The Science of Second Chances (Romance on the Go)

by Penttila, Nicky

  “Ready to talk yet?”

  “Why can’t I room with one of the other kids? Jordy is alone, now that Greg’s gone home.”

  Matt sat on his bed, the first made bed he’d sat on since his wife had left. Making beds was on the C-list, after taking her damned dog to the vet. He’d left the dog at the vet, with instructions to call his ex, but you couldn’t exactly do that with your kids. Not if you ever wanted them to come see you again.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Chip popped both ear buds out at that one. “Really?”

  “Really. This trip is to show you how adult you are. Living with a roommate for a few days is part of that.”

  Chip’s face lit up, a smile stretching wide. Matt’s heart eased. It had been so long since he’d seen that look. His soul had missed it.

  Chip started packing, if that’s what you could call sweeping all your things into your arms and dumping them into a duffel. Matt hadn’t done much more than that, himself. Although he did bring one nice outfit, khakis and a striped Oxford, almost unwrinkled. Just in case.

  Chip shuffled to the bathroom, swept up his boy potions, and returned. As he tumbled them on top of his clean clothes, Matt sighed. Chip stiffened.

  “Wait. What do you want in exchange?”

  “Who says I want anything?”

  “You always want something. You always want to talk.” Chip’s sigh was something out of silent pictures, it was so dramatic.

  It was an opening, though. Matt hadn’t thought he could get it so soon. His son was as laconic as his ex. He jumped at the chance.

  “What do you know about Dr. Dobler?”

  “Sam, you mean,” his Sam said, stretching out the name.

  “Yes.”

  “I wasn’t named after her or anything, was I? That would be gross.”

  “No. Your grandpa’s name was Sam. The one who died before you were born. We started calling you Chip pretty quick, though.”

  He nodded and zipped his duffel. The zipper gave him trouble; the bag was overpacked. Chip sat at the foot of his own bed. Matt noticed their stances matched: feet on the floor, hands on knees.

  “The fake doctor is the one who left you at the altar days before the wedding. Mom had to pick you up off the floor and save you.”

  “That’s what she told you?” The audacity of the lie took Matt’s breath away. Chip’s face did not carry the tell he was lying, though. Matt closed his eyes. Think hard. Dangerous territory. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid.”

  “You’re not hurting me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your relationship with your mom.”

  “You did that already, remember? You walked out.”

  Matt shifted to the side of the bed, facing his son. Kids could slice you open so fast. “You’re almost eighteen. Are you ready for some truth?”

  Chip crossed his arms and looked away, toward the window. Matt wondered again, were his forearms ever so skinny?

  “OK, here goes. From the top, Samantha Dobler did not leave me; I left her.”

  His son’s head snapped around to look at him. “You left? Then why were you wrecked?”

  “I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.”

  Chip frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’d done something wrong. Something forever wrong. Sam here, Dr. Dobler, told me I needed to make it right. And she was right.”

  “Wait.” Chip’s hand went up, and his expression went blank. His math-team face, cogitating. Matt watched his beautiful boy, the anchor of his life, try to work out his most painful secret. Chip frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Your wedding date. I know your anniversary is in June. Was,” he corrected, the sneer returning to his voice.

  “We were married the same year you were born.” Matt knew he was making the arithmetic harder, but even that broke his heart to say. Not to mention a promise he’d made to his ex, when she was his wife, all so many moons ago.

  He saw the moment the truth hit Chip. His strong Little Leaguer, his Eagle Scout, his “I’m an adult now” boy suddenly went pale and reached a hand out to him. Matt took it and squeezed.

  “You married mom because of me.”

  “I did, son. Exactly the right thing to do. I am so, so proud of you.”

  “But you. You didn’t love her?”

  Matt chuckled. “Well, I made love to her, didn’t I?”

  “Shit!” He put a hand up by his ear as if he could un-hear what Matt had said. Then his face took on a look of real horror. “But, but. Did she love you?”

  Matt couldn’t stop jerking back further on the bed. The pain was too new. His movement pulled Chip’s hand out of his. Matt shook his head. Focus. Strong, for the kid.

  But Chip was too fucking smart. “Wait. Mom’s known Jerry since high school, too. Did they, were they…” His so-brave boy couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Sweetie. She loves you so much. She would never hurt you.”

  “But she didn’t mind hurting you?”

  Matt swallowed. No, she didn’t. She never had.

  “Why did she even marry you, then? Has she ever been faithful at all?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Except yes, it was. Matt had been so slow on the uptake. It was a miracle he hadn’t found them in his own bed, as obvious as they were. For years. “Well, she was never a one-man woman,” he finally said into the silence.

  Chip pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them tightly. Matt sighed and started to reach his hand out to his son’s shoulder.

  But Chip burst up, onto his feet, arms flailing. One fist hit his dad just above the ear, toppling him onto the floor. Chip stared at him, shocked, silenced, waiting for Matt to explode.

  Get a grip, man. You’re the adult. Matt shook it off and rolled back onto his haunches. Wild teenage energy, that’s all it was, and it got him talking, thank God, but Matt could barely keep up.

  “Jeebus, sorry, dad. You OK? But cripes, the only kid with two parents, and the whole thing’s a lie. Pretend, make-believe, doing it all just for the kid.”

  “No, Sam. We tried to work it out. It worked – for us, too – for a long time.” He winced, and touched the side of his face. Didn’t see that coming.

  “No, it didn’t. You’re just bullshit. I knew something was wrong, something people weren’t saying. Mom told me stuff, and you never did, and look what happened.”

  Matt couldn’t follow his thinking. “What’s happened? You’re fine. I’m fine. You’re getting another parent, a step-dad. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “No.” Chip’s head tilted, mouth turned down in that adults-are-so-dumb curve. “You tell us to follow our dream, to do what we love, and what do you do? Lie.”

  “We also tell you to man up to your responsibilities.”

  “I’m a responsibility now?”

  “Of course you are. A burden, and a joy. Why do you think I hound you about condoms?”

  Chip dropped to sit on the floor, his back against the media console. “So I wouldn’t make your mistake.”

  “And you won’t. Will you?”

  His beautiful boy gave an ugly shrug. “Maybe I will, who knows?”

  Matt closed his eyes and counted to ten. Chip didn’t respond well to anger. He slowly gave his own shrug. Chip’s eyes narrowed, and Matt knew that was the right move. The room went silent but for their breaths.

  Matt thought back to that night, of course it was night, when he had to tell Samantha. She didn’t have a car, so he went to pick her up at the dress shop. She bounded into the car with a big plastic bag of petticoats or whatever they were, breathless and beaming. He drove her to their favorite spot by the river and broke her heart.

  She’d gone silent, too, staring out at the river, nothing moving but the tears down her cheeks, one, two, three. It had been at least ten tortuous minutes, two whole songs on the radio plus some.

  But here in the present, his little Sam, who never could sit st
ill, rolled onto hands and knees before five minutes were up. “Let me see your face.”

  Matt waved him off. “It’s nothing.”

  Chip took Matt’s cheeks in both his fine hands, and turned his face toward the light from the window. He saw what he needed to, and let go.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I promised not to. Then again, your mom promised to have and to hold forever.”

  “And all this time, she lied about your girlfriend.”

  “I’m sorry, guy. I love you so much. Your mom does, too. You are the beauty in the world.”

  “Eeeuw, don’t go spouting that Shakespeare crap at me.”

  Matt had to smile, to keep from crying. “You know your Shakespeare?”

  “AP English, hello.” Chip rolled to his feet. “Now, what are you going to do about the good doctor?”

  “Well, that’s good and fucked up.”

  Chip grinned at the language, like he’d finally been allowed into the men’s club.

  “You know where she lives, right?”

  Matt had to shake his head no. Chip rolled his eyes.

  “I’m not going to stalk her. Maybe next year.”

  “A year is forever. How do you even know she’s not married?”

  “She’s not wearing a ring.”

  “So you do notice stuff.”

  Matt smiled, a painful shadow of Chip’s earlier grin. Sure, he noticed. Just too little. And way too late.

  ****

  A staff meeting, a conference call, and two red-banger emails ate away Samantha’s morning. After the surreal museum experience yesterday, she’d wandered back to the office, forgetting to pick up food. By the time she got home, that single glass of Tempranillo was enough to set her on her heels.

  So, she’d seen her girlhood crush, and survived. Now she could get on with the rest of her life with the serenity of closure.

  Right.

  Seeing Matt, smelling him, feeling his touch, took her back two decades in the blink of an eye. Nothing had changed, it felt like, while everything had changed in the real world.

  Sam didn’t think she was a picky woman, but somehow all the buff hotshot lawyers and scruffy nonprofit managers could never manage to heat her blood. But Matt always could, and did still. She needed to take a sample of him – a saliva swab? A blood test? A stinky T-shirt? – and analyze what he had that was like no other. Then she’d bottle it, and give it to the likeliest of her former flames. The judge, yeah, or the painter. Definitely, the painter.

  But that would mean actually seeing Matt again, which was the last thing she wanted to do, right? Seeing him, and his doppelganger, was like a double slap in the face, now that she’d thought about it. He’d moved on, like she had. Like she’d pretended to. But she hadn’t really moved on, had she? Just sort of carried on.

  Bullshit. She had done great things already in her nearing-middle-aged life. She was one of only two women Ph.D.s, youngest research fellow in her cohort, and now deciding which studies were worthy of federal funds. She’d moved across the country, become a city girl, and made the most of her opportunities. If they’d never included many long-term beaux, well, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her life was great. She didn’t need anything or anyone to complete her.

  What the hell? Sam leaned back in her chair, unable to read the spreadsheet on the screen for the tears in her eyes. Something was missing, and she could lie to herself all she wanted but it wouldn't make it true. She’d bought into that happy-ever-after crap, and it had branded itself onto her heart. Even scientists could be pathetic romantics. They just took longer to report the results.

  A beep from the desk phone jerked her out of her pity party, and nearly out of her chair. What did security want? They usually just sent packages through the detectors, then the mailroom.

  “Dr. Dobler. A visitor.”

  She wasn’t expecting anyone, or had she forgotten? “What’s the name?”

  “Greenleaf.”

  Matt? She almost jumped to her feet. Locking her hand on her chair, she willed her heart to resume its beating, her lungs to resume their processing of air. She took what she meant to be a calming breath.

  “Dr. Dobler?”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Sam ran to the lav and checked herself in the mirror. Blue blouse, brown skirt, the espadrilles. Dowdy, but at least she matched. She still had lipstick in her bag from yesterday, and quickly made herself up.

  But no one was in the security area. The guard waved at the door, and Sam went out. She saw the tie-dye out of the corner of her eye, there in the shadow of the overhanging roof. The tension flowed out of her shoulders, and down to her gut. I can do this. She squared to face him and took a step closer. And stopped.

  “Sam?”

  The boy shrugged, not looking at her, or rather looking at her and then away, rapid like a hummingbird. “People call me Chip.”

  “Chip, then.” She crossed her arms in front of her. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was the boy jealous of her? Protecting his mom? The youngster was half a foot taller than her, but she was pretty sure she had twenty pounds on him, as well as mad skills at jeet kune do.

  “What?” she finally said.

  “I thought, you know.” He stopped. His hands flailed as if seeking some keyboard or screen to nest in.

  “Do you want to text it to me?”

  He snorted. “Don’t be dumb.”

  “How did you know where I work? Did Matt tell you?”

  Chip rolled his eyes. “He’s waiting for a sign from God or something. I just used Google.”

  “Wait. So he doesn’t know you’re here?”

  Now the hands were flying, starting to pat the opposite arm, to pat his belly, touch his shoulder. Quite the nervous tell.

  “Samuel Greenleaf. Where should you be right this minute?”

  He slumped and stilled just a little. “We’re at the Archives. I said I was bored and wanted to get to Newseum earlier. The guys aren’t gonna wanna stay long there, but I do. I said.” He shrugged.

  Samantha turned away from him. “We’re walking,” she said, and started down the sidewalk. She didn’t turn to look at him, but smiled grimly when she heard his huffs trying to catch up. “It’s Pennsylvania at Sixth, right?”

  “Twenty minutes, tops.”

  “So you’ve gone missing a half-hour already.”

  “Not missing. They can always text, and they know I wouldn’t miss lunch, at one.”

  “It’s twelve-thirty now.”

  “See? I won’t miss it.” He was having trouble matching her gait, she could see out of the corner of her eye. All gangly arms and half-steps with those yardstick legs. She racked her brain for what she was going to say to his dad. Would “No, I didn’t kidnap your child?” be too much?

  As they waited out the red light at Fourth, Chip dipped his head directly in front of her. “Why don’t you look at me?” he said.

  She looked at him until he looked away. They started walking again.

  “I’m sorry, it’s not you, Chip. Listen, really, what’s going on?”

  He stopped, flopping himself down on one of the benches of the Navy Memorial. He crossed his arms, scowling one of those harmless teenager scowls, more cranky than angry. Water flowed from a shelf into a narrow trough behind him. The image tapped a memory Samantha hadn’t pulled to the surface in years.

  She and Matt had hiked to a waterfall one hot weekend back home. The idea that super flat Ohio actually had its own waterfall had driven them to hike the five miles into the woods that it took to get there. Matt had had some bee in his bonnet that day, and just as they got there, and she was grinning at the waterfall, he turned, glowering and crossing his stick arms. A teen’s glower can be terrifying to another teen.

  She couldn’t even remember what he was mad about, but she remembered how they’d made up. A lot of skin, and a lot of water, and the next day sunburn in some surprising places. They’d still been virgins after, of
course, but barely.

  She sat down beside her lover’s child. “Listen, Chip. When I look at you, I see your dad at your age. That’s when I knew him. Then I look closer and I can’t help but see the differences. My mind knows it’s you, but my heart thinks it must have been wrong, it must have forgotten what Matt looked like. I don’t want to forget him like that. I don’t want to accidentally overwrite that memory with pictures of you.”

  She wasn’t getting to him. His hands fluttered, touching arms, knees, the air. “Why do you care if those memories are corrupted? That’s ancient history.”

  “Don’t you want to grab onto your happy memories, hold tight? What about your birthday parties, or the race you won.” He crossed his leg, ankle on his knee, and rested his elbow on his knee. Tilting his head into his hand, he considered her.

  “So, with Dad, those were good memories, then?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Want to make some more?”

  Samantha pulled away from him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He rocked his head on his hand, mouth turned down, like a boy with a secret. “Dad says I fucked things up with you.”

  “He said nothing of the sort.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he wouldn’t swear at you.” She stopped. Maybe he would. “It’s not my place to say.”

  “To say my mom was a slut who ruined your life and everyone else’s, too?”

  She winced. “That’s not true. No, you’re right, maybe I did think that, in the beginning. But I was wrong. My life has been good, and so has yours. Sixteen years of marriage and a stable home is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “You can’t know what our lives were like.”

  She let that go. “I told you the truth. Now it’s your turn.”

  He dropped his arm and lifted his head, looking away from her. After a moment, he shrugged. “I’m lucky enough,” he muttered, “I suppose.”

  Sam let a long breath out. Had she really won a teen-torment battle? “So.” She stood. “Let’s go. They say newspapers are a dying industry. We might not get there in time.”