One More Last Chance

by Cathleen Armstrong

  Grabbing her phone and tossing a sofa pillow on the coffee table to cushion her feet, she stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed her ankles. She smiled to herself as she called Brandon’s number. My house, Mom. Feet on the coffee table if I want them there.

  When Brandon’s phone started ringing, she composed a quick message in her mind. Hi, it’s me, and I can’t wait to talk to you. So call as soon as you can.

  “Brandon’s phone.” A woman’s voice.

  Sarah opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “Hello? Anyone there?” The woman’s voice sounded impatient.

  “Um, yes.” Sarah found her own voice. “Is Brandon there?”

  “He’s not available right now. Who’s this?”

  “This is Sarah. Who are you? And where’s Brandon?” What kind of game was this woman playing? And why was she answering Brandon’s phone, anyway?

  “Oh, he’s up to his neck in mud right now, I’d say. But I’ll certainly tell him you called. You wouldn’t be his wife, would you?”

  “His wife? No.” Sara struggled to keep up with this conversation. Brandon wasn’t married. Was this even the right Brandon?

  “Okay. Well, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him.”

  “Wait!” But the voice was gone.

  Sarah sat looking at the phone in her hand. Any second now it would come to life and Brandon’s face would appear on the screen. He’d explain everything, maybe even have that woman get on the phone and tell Sarah that she was a co-worker and the world’s lamest practical joker. But her phone lay in her hand like a dead thing. Finally she tossed it on the table, leaned back and covered her face with her hands.

  There were a dozen possibilities that would innocently explain the phone conversation she’d just had, and she had no doubt that the story Brandon told would be a doozy. He had turned explaining his way out of trouble into an art form, and she, fool that she was, had helped him do it.

  By the time her phone did ring, about an hour and a half later, she was almost disinterestedly curious about what he would say.

  “Hi, babe!” He certainly sounded cheerful. “I just got off the plane and I’m headed for a taxi, but I needed to hear your voice. The trip was a bear.”

  “You have got to be kidding.” He was going to pretend nothing had happened. Really?

  “What?” Confusion. Bewilderment. Was that even pain in his voice?

  “Give it up, Brandon. It’s not going to work this time. Who was that woman, and what was she doing with your phone?”

  “Honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you sound a little nuts. Can we just back up and start over?”

  Ah. The old no-sane-person-would-think-what-you’re-thinking approach. Sarah knew that one well.

  “Okay, Brandon, since you want to start over, we’ll do it your way. One hour and forty minutes ago, I called you just to say I was looking forward to seeing you. A woman answered and said you couldn’t come to the phone. She demanded to know who I was and asked me if I was your wife. So now that I’ve answered your questions, answer mine. Who was she and why did she have your phone?”

  “Well, all I can say is that I’ve been on a plane for the last two hours and my phone has been in my pocket. You must have got a real joker of a wrong number.”

  “Brandon, you moron, do you think I sat here and poked in your number digit by digit? I did not get a wrong number. And exactly four days before I was coming to see you, you were with another woman. That is so sick.”

  Bandon was actually silent for a few seconds before he tried again. “Well, I don’t know what could have gone wrong, but obviously something did.”

  “You got that right. But—and I thank God—it’s not too late to fix it. I’m canceling my trip as soon as I hang up. Do not, and I mean do not, call me, or text me, and don’t you dare turn up in Last Chance looking for me. I’ll tell my relatives to shoot you on sight if you do.”

  “Oh, come on, Sarah. Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little? Let me at least explain.”

  “You already did. Good-bye, Brandon.”

  “Sarah—”

  Sarah held the Power button till the screen went blank before crumpling in a corner of her sofa and bawling. She had never been a particularly dainty weeper, and since no one could hear her anyway, she allowed herself to really let go. Three years! Three years of her life spent desperately trying to remain Sarah while Brandon with relentless persistence tried to shape her thoughts, her dreams, her looks, even her perception of reality. How could she have done that to herself? What could she have been thinking?

  Finally, feeling totally spent and in dire need of a tissue, Sarah got up and padded down the hall for some toilet paper. Paying for her trip had completely depleted her tiny savings account and run up her credit card. She almost wished now that she had taken Brandon up on his offer to pay for everything. Then he’d be stuck with the bill, because she was pretty sure there’d be no refund from either the airline or the hotel, this being a holiday weekend. She unrolled a length and blew. Well, all things considered, if it saved her from making a mistake that she would regret every day for the rest of her life, it was a small price to pay.

  Taking the roll with her, Sarah went back to her sofa. So she’d be home for Thanksgiving after all. And it looked like her love life wouldn’t be the chief topic of discussion after all. No, it certainly would not, at least not when she was within earshot. All conversation would stop when she entered a room. She’d intercept tragic looks of compassion. This relative or that would find a moment to give her a squeeze and whisper that they never could stand Brandon anyway. Sarah shuddered. What a day she’d had. She’d gone from fighting back tears because she wasn’t going to be spending Thanksgiving with her family to deciding that was the last place she wanted to be on Thanksgiving Day—well, the second to last. In between, she had completely eradicated Brandon from her life. And she had to admit that didn’t feel as bad as she thought it might.

  It took a can of chicken and rice soup, a long bath, officially canceling her travel plans—even though she did find out she was liable for the full cost—and blocking Brandon’s number from her phone, but Sarah actually felt a little better by bedtime. She looked at her watch, decided it really wasn’t all that late, and made one more phone call.

  “Hi, it’s me. Listen, I have two huge favors to ask. First, please don’t ask any questions, and second, do you think you could ask Livvy to make me a pilgrim hat and a place mat, after all?”

  She smiled as she hung up. Who knew “You got it” could be just what she needed to hear?

  26

  Livvy, this cornucopia isn’t going to work. It takes up the whole table, and we need at least some room for the food.” Chris had no idea where she had seen one, but somehow Olivia had become convinced that a cornucopia was the only acceptable centerpiece for a Thanksgiving table. The problem was, their table was only about three feet by four, and even the smallest cornucopia they could find pretty much covered it.

  “But we have to. There’ll be room.” Olivia picked up the tangerine that had rolled off the table and went back to trying to stuff it into the abundance of the cornucopia.

  “Livvy. Listen.” Chris squatted on his heels so he could hold her attention. “There is just not room on the table for this. I’m going to move it to the coffee table. I want you to turn it into the most beautiful, Thanksgivingy coffee table in the world. We’ll do something else for the dinner table.”

  Olivia looked like she was digging in for the fight, so Chris got to his feet and turned her toward the table. “See, it’s even covering up your place mats, and you worked too hard on them to hide them like that.”

  “But you’re supposed to—” Olivia hardly ever cried, but Chris could see that this situation was escalating at a dangerous rate.

  “Okay, what about this? We’ll put the big cornucopia on the coffee table, and then you can go get a piece of brown construction paper and the stap
ler and we can make a little one for the dinner table. Maybe just big enough for one apple, a tangerine, and some grapes. How would that be?”

  Olivia considered his idea a moment and decided it would be an acceptable compromise. While she ran off to gather art supplies, Chris checked on his turkey. It was way too big for three people, of course, but Olivia had been as adamant about having a real turkey as she was about the cornucopia. And leftover turkey in the freezer was never a bad thing. He ladled drippings over the bird and checked the temperature. Perfect. Right where it should be for a 2:00 dinner.

  Straightening, he looked around the room Olivia had decorated to a fare-thee-well. He had no idea that she had so much longing for celebration stored up in that skinny little body of hers. When it came pouring out, he gave her free rein and stood back. No telling what she’d do when she started in on Christmas.

  “Okay, here.” Olivia was back and handing him the paper and stapler. “I tried, but I couldn’t make it work.”

  In a deft motion, Chris rolled the paper into a cone and stapled it. “Here you go.”

  Olivia grabbed the cone and went to create her centerpiece while Chris ran a sink full of suds and rolled up his sleeves. Sarah was due in an hour, and the place looked like a bomb had gone off.

  He wondered why she wasn’t in Chicago as she had planned to be. Unless she told him, he’d never know, of course, since he had promised not to ask any questions, but he was okay with it, whatever the reason. There was something about this Brandon guy that he just didn’t like, and he didn’t think it was entirely because of his history with Sarah. Brandon was too slick, too smooth, and it could have been just for Chris’s sake, but his attitude said, “I own this woman, so back off.” He didn’t deserve someone as remarkable as Sarah.

  Of course, if pressed, Chris would have to admit that he probably didn’t deserve someone as remarkable as Sarah either. But he’d spend his life trying, if given the opportunity, and Brandon acted like Sarah was the lucky one.

  “Are you going to help me with this, or what?” Olivia was trying to move the cornucopia to the coffee table and spreading its contents over the floor in the process.

  “Just hang on.” Chris grabbed a dish towel to dry his hands. “Sorry, I got distracted. And you need to learn to ask for help politely, which would be, ‘Would you please help me, Uncle Chris?’”

  Olivia rolled her eyes and sighed. Chris put his hand on the cornucopia, anchoring it to the dining table, and waited.

  She sighed again. “Would you please help me, Uncle Chris?”

  “Glad to.” He transferred everything to the coffee table. “Now are you good to set this up?”

  Already in deep concentration, Olivia just nodded, and Chris went back to his cleanup. A half hour later he took the turkey out of the oven, slipped the sweet potatoes and the Brussels sprouts in, and stood back to survey their work.

  “Livvy, everything looks amazing. You did an incredible job. It sure looks like Thanksgiving in here.”

  She just nodded and adjusted the place cards one more time. This must have been the way Rita started out.

  He gave her a quick squeeze. “Miss Cooley’s going to get here pretty soon. Let’s go get dressed.”

  Olivia followed him down the hall. “I sure wish I had a pilgrim dress to put on.”

  “Well, we looked. Your pilgrim hat will make you look just like a pilgrim.”

  When his phone rang, the first thing Chris thought was that Brandon had convinced Sarah to come to Chicago after all, but it was his sister’s face that filled the screen.

  “Hey, Kaitlyn. Happy Thanksgiving.” Sarah was due any minute, and Chris was in a very good mood. “Wish you were here with us. Livvy has this place looking exactly like Plymouth Plantation would have looked if construction paper and pipe cleaners had been invented then.”

  “Wish I were there too.” Kaitlyn sounded subdued, but maybe he was comparing the way she always sounded with the way he felt at the moment.

  “Do you want to talk to Livvy?”

  “Sure.”

  “Livvy! Your mom.”

  She came running down the hall, grabbed his phone, and disappeared back into her room. Chris sharpened his carving knife. He would prefer to carve the turkey before they sat down, but Olivia had seen a picture of the turkey being carved at the table and had made it clear that that should be the procedure.

  A few minutes later Olivia was back. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Chris glanced at the clock. Sarah was due this minute. He tried to make his voice easy and calm. “So, what are you doing today? Going out for turkey?”

  There was a silence long enough to make Chris wonder if he had lost the connection, and when Kaitlyn did speak, he could hardly hear her. “Chris, I want to come home.”

  “Where? You mean Scottsdale?”

  “No, I want to be with you and Livvy.”

  “Oh. Okay, I told you you’d always be welcome, so come. I’m afraid the welcome mat’s not out for Jase, though.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “I don’t know. He just left.”

  “Kaitlyn, are you all right?” This wasn’t just a heads-up that she intended to wander back west. “What’s wrong?”

  “Chris, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t find work. I had to sell my bike, and now that money’s gone.” She started to cry, and through the front window, Chris saw Sarah pull into his driveway.

  “Hang on.” He covered the phone with his hand. “Livvy! Miss Cooley’s here.”

  Olivia raced past him out the front door, and when she ushered Sarah inside, he pointed to his phone, mouthed the word Kaitlyn, and walked back to his room and shut the door.

  “Okay. Do you have a place to sleep tonight and enough to eat?”

  “Yes, but they’re going to throw me out if I don’t pay them something pretty soon.”

  “Everything’s closed till tomorrow anyway, so this is what we’re going to do. Give me the name of the place you’re staying and how much you owe, and I’ll see they get paid. I’ll wire you enough money to eat and get to the airport, and I’ll have a ticket waiting for you there. Think that would work?”

  “When would I come?”

  “Just as soon as I can work things out. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. Are you good with that?”

  “I’m good.” Chris heard her sniff and take a deep breath. “Oh, Chris. I’m such a loser.”

  “No, you’re not a loser, Kaitlyn, but I do think it’s time you stepped up, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, it’s time.”

  “Okay then, I’m going to go. Livvy and I have company. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow, and we’ll get this thing rolling.”

  Chris hung up and rubbed his eyes. I love you, Kaitlyn, but your timing stinks. He stood up, shoved his phone deep into his pocket, and squared his shoulders. Tomorrow he’d do everything he could to take care of Kaitlyn, but today was Thanksgiving, and Sarah had come to dinner.

  When Chris scooped a sleeping Olivia from his big chair and carried her off to bed, Sarah took advantage of the moment to unfasten the top button of her pants and pull her sweater down to cover it. This was the second meal she had shared with Chris and the second time she had eaten to the point of pain. She was going to have to watch it if she spent much time with Chris Reed. And she was beginning to think she’d like that a lot.

  Chris came back in and switched on some soft jazz before sitting next to her on the sofa. “She’s out. I guess planning the world’s best Thanksgiving takes it out of a girl.”

  “Chris, that was an amazing meal. If you tell my mom I said so, I’ll have to deny it, but that was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had in my life. What in the world did you do to the turkey to make it taste like that?”

  When he started to tell her, she held up a hand. “No. That was a rhetorical question. I’m not going to cook a turkey, but I’ll eat one like that any day.”

  C
hris grinned and slid an arm along the back of the sofa. “Glad you liked it, and your secret is safe with me. Mom will never know.”

  They fell into an easy silence, and when Chris slipped his arm off the sofa and around her shoulders, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean her head against his shoulder.

  “You know, if this were my house, we’d be looking at a fireplace instead of a blank television screen.”

  “I know. This is a first-class mobile home, but it does lack a fireplace. Maybe I should get one of those DVDs of a fire, so we could stare at that instead.”

  She leaned back to look up at him. “Seriously? A fireplace DVD?”

  “Sure. Haven’t you seen them? You just pop it in and you have a fire, complete with crackling.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Sarah smiled to herself and went back to staring at the blank screen. Even sitting and talking about absolutely nothing with Chris made her happy.

  She listened to the music for another long while before speaking again. “So what’s with Kaitlyn? Everything okay?”

  He sighed and shifted a bit. “Not really, but I don’t want to bore you with my family stuff.”

  She tucked her feet up under her. “I’ll tell you my tragic story if you tell me yours.”

  “Deal.” He looked down at her. “Who first?”

  “You.”

  “How far back do you want me to go?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I like that.” Chris pulled her a little closer and started his story.

  Sarah listened without saying much until he finished up by saying, “And so I guess she’ll be living here, at least for a while.”

  “You’ll be a little crowded, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do about that. I guess the best thing to do would be to give her and Olivia my room and take Olivia’s, but Livvy is so proud of her room. I hate to do that. Maybe I can give Kaitlyn my room and take the couch. I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  “You know, when my cousin Ray ran the now-defunct High Lonesome Saloon, he had this little one-room travel trailer that he lived in. It’s up at the ranch now. Maybe we could haul it down and park it outside here.”