Second Chances 101 (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella Book 5)

by Donna K. Weaver

  “Professor D?” Amy, directly across from him at the table, wriggled her arm enthusiastically.

  “Yes.” Alex bit back a smile at her gesture.

  “Isn’t this new one out off of Old Bristol Road?”

  He reached for her list, and she handed it to him. “It is. Too far for your clunker?”

  Amy nodded, but he could tell she was using her car as an excuse. How did these kids think they could get on in a business environment or, heaven help them, as parents if they had to have someone else do everything for them?

  “I remember this one,” Alex said. “The phone number’s been changed. It’s definitely going to need a personal visit, so I’ll take it, but I won’t be able to get out there until Saturday.” He shot her a glance that made it clear he was on to her.

  She gave him a sheepish look and ducked her head.

  “Any other questions?” When no one else spoke up, Alex dismissed them and gathered his papers. He didn’t mind going out to the old house. Since it was on the outskirts of town, it might take a little convincing before the property owners were willing to let them all come in and catalog the place. He wished he could take Sam with him.

  As Alex returned to his office, he thought about his conversation with Vicki. Unless he was willing to go down to her level, he could never win against her attacks. He just wouldn't do it, but there had to be a way to protect himself if she was going to start throwing out ridiculous accusations.

  Mrs. Davis was gone when he got back to the office. He paused at his door, staring at the jar on the desk. It was a canning jar, the small gift size his grandmother had made for neighbors during the holidays. Curious, he sat in his chair and picked it up. He unscrewed the cap and tapped the lid. It wasn’t a frozen jam then. Something had been written in a neat hand on the top with a permanent marker. Cheberry.

  Alex took his letter opener and pressed it against the seal. It gave a satisfactory pop, and he knew it hadn’t been opened since it had been canned. Sniffing, he inhaled a luscious bouquet of fruits that made his stomach growl. Berry, he assumed, but something else. He held it up to the light, but it wasn’t translucent like jelly. He thought he could see round fruits in the purplish substance.

  He put the jar on his desk. There weren’t any students out to poison him that he knew of. The fruity aroma made his mouth water. He loved berry jam—or preserves. Alex ran a cautious finger lightly over the top and touched it to his tongue. Sweetness flooded his mouth, followed by a little kick. Intrigued, he opened his drawer and grabbed a fast-food packet with a knife, fork, spoon, and a napkin. With the spoon, he scooped some out and slid it onto his tongue, savoring the taste like a wine taster with an expensive vintage.

  A groan of pleasure escaped. Alex picked up the cap and read the words again. Cheberry. What an inadequate name. Whoever had been kind enough to leave the jar—one of his students?—was his new best friend. With a smile, he took another spoonful.

  After work on Friday, Francie hurried into the house to put the casserole in the oven and change her clothes. She wasn’t convinced Rose would come, but she wanted to be prepared if the girl did. The night before, Francie had taken the time to set up the kitchen. It wouldn't be wasted time, even if Rose didn't show up.

  Francie was just walking down the stairs, pulling her hair back in a ponytail, when she heard the car outside. She stopped to blink back surprise tears. Except for the mailman on Saturdays, she hadn’t heard a car drive up to her house since Rafe had left.

  She hurried to the screen door and opened it with a grin. Rose was getting out of a little Accord, her head tilted back to take in the house. She turned to Francie and mouthed ‘wow.’

  “It’s old and falling apart,” Francie said. “Keep your shoes on right now. We need to pick the fruit first.”

  Rose’s jaw dropped. “We’re going to pick the fruit too?”

  “The fresher the better, my grandmother always said.”

  Francie slipped her shoes back on and led Rose across the large porch that nearly circled the house. At the kitchen door in the back, she reached in and pulled out two aprons. Armed with clippers and two baskets, Francie took her helper out to the garden.

  “You did this all by yourself?” Rose stepped to the end so she could see up the various rows.

  “Rafe—he’s my son—helped me put it in last spring, and we maintained it over the summer. I’ve only had to do it alone since he left for school.”

  “You live here alone?” Rose shook her head. “Doesn’t it scare you being out here by yourself? Do you have a dog?”

  “We never had one because my late husband was allergic to them. He died last June,” Francie added before the girl could ask. “Now, let’s show you what to do.”

  By the time they carried their full baskets into the large kitchen, the sun was starting to go down. They put the baskets on the table.

  “Something sure smells good.”

  “That's dinner. Should be ready to eat in a while.”

  “I never knew berries had so many stickers.” Rose went to the sink and washed blood off her hands.

  “I did offer you gloves.” Francie pulled off hers. “I probably should have fed you before I put you to work.”

  “After all those berries I ate, I don’t think you need to worry about starving me.”

  They set to work, and Francie was pleasantly surprised at what a good student Rose was. Inexperienced to anything but kitchen basics, yes, but she wasn’t afraid to step right up and do something new.

  “We’ll do them in smaller batches.” Francie poured the three cups of sugar into the pot Rose stirred. Francie glanced back at the bag of sugar. She ought to have enough to last the canning season, then it would be gone. Maybe she could get a temporary job for the holiday break. She had money enough only for her utilities and keeping her car running. At least until she got her grants for the new semester. She groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” Rose peered at her, concerned.

  “Oh. I was just wondering what I’m going to feed my boy when he comes for Thanksgiving.”

  “Big appetite?” Rose laughed. “My dad’s an old man, but he works out, and he really chows it down after a workout.” The smile left her face. “It used to bug my mother.”

  “It doesn’t anymore?”

  “They’re divorced. And not amicably.”

  Francie gave the girl a quick hug. “I’m sorry.” She turned up the heat for the water bath, careful not to look at Rose who sniffed.

  With the last batch in the pot, they sat at the large, worn, old table. Rose stretched out her legs, working her feet back and forth.

  “My gran used to say her ‘dogs were barking’ when her feet hurt.” Francie pulled the casserole dish from the oven. Rose limped over to take a large potholder from the counter. She put it on the table, and Francie set the dish on it. Both of them inhaled deeply, the savory smell of roasted eggplant, tomatoes, and onions making Francie’s mouth water.

  “That smells so good.” Rose hurried and grabbed forks.

  Francie dished out their servings, and the two women ate in tired silence.

  “Can I have some more?” Rose looked unsure, and Francie remembered telling her about being poor.

  “Eat up. They’re calling for a freeze this weekend. Anything left on the vines will die.”

  When the entire casserole dish was empty, they looked at it and then at each other, laughing.

  “This was fun, Rose. Thank you for helping out. How many jars would you like to take as your pay for tonight’s work?”

  “I can’t take your food.” The girl’s eyes went wide. “You need it to live on.”

  “I can’t eat all those jars of preserves. Please, take a couple of them.”

  “All right. I’d better get going. I didn’t realize it was so late.” All at once, Rose threw her arms around Francie and squeezed her tight. “This is the most fun I’ve had in like . . . forever.”

  “I enjoyed it too.” Francie blink
ed several times, overwhelmed by the girl’s demonstration. “Now, be careful. I feel bad sending you home so late. There’s not much traffic out this way this time of night. Use your brights until you get to town.”

  “I will, and thanks for the preserves. I think my dad might like these.” She stepped into her shoes on the front porch then turned back. “If you need any help, will you call me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Rose gave an enthusiastic nod, her eyes almost pleading.

  “I’ll be up early in the morning to go at it again, but I have to be done by noon to study.” She wondered how such a sweet girl could be so starved for attention.

  “I'll come. What time?”

  “I’ll be out in the garden at seven.”

  “I’d better hurry home then, so I can get some sleep. Night.” She skipped down the stairs and to her car, waving again before pulling away.

  Francie waited until the taillights were out of sight. Turning, she looked at the large entryway. The whole house seemed to echo with its emptiness. How could the presence of one lonely, painfully thin girl change the atmosphere of the old place so much?

  Alex looked up from the book in his lap, tilting his head to hear better. He glanced at the clock. It was like a repeat of that awful weekend when Sam had come home crying. This was supposed to be his time with her. Had she gone out with friends? With a guy? He remembered the fun group of kids she had run with before the divorce and wondered where they were now. Some of them must be attending ASU. Had she connected with some of them again?

  The sound of an approaching car made him pause and listen. The high-pitched whine told him it wasn’t Sam’s. What would he do when she finally did move out on her own, maybe even far away? He rubbed his eyes. Was he part of Sam’s problems? Was she not getting past the divorce because he was still in limbo himself?

  Alex rose from the recliner and went to his computer desk. Maybe he should check out some of those dating forums. He opened a browser and typed in “online dating.” Scrolling down the list, he frowned. FrenchKiss? HookingItUp? Were these dating sites or escort services?

  He continued down the page until he found one that looked legitimate. It required him to register and create a profile. Reading a little further, he realized the profile was essentially an ad to sell himself. Thinking back on Vicki’s comments, he wondered what he could say that would be both honest and appealing to a woman. He couldn’t think of one thing.

  The sound of Sam’s car speeding into her parking stall and screeching to a stop announced her arrival. Alex leaned back in his chair and waited. It wasn’t long before Sam burst through the door as she had before, but this time she was practically dancing. She paused only a second.

  “Oh, Daddy. I just had the most fun!” She skipped over to him and sat on his lap. Throwing her arms around his neck, Sam gave him a big hug. It was the tightest hug he could remember getting from her for a long time.

  “What did you do tonight? Go out with friends?”

  Sam stood and did a little pirouette. “No, I met this older lady at lunch. She’s so poor she has to grow and cook all her own food. I think she even has to reuse the brown bag she had for her lunch.”

  “Uh, they call that recycling, Sam.” Alex imagined an ancient, white-haired dowager, with purple-veined, arthritis-crippled hands, carefully folding a wrinkled, grease-stained sack.

  “Oh, shut up. It's different when you have to do it.”

  She flopped backward on the couch, throwing her arms behind her head like she was lying in a meadow and gazing at drifting clouds. Whoever the ancient one was, he could tell she had made an impression on his daughter.

  “So what does this have to do with where you were tonight?”

  Sam turned her head toward him. “We got to talking, and somehow I found out she was going to be making jam. You know I’ve always wanted to learn to cook. I asked if I could help her.” She shrugged. “That’s what I did tonight. See this?” She got up from the couch and showed him the cuts and scratches on her arms and hands.

  “Didn’t she have any gloves you could use?” Alex scowled.

  “I wanted to have the experience, to see what it was like in the olden days when people had to work the land.”

  Sam took up a pose worthy of an old-fashioned melodrama heroine in the summer plays, and Alex coughed to cover a laugh. Sam's obvious enjoyment of the day made him happy. He hoped the old woman knew what she had done for the strange child-adult she had opened her home to.

  “I heard that laugh.” Sam pointed a finger at him. “What have you been doing? Please don’t tell me you’ve been sitting in that old chair waiting for me.”

  “I did read for a while,” Alex confessed before pointing to his screen.

  She came to stand behind him and looked at the monitor. “Are you kidding me? Online dating? That’s brilliant. Why didn’t you do this sooner?” She didn’t give him a chance to speak but pushed him out of his chair and sat in it herself. “Let me help. This will be fun!”

  Alex bent over her shoulder to see what she was typing. “Hey, wait a minute. Ripped? Samantha Rosamunde Diederik. Don’t you dare write that. I don’t want to meet some woman and have her find out that everything she thinks she knows about me is a lie.”

  “Oh, please, Daddy. You might not be tall, but you have a six-pack. And don’t forget your guns.”

  “My what?”

  “Your biceps. You are so twentieth century.”

  Alex shifted uneasily as she kept typing.

  On Monday, Francie slid into her work desk and turned on her computer. Rose had been a no show. Until receiving the girl’s text near noon on Saturday, apologizing for oversleeping, Francie hadn't realized how much she had been looking forward to talking to the girl again. Rose had sent a second text explaining that her father wanted to take her to a matinee.

  Francie stood and stretched to reach a binder above her desk. The door opened behind her and, from his pleasant aftershave, she knew it was Professor Diederik without seeing him.

  “Good morning, Professor.” She turned, pulling the binder to her chest. “Did you have a good weekend?” She thought he looked better, but there was still a wounded shadow in the back of his eyes. At least that woman was an ex-wife. Francie knew too well what it was like to dread going home.

  “Uh . . .” He paused, giving her a curious look, like he wasn’t sure what she meant. “Yes, I did. You?”

  “Busy.” Francie handed him a post-it note. “I’m off to the copy room. You’ve had two messages so far this morning.” She slid past him and out the door, humming.

  As she was going past Professor Eldred’s office on the way back from the copier room, she thought she saw Rose going into his office suite. Francie paused outside. He wasn’t scheduled for student appointments in the morning and never on Mondays. Uneasy, she wasn’t sure what to do. Professor Diederik would never schedule an appointment with a student unless he knew Francie could be there.

  With a sigh, Francie sat at her work station in Eldred's suite. She wasn’t supposed to be there for another hour and a half, but she couldn’t leave the girl in there. Francie leaned back in her chair so she could hear better. Just low voices. Keeping one ear tuned to the office, she went through the paperwork she would be working on later in the morning.

  The door opened, and Francie spun around in her chair. Rose looked at her from the opening, Professor Eldred behind her. He scowled at seeing Francie, but Rose grinned. She looked so different from the first time Francie had seen her.

  “Hey, Francie. Do you have an appointment with Professor Eldred too?”

  “No, I work for him.” Francie shot him a hard look. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought your student appointments were Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I would have made sure to be here if I’d known you needed me.”

  Rose's fair cheeks darkened, and she looked guilty. “I’m going to be late. Thanks a lot, Professor.” She hurried out the door.

  “Sir, I seem to ha
ve forgotten the university policy,” Francie said when the girl was out of sight. “Can you help me remember?”

  “That idiotic—”

  “It’s not idiotic, sir. My doctor always has a nurse in the room during annual examinations. It’s as much for his protection as it is for mine.”

  His expression changed from irritated to angry. “I don’t need another lecture.” He went into his office and slammed the door.

  Troubled, Francie headed back to the other office. Another lecture? What was he talking about? When she got out to the hallway, Professor Diederik was just coming out of his suite door.

  “There you are. I wondered what happened to you.”

  “Sorry.” She hurried her pace. “Professor Eldred had a female student in his office. I had to wait outside.”

  “Idiot.” Professor Diederik frowned, looking down the hall.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Mrs. Davis—”

  “Can I ask a favor?” she interrupted, stopping in front of him.

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you call me Francie? Every time you call me Mrs. Davis, I think of my mother-in-law.” She dropped her gaze. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she was a very unpleasant woman.”

  “Sure. I can call you Francie. That’s an unusual name. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone else with it.”

  “It was my great grandmother’s name. It’s short for Francesca.” She glanced at him, surprised to see he was smiling. It accented the crow's feet around his eyes. For the first time, Francie noticed the wrinkles around his mouth, happy wrinkles she always called them. Even though he had never smiled at her before, she could tell he must do it a lot to leave permanent creases like that.

  “It’s pretty.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression turning serious. “I can’t call you Francie unless you call me Alex.”

  “Alex. Is that short for Alexander?”

  “Alexis. Like yours, it’s an old family name.”

  “Alexis,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue.

  “Only my ex-wife calls me Alexis anymore and only when she wants to take a jab at me, so please call me Alex.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Or I’ll call you Mrs. Davis.”