchdowns, beginnings and endings. My life as a daughter had ended but I finally had a father figure in Jack. Because of him, my life as an L.A. want-to-be actress is going to soon come to an end. I’ll begin as a student again. In just weeks I will begin my next year as a twenty-five-year-old and a trust-fund recipient. It will allow me to work, for now, with little pay in an industry I love as a production assistant starting next week.

  The ending of my relationship with Kyle sparked the hopeful possibility of a new romance with a happy ending. Eight thousand two hundred miles didn’t ease the persistent, hollow ache in the center of my chest. But I do have the beginning of a friendship with Liz, Cassandra, and Alexandra, all of us trying to Namaste through the world the best yogis we can be. Cassandra and I had enjoyed an amazing time together bonding through heartbreak, and we all came together to support Liz as she hosted a charity event that gave us all perspective. Alexandra’s hard-earned wisdom guides us all through our messy, but beautiful, lives. We have gotten through the hardship caused by Kyle together. We have shown up for one another.