Take a Chance on Me

by Jane Porter

“When did it happen?”

  “Last night. Leaving your salon.”

  “What? Why didn’t anyone call me?”

  “I only just found out. And I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Tyler and Bette made me swear not to tell you. They didn’t want to upset you—”

  “How? How did it happen?”

  “Bette lost her footing going down the steps and fell hard.”

  Amanda had to sit, her legs no longer strong enough to support her. “Oh, no.”

  “She’s going to be alright. They wanted to keep her for a night for observation but she wasn’t having it, so she’s home and Tyler is keeping a close eye on her—”

  “This isn’t okay.”

  “The good news is that I don’t think you’re liable.”

  “Charity! I’m not worrying about liability. I’m worrying about her.” Amanda’s voice broke. “This is just terrible. Poor Bette!” She sniffled, heartsick. “I’m coming home. I have to see her.”

  Amanda was nervous when she knocked on the door of Bette’s house. She wasn’t sure what she would say to Tyler. For that matter she wasn’t sure what she would say to Bette, although facing Bette at this point seemed much easier than Tyler.

  She didn’t have long to worry, though, because suddenly the gray-green door was swinging open and Tyler stood in the shadowy entry, big shoulders filling the doorway, expression impossible to read.

  “You should have told me about your grandmother’s fall,” she said, her voice shaking. “You should have been the one to reach out and tell me, not Charity.”

  “You said you didn’t want anything to do with me, and you told my grandmother you didn’t want to see her for two weeks.”

  “I meant at the salon, while I try to sort out my feelings. But I wasn’t ending our friendship. Bette’s been in my life for nine years and I’m not someone who just slams the door in someone’s face.”

  “Huh. I find that surprising.”

  Amanda ignored the last part. “How is she?”

  “Bruised and battered, but she’s retained her sense of humor, so that is something.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Are you going to be nice to her?”

  “I’m always nice to her, even when I’m upset I’m still nice to her.” She glared up at him. “You’re the one that I wasn’t nice to.”

  “And why is that?”

  Her lips compressed. She glanced away. “I think you know why.”

  “I get that you are surprised, and hurt, but you made it personal.”

  She balled her into fists inside her coat pockets. “I was scared. I felt exposed, and ashamed. I… wanted to run away.” Her voice thickened. “I don’t want anyone around me when I’m hurt. I don’t want people to know that I hurt. It’s how I’ve always protected myself. Wear armor, smile big, and don’t let anyone know how sensitive I am underneath.”

  “Do you wear armor?”

  Her lips twisted. She gestured to her hair and then her coat. “This, all of this, is protection. The retro hairstyles, the vintage clothing, this is an Amanda that I created for everyone here in Marietta. It’s my you-can’t-hurt-me persona, and it usually works.”

  “Your armor didn’t work last week, did it?”

  “Nope. Failed big time.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, and blinked, trying to keep her eyes from stinging. “I think I came to dinner that night without it. Apparently, I came as myself, and it wasn’t enough.” Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. She reached up to swiftly wipe them away before they could fall. “I’m sorry I said hurtful things to you. I’m sorry I hurt Bette—”

  “Gram is fine.”

  She kept wiping away tears. “She’s not fine. She’s hurt. She fell leaving my salon. This is terrible, and all my fault—”

  He pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her, holding her against him. “You’re not responsible for her fall. And as you’ll see in a moment, she really is doing well.”

  “But you’re here, not at work, and isn’t this the first week of the new job?”

  “We pushed back my start date for a month. Cormac is still finalizing paperwork with TexTron and I’ve got a project I’m working on, so it’s all good. Now come see Gram, and no more tears, or she’ll get weepy, too, and I can handle one emotional woman, but not two.”

  She gave him a watery smile and drew a deep breath as she approached Bette’s bedroom. Tyler hung back in the front part of the house, and she was grateful for that. It was hard enough apologizing without having an audience.

  She knocked lightly on the door and then pushed it open. Bette was sitting up in bed, wearing one of her cute bed robes, and doing a crossword puzzle on a white wicker bed table.

  “Hi, Bette. It’s me. Can I come in?” Amanda said nervously.

  “Oh, yes, dear, of course.” Bette gestured for her to enter, her hand a knobby purple black. “You have the best timing, too. What is an eight letter word for a hairstylist that begins with ‘c’?”

  With Bette’s head down, she hadn’t seen the bruises or swelling, but now that Bette was looking up at her, the black eye, split lip, and swollen jaw was very much in evidence.

  Amanda crossed quickly to her side. “Oh, Bette, you look like you went twelve rounds in the boxing ring.”

  “If only that were the case. Instead I tumbled down stairs. Silly me. I much prefer the idea of being bloodied through proper sport.”

  Amanda snorted, and sat down on the side of the bed. “I understand you refused to stay overnight at the hospital.”

  “Nothing’s broken, and hospitals are such miserable places. I’m better off here where I have some peace and quiet.” Bette tapped the crossroad with her pencil. “I’ve been stuck on this one for far too long. Hoping you can help me? I need an eight letter word for a hairstylist, and it begins with ‘c.’”

  “Coiffeur,” Amanda answered promptly.

  Bette filled in the letters before looking up at her, surprised. “Yes! How did you know? Do you use that word in your work?”

  “No. But the word was used on Jeopardy once and I’ve never forgotten.” Amanda lightly covered Bette’s wrist, careful to avoid all bruises. “I am so sorry—”

  “No, my girl. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible coward and I should have told you long ago about your mother and Patrick, and how I always cared for her, and worried about her, even years after she’d married your father and had you children. I know Julie was hurt by everything that happened, and I never forgave myself for not standing up to Don. Your mother deserved better. Patrick deserved better. I wish I had a good excuse as to why I didn’t do more. I suppose my only defense is, in those days, wives didn’t challenge their husbands. At least military wives didn’t. I hope things are different now.”

  Amanda glanced down at the crossword puzzle that was now completed. Funny how the only word missing was coiffeur, or stylist. She exhaled and said as lightly as she could, “If my mother hadn’t married my father, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “And what a loss that would be. You are a joy, and a light, and you have brought me such happiness, Amanda. I know I’m not your mother, or your grandmother, but I love you as if you were my own.”

  Amanda blinked hard, chasing away the threat of tears. “Please don’t make me cry. I feel like all I’ve done the past few days is cry. I’m ready to start smiling and feeling like me again.”

  “Me, too,” Bette agreed, before hesitating. “Have you and Tyler sorted everything out between the two of you?”

  “Not everything, not yet.”

  “Then what are you doing in here? Get out of here. Have a good talk. He’s been very worried about you.”

  Amanda rose. “I will, but I’ve a question. I’ve been wondering about this and I thought maybe I should just ask. Tyler told me that you’d called yourself my business partner, and I figured you meant it as in being my biggest cheerleader, but do you really want to go into business with me? Are you wanting to be my real partner?” />
  Bette blushed. “Oh, no, not a real partner, not with responsibilities and duties, no. But I do love to get excited about your projects, because you truly do have the best ideas.”

  “So do you.” Amanda leaned over and kissed Bette lightly on the cheek, before adding with a smile, “Because I figured out why you told Tyler that you’d made several sizable gifts to me. You wanted to get his attention. You wanted to get him to Marietta. And you wanted him to meet me. Am I right?”

  Bette smiled a self-satisfied smile. “And you said no matchmaking.”

  “And you ignored me.”

  “Because I knew better. I knew you two would be perfect for each other and I was right.”

  After saying goodbye to Bette, Amanda went in search of Tyler and found him outside, in the front of the house, talking to Charity. Neither of them heard her approach, and from their expressions, they looked serious.

  “Is everything okay?” Amanda asked glancing from one to the other.

  “Yes,” Charity answered quickly. “I was just talking to Tyler about something I was working on, wanting his input. He’s great with design. Must be all those years of studying graphic design.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her keys. “I was sent to find you. Mom wants to talk to you. I’m to drive you over to the house.”

  “I can drive myself, but I’d love to go home first and shower and change—”

  “Nope. Mom wants to talk now. Dad’s out and she thought this is the best time.”

  Amanda’s brow furrowed. Charity’s voice sounded a little too high and her tone a little too bright. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”

  “They’re fine. Come on. Get in. I want to get this over with as I’m trying to hit the six o’clock mat Pilates class at the gym.”

  “That’s two hours from now. You’ll make it.” Amanda crossed to Tyler, and put a hand on his sleeve. “Am I welcome to return later?”

  “Do you want to return later?” he countered.

  She nodded.

  He kissed her. “Then, absolutely.”

  As Charity parked in front of the blue house, Amanda sucked in a breath, bracing herself for whatever was to come. It was never an easy thing returning to their childhood home on Chance Avenue. Growing up, “home” was anything but a refuge. No, life in their house was consistently chaotic. Even in high school she’d dreaded walking through the front door, never sure what she would find. If her father had been drinking, there would be yelling and fighting, or if she’d arrived after the drinking, her father would be snoring in front of the TV while her mother cried in the kitchen, or the bedroom.

  She and Charity used to comfort themselves that it could be worse.

  Dad could hit Mom—but he didn’t.

  Mom could hook up with strange men—but she didn’t.

  And didn’t everyone have dysfunction in their family somewhere?

  Charity removed the key from the ignition. “Things really are better,” she said, as if able to read her sister’s mind. “They’re both trying. Dad’s at an AA meeting now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “And they’ve cut up their credit cards so Dad can’t do his online shopping.”

  “That’s even better.”

  They both looked at the weathered blue house with the sagging front porch. “I wish Dad would paint it,” Amanda said. “Or maybe we just come and paint it for them. Make it a Mother’s Day-Father’s Day gift.”

  “What would Chance Avenue be without our blue house? It’s legendary,” Charity said mockingly, aware that it was well-known for all the wrong reasons. It hadn’t been blue when their parents bought the house, either. Dad had painted it when the girls were little. He used to say he painted it blue because he needed something manly to come home to, since he lived in a house full of women. Amanda had believed him, and it wasn’t until a few years ago she discovered he’d painted it blue because the local mercantile had mixed up 15 gallons of Smurf blue by mistake, and instead of throwing it out, the store manager gave it to her father for their house.

  “No wonder I live in a pink house. It’s my response to being forced to grow up in a blue one,” Amanda said, opening her door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  While Charity watched TV in the living room, Julie led Amanda to her bedroom and closed the door.

  “I want to show you something,” Julie said, bringing out a small box from the back of her top dresser drawer. It wasn’t a very fancy box, but a faded baby-blue cardboard, the small square lid creased, as if it had been accidentally flattened. Inside the box was a small gray silk pouch. Julie handed Amanda the silk pouch.

  Amanda looked questioningly at her mom.

  “My promise ring,” her mom said tightly, flatly, no expression in her eyes or voice.

  “Wait. What?”

  “It’s my ring, the one Patrick gave me.”

  “He gave you a ring?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He loved me.”

  Amanda’s hand shook slightly as she dumped the delicate pearl ring into the palm of her hand. She turned the ring over, examining it in the light. “He gave this to you before he left for college?”

  “No. He sent it from college, just before Christmas his sophomore year.”

  “But you two broke up before the end of his senior year.”

  “No, we didn’t. We kept seeing each other. Just in secret.”

  Amanda struggled to take it all in. This isn’t the story she’d been told. “Bette said Don split you two up. She said—”

  “Oh, Mr. Justice tried to, and he was angry, and very unpleasant, but Patrick wasn’t intimidated. You couldn’t threaten him. He stood up for the underdog, always. He was quite fearless, actually, and it’s why I fell in love with him. Bette might think Patrick walked away from me, but it didn’t happen. There was no way he was going to let anyone—much less his father—come between us.”

  “So he didn’t forget you right away?”

  “He never forgot me.” Julie blinked, lashes suddenly damp. “I blew him off.”

  “What?”

  “I met your dad, and we um… I… got pregnant, and so I called Patrick and told him I was marrying someone else, and that was that.”

  “You were pregnant with Jenny before you married?”

  “That shocks you?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “She was a very small baby, and so we told everyone she was born early.”

  Amanda turned the ring over, her head spinning. “Why didn’t you give the ring back to Patrick?”

  “I tried. He didn’t want it. He said it was for me, and he wanted me to keep it as a thank-you for taking a chance on him.” Julie drew a slow breath, fresh tears filling her eyes. “He thanked me for taking a chance on him. Crazy. I had nothing, and he had everything, and yet he still wanted me, and he’d waited for me, for years he waited for me, but in the end, I couldn’t wait. I didn’t like being alone. So when I met your dad, and he was here, and available, I… moved on.”

  Amanda’s fingers curled around the ring as she sat down on the trunk at the foot of the bed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’ve never discussed any of this, because what’s the point? But when Charity told me that you’d broken up with Tyler, and you’d told Bette to stay away from the salon, I knew we had to talk. Mandy, if Tyler is anything like Patrick, he’s a good man. Loyal, loving, honorable. Don’t judge him harshly because of me, and don’t run away from a chance at true happiness. Patrick didn’t fail me, Mandy. I failed him.”

  Amanda’s head thumped. “Does Dad know about Patrick?”

  “He knows there was a high school boyfriend who’d given me a promise ring.”

  “Have you shown him the ring?”

  “He found it once in the back of my lingerie drawer.”

  “And he doesn’t mind that you kept it?”

  “He doesn’t feel threatened by a ring.”

  Amanda could fe
el the weight of the past in the room and a dozen different things came to her mind, things she’d love to ask, things she’d love to know, but her mother’s expression was strained and pressing her mom for details and more information didn’t seem fair. “That’s good,” she said softly, sliding the ring back into the gray silk pouch. “I’m glad.”

  But her mother didn’t seem to feel any better. She kept blinking back tears. “I love your dad.”

  “I know you do.”

  “And I’ve always been loyal to him, even during the hard years, and there have been plenty of hard years. But after breaking Patrick’s heart, I vowed I’d never do that again. And so I’ve stood by your dad through thick and thin.”

  “Mom, I’m not judging you.”

  “But has it been easy? No. Did I love Patrick? Yes. Would my life have been different if I’d been more patient and willing to wait for him? Absolutely. But we make choices and I made mine.” She hesitated. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

  Amanda held the silk pouch out for her mom to take but Julie shook her head. “I don’t want it. You keep it.”

  “And what would I do with it?”

  “Maybe give it to Tyler. Or Bette. What do you think?”

  Amanda closed her fingers around the pouch, holding it secure in her palm. “I think it’s time our families had some closure and moved on.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The plan had been for Charity to drop Amanda off at Bette’s and head to the gym. It was after five and the sun was dropping lower in the sky, long golden rays of sunlight piercing the bare branches of trees on Bramble and streaming across the asphalt.

  Amanda squinted against the light as Charity neared Bette’s house. Something huge and pink filled Bette’s driveway.

  And then she let out a scream.

  It was an RV. A shocking pink RV. Not a soft pink pastel or a wash of pink. No, this was almost Pepto pink; this was the pink of her house and salon.

  Charity pulled up in front of the house and Amanda read the script on the side of the RV, The Wright Mobile Salon, painted in purple.

  She read it again even as she jumped out of the car, thinking the purple script was fun and bold, and very sassy.