Second Chance Girl

by Jessica Thorn

  “It’s the dementia,” Angie explains, calmer than I would expect her to be. “It’s not uncommon for the patient to exhibit aggressive or paranoid behaviors as the disease progresses. In this case, she got scared and took it out on poor Stuart over there.”

  I hear her, but I’m hung up on something she said. “Disease... progresses?” I ask, and Angie nods solemnly.

  “Unfortunately, yes. The dementia may be farther along than the doctor initially thought. You have to understand, she doesn’t recognize anyone right now. We’re all strangers, and all she knows is that Stuart was trying to make her take pills. Can you imagine how terrifying that would be?”

  I swallow hard and nod, the knot in my stomach tightening. Just then, the door to the apartment opens, and Cam sticks his head in.

  “I heard a lot of commotion,” he says. “Everything okay?”

  Angie and Cheryl turn to me, their eyebrows raised, as if to say, who on earth is that? He nods a greeting at them, then turns his attention back to me.

  “Everything is fine,” I say, as an object flies past the back of my head and smacks against the wall. I look and see that it was a shoe. Cam’s face scrunches, and he cocks an eyebrow.

  “You sure about that?” he steps through the door and closes it behind him, and I watch as Cheryl and Angie slowly look him up and down, their mouths dropping open slightly. I don’t blame them; Cam’s tall, broad stature and chiseled features are definitely a sight to behold. Maybe it’s the craziness of this day, but I’m just now realizing how good he looks, in his faded jeans and a black crew neck t-shirt that stretches over the peaks and valleys of his muscular, defined chest and shoulders. He clears his throat, and I realize we’re all just staring at him.

  “Gran isn’t having a good day,” I say, another shoe flying out into the small room. “Her dementia has gotten worse.”

  Cam lets out a low whistle. “Okay, so what do we need to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say, to which Cheryl and Angie whip their heads around to stare at me. “We got this.”

  “We do?” Cheryl asks. “I don’t think we got this.”

  “Yeah, I think we could use the help of a...” Angie looks Cam up and down again. “A big, strong man.”

  Stuart grumbles in the background, and Angie shoots him another death glare.

  I roll my eyes at both of them, and Cam smiles wide. “I’m happy to help.”

  “It’s fine, really,” I insist, but Cheryl ignores me and grabs Cam by the arm, pulling him toward the door and using him like a giant human shield. Gran has grown quiet, and there are no more projectiles being launched from the bedroom. Even though I think this is a horrible idea, I jog up next to Cam, and together we creep closer to the bedroom door. We wait a beat, not wanting to scare Gran.

  “Is someone out there?” she asks shakily, and my heart breaks into a million pieces. She must be so confused and scared, not knowing where she is, or why, and thinking someone has broken in or is trying to hurt her in some way. I clear my throat and shoot a sideways glance at Cam.

  “It’s me, Gran. It’s Elizabeth,” I call out.

  “Who?” Gran asks, and I watch as Cam’s eyes, still bearing into mine, soften at Gran’s lack of recognition. It stings, but I try again.

  “Your granddaughter,” I say. “Can I come in?”

  Gran doesn’t respond, so I creep closer to the open door and poke my head inside the bedroom. Gran is standing next to her bed in a pale-blue, cotton nightgown, her eyes wide and her hands wrapped around one of her slippers. She spots me and her hands twitches on the slipper, her lip quivering. I put my hands up in a don’t shoot gesture, inching further into the room.

  “It’s me, gran. Elizabeth. Do you remember?”

  She shakes her head, her grip tightening on the slipper. Her eyes widen, and I see Cam out of the corner of my eye, sideling up next to me. I elbow him hard.

  “What are you doing?” I mutter, but he doesn’t respond. I look back to Gran, who is laser focused on Cam. Her eyes flit from him, to me, and back to Cam.

  “Mrs. Quinn?” Cam asks. Gran looks stricken, but can’t take her eyes off of him. “Helen, can you put the slipper down?”

  Carefully, she bends down and puts the slipper on the floor, her eyes never leaving Cam. When she straightens, she looks back at me again, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Elizabeth?” she asks, in a low whisper. I nod, and take a few steps closer to her.

  “Yes, Gran,” I breathe. “It’s me, I’m here.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, and she does, as well. She looks back up at Cam, who hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. I watch as she tilts her head to one side, recognition dawning over her.

  “Cameron?” she asks. My mouth drops open, and Cam flashes her a brilliant smile.

  “Hi, Mrs. Q,” he says, a boyish lilt to his voice that I haven’t heard in almost a decade. Gran scrunches her brows together, then turns back to me.

  “I’m very tired,” she says. “I’d like to lie down.”

  “Yes, of course Gran,” I say, helping her into bed. Once she is settled, the covers tucked up to her chest, I ask, “Can Stuart come in and give you your medicine now? He tried earlier, but you... you weren’t ready for your medicine.”

  “I’m not coming anywhere near that room!” Stuart grumbles, and I hear a loud swat, what sounds like a rolled-up magazine or newspaper striking him. “Hey!”

  “Let me do it,” Angie says, striding into the room with the pill cup and a fresh glass of ice water, the issue of Better Home and Garden rolled up under her arm.

  “That would be all right,” Gran says, nodding.

  I wait with her as Angie gives her the medicine, and then sit with Gran for a few more minutes until she is relaxed and resting. Once she is asleep, I look up at Cam, who hasn’t moved from his post by the door, tears filling my eyes and threatening to spill over.

  “Thank you.”

  WE MAKE THE DRIVE BACK to Gran’s house in silence. I am still trying to process what happened, Gran’s behavior, and the looming progression of her dementia. It’s no secret to anyone that my relationship with my grandmother has been a cold one. But the look of fear in her eyes? The pleading, desperate cry for help I saw in her eyes? I am rattled to the core.

  To me, Gran has always been the strong, silent pillar of consistency in my life, an anchor to what little family I have on this earth. I knew that raising me was hard on her, in more ways than one. Being a single parent is tough, but a single grandparent? That couldn’t have been easy. Add in the fact that I was a walking reminder of my drug-addict mother and criminal father, and well... anyone would struggle with that.

  It was tough on me, though, as well. I had no memories of either of my parents, but I knew their sins well. Gran never failed to remind me of how much of a loser my father was, and how he corrupted my mother, her good girl, with drugs and alcohol. She constantly told me how if I wasn’t careful, I would end up just like them. When I let loose even a little bit, and the times were few and far between, mostly consisting of being out a little past curfew, Gran acted as though I’d done something unimaginably horrible. At the time, I felt trapped. Gran’s constant persecutions and threats of ending up just like my parents made me want to run so far away, I had spent the last year of high school practically dreaming of the day I could leave town. When the day came, I did so without hesitation. Looking back, I should have checked in on Gran more often. Then again, she should have checked in on me, too. I didn’t get Christmas or birthday cards; I didn’t get a call. At the time, I figured she was relieved to have me out of her life. No more constant reminder of her failures as a parent. Now, though, all I can think about is the amount of time we lost. The amount of time we’ll continue to lose with her illness.

  “You doing okay?”

  Cam’s voice wrenches me from my thoughts, and I turn to look at him. One of the things I’m still trying to wrap my head around is how Gran recognized
him. She hadn’t recognized me when she first saw me, but when she saw Cam... it was like her memory had suddenly been jogged.

  “Did you think that was weird?” I ask, only partially verbalizing my thoughts. Cam gives me a sideways glance.

  “Do I think what was weird?”

  “How Gran recognized you,” I say. “She didn’t recognize me, but when she saw you, it was like she started to put the pieces together.”

  Cam shrugs, turning into Gran’s driveway and putting the truck in park. We both unbuckle our seatbelts, but neither one of us moves to get out.

  “Have you seen my grandmother much over the last few years?” I ask, and Cam shakes his head.

  “Nope. I’ve maybe run into her at the grocery store a time or two. Can’t say I’ve seen her much beyond that, though.”

  “Huh,” I muse. “How on earth did seeing you bring her back to reality, then?”

  Cam looks at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe it wasn’t me,” he says, emphasizing the last word.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe it was us.”

  Us. The word reverberates through me like a bolt of electricity. I suppose that Cam and I together could have jogged Gran’s memory, seeing as most of the memories she would have of me before moving away would also include Cam. But in her memories, we would be so much younger. Would that matter? I smile at the thought of younger Cam, always wearing a football jersey or some sort of athletic gear, and how much he’s changed since we were kids. The amount of thinking I’ve been doing about Cam and I lately, past and present, cannot be healthy.

  “Well, thank you for going with me. I’m sorry to have taken up most of your morning,” I say, opening the door and starting to slide out. The feeling of his warm, calloused hands on my arm cause me to freeze. It’s a light, gentle touch. One that simply says, wait. I turn to look at him, and see his face has suddenly grown profoundly serious.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. I nod, giving him a weak smile. Mostly, I’m tired. I have a full docket of things to accomplish today, but after the morning I’ve had, I think I need a nap.

  “I’m good,” I say. “Promise.”

  “Would you like some company tonight?” he asks, gripping the back of his neck. The question takes me off guard. Company? Like, him?

  “What did you have in mind?” I ask, hesitant.

  “I don’t know, we can find something to do. I just figured that you got some crappy news about your Gran today, you might want to take your mind off of it. I have some things to finish up back at the office, but I should be free around six.”

  I consider his offer, the only thought coming to mind a memory of the way his fingers felt against my skin just now. I should say no. I should thank him for coming to my rescue, again, get out of the truck, and leave it at that. But something about the way he’s looking at me, the way his walls have suddenly come down, makes it impossible to say no. In typical Cam fashion, he read me like an open book. The last thing I want is to be alone tonight, after everything that happened today. I had thought for a moment about calling Trisha, and seeing if she wanted to watch the rest of those movies. But then Cam made his offer, and honestly, nothing could sound more appealing. I tuck a loose strand of hair that has fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear, and give him the friendliest smile I can muster.

  “Six it is,” I say, and I’m rewarded with a gigantic grin that makes my heart race.

  “Okay, but be ready for anything,” he says, giving me a pointed look. Heat pricks at the back of my neck as my mind wanders at the suggestion, images of Cam and I alone intruding into my thoughts. My cheeks redden almost instantly.

  “Anything?” I ask, the wariness obvious in my voice. He winks at me.

  “Just trust me. Keep an open mind.”

  “I will try my best,” I say. “Should I be worried?”

  “That depends entirely on your sense of adventure,” he says, releasing me so that I can slide out of the truck. Once I’m planted firmly on the ground, I close the door and watch as he pulls out of the driveway and leaves, my cheeks still burning from my inappropriate daydreaming.

  It’s not my sense of adventure that I’m worried about, so much as my ability to resist that man’s charm. I thought I’d gotten over the whole lovesick teenager act, but apparently, I was mistaken. Apparently, Cam still has the same effect on me as he did when we were kids. And if I’m not careful, I might find myself right back where I started with Cameron Tate.

  AT SIX O’CLOCK SHARP, I pull up outside of Tate Construction’s main offices and park in one of the open spots, hoping Cam doesn’t see me arriving exactly right on time. Stupid, I know, but as I went through the motions of my day, contacting Gran’s lawyer and getting appointments set up for early next week, my mind kept wandering to Cam and how excited I was to spend time with him. I knew it would take about ten minutes to get to his office, and at 5:50 I had raced to my car and set out. Now, as I’m sitting in front of the building at six on the dot, I’m wondering if I should hang in the car for a few minutes, pretend to be fashionably late. I wouldn’t want Cam to think I’m looking forward to this, or anything.

  A knock on my driver’s side window startles me, causing me to practically jump into the passenger seat. I look up, and Cam is standing outside my car, looking down at me, grinning like a damn fool. He motions for me to get out of the car, a backpack thrown over his shoulder and a baseball cap turned backward on his head.

  So much for that.

  I climb out of the car and adjust my top, a silky, olive green sleeveless V-neck with lace detailing around the neckline. I’d decided to pair it with skinny jeans and tan strappy sandals, going for a casual yet cute look for the evening’s yet-to-be-determined activities. The color of the shirt played nicely off my olive skin tone and eye color, and I felt super cute and just a tad sexy when I finished getting ready. I wanted a look that Cam would notice, but that wouldn’t look like I tried too hard. Cam takes me in, his eyes settling on the lace detail of my top, and his face scrunches.

  If there’s anything that can take your confidence from 100 to zero in a matter of milliseconds, it’s the look Cam is giving my outfit right now.

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” he asks, and my mouth drops open in shock.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, thinking I must be hallucinating.

  “I told you to be ready for anything,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I can feel heat pricking at the back of my neck, and I wring my hands in front of me.

  “So? What’s wrong with my outfit?”

  He shakes his head, removing his baseball cap and running his hands through his hair. “Nothing. We should get going, though. We’ll want as much daylight as possible.”

  As much daylight as possible? My curiosity piques as I follow him to his truck, observing what he’s wearing, my stomach sinking. He has on silky black basketball shorts, a gray t-shirt, sneakers, and his baseball cap.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask, trying to conceal the concern in my voice. He looks back and me and chuckles.

  “Still a surprise,” he says. He rounds to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door, holding it open while I climb inside. It’s a sweet gesture, and I remember that he always used to hold doors open for me back when we were... well, back then. When he gets into the driver’s side, I turn to face him.

  “Holding the door open, nice touch,” I say. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

  He winks at me and starts the car. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  My stomach flutters, a slow smile spreading across my face.

  “Did you get everything done today that you needed to?” he asks, and I nod.

  “For the most part. Gran’s lawyer won’t be able to meet with me until Monday, and the bank is closed over the weekend, so I’ll have to wait until next week to take care of a lot of it. For now, though, I feel like I got a lot accomplished.”

  “Exc
ellent. Well, I hope you’re ready for some fun because I have a pretty cool evening lined up for us,” Cam says. There’s that word, again. Us. I let it hang in the air between us, enjoying the cool breeze of the bright spring evening as we drive north toward the bay and Rocky Point Harbor. Within minutes, the gray and blue expanse of Cape Cod bay comes into view. Some sailboats are still out taking advantage of the day’s generous winds, their sails colorful, the scene reminiscent of a painting. I sigh as we pull into the marina, an unexpected thought crossing my mind You don’t get views like this back in New York City.

  Cam must be able to sense my thoughts, because he turns off the car, turns to me, and says, “Probably not the kind of Friday night you’d get in New York, huh?”

  I laugh, unbuckling my seatbelt. “No, definitely not.”

  The marina is the beating heart of Rocky Point, functioning as both a center of commerce and a tourist attraction. Fisherman and crabbers offload their catches to businesses and passersby alike from their boats or makeshift booths on the docks, and the bars and restaurants surrounding the marina boast fresh seafood and unobstructed views of the bay, drawing a crowd most nights. We make our way down to the docks, the wind whipping up the closer we get to the water. I trail a few steps behind Cam, surprised when we stop abruptly in front of a docked center-console fishing boat with the name Sid’s Sea Maiden emblazoned on the side in curly red lettering. He turns to face me and holds up a hand toward the boat.

  I take a step back, my eyes widening. Cam looks back at me, his eyes full of mirth, and points to the boat.

  “So, what do you think?” he asks, climbing on board. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

  I drop my hands to my sides, staring at it, thinking there is no way we’re about to get on that thing.

  “Is this your boat?” I ask.

  “No, we’re hijacking it. Of course it’s my boat, now hurry up and climb on. I told you we want as much daylight as possible.”

  He reaches out a hand to help me on, but I try to maneuver my way onboard without it. Hands on his hips, he watches as I straddle the stern, one foot on the dock and one on the deck of the boat. I’m wobbly, but I throw my full weight toward the boat anyway, bringing my other leg on board and promptly losing my balance. Just as I’m sure I’m about to eat the deck of the boat, a pair of large, strong arms envelop me and root me to the ground. I stay completely still, worried that if I move even half an inch backward, I’m going to back right into Cam’s broad, muscular chest, tight abs, and... well, I try not to think about anything south of his abs, otherwise I might spontaneously combust.