The Chance: A Novel

by Karen Kingsbury

  But that didn’t excuse them.

  Suddenly, Ellie was consumed with curiosity. How did her father spend his nights, alone in the little house? Did he come home from a day of bossing people around and fall asleep in front of the TV? Or did he read his Bible all night and remind himself how right he’d been, how much he was a victim of his wife’s unfaithfulness and his daughter’s rebellion?

  She turned down her grandmother’s street, and as she neared the house, she killed her headlights. The closer she came, the slower she drove until she was parked in the dark shadows just out front. Sure enough, lights were on inside, and after Ellie watched for five or six minutes, her dad passed by the window. He carried a large box, and she watched him set it on the sofa in the front room. For a while he stood there, staring at it. Then he sat down and pulled something from it.

  Ellie’s heart raced, and her palms felt damp against the steering wheel. He still looked fit and handsome, a decade younger than most men his age. Fresh hurt and anger rushed to the surface. Why didn’t he do something to fix their family? This was her father, after all. How did he live his life every day without trying to make things right with her, his only child? Or with his wife? A sick feeling came over her. She hadn’t done anything to bridge the gaps, either. How did she live this way?

  Her dad seemed consumed by the box and whatever it held. Ellie had no idea what he was doing, and she wondered at the timing that would randomly lead her here and allow her to see this scene play out. Maybe he was going through old pictures, something from his past. Their past. The box was too big to be bills or mail, but it might be full of scrapbooks or yearbooks or photo albums. She had a feeling the box held something purposeful, or he wouldn’t have brought it out to the sofa to look through it.

  Before they moved to San Diego, Ellie had spent years praying for her parents. That they’d stop fighting and get along the way they used to. That they’d laugh and love again. Night after night after night. She narrowed her eyes. What good had it done? Her mom still had the affair and her dad still lived in his bitterness. The two of them had let her go without a chase. Now she wondered if the box held some window to the past for her father. Ghosts from happy days gone by. Maybe the loneliness without his wife and daughter bothered him more than his silence let on.

  She pictured him the way he’d been before they left Savannah. His hug at the end of a day, how he’d taught her how to ride a bike. Even when they moved—as badly as Ellie wanted to stay in Savannah, she believed she and her dad would be okay. And at first he was. His words were kind and helpful, encouraging. He listened to her talk about being let down by her mom and about missing Nolan.

  Things changed when she started school. Instead of a hug, he greeted her at the end of the day with questions. A year later, the questions became accusations. Who were you with? What does he want from you? Why were you out so late? You were drinking, weren’t you? Let me smell your breath. If you’re doing something with those boys, you need to tell me. You know what’ll happen, Ellie . . . you’ll wind up pregnant, just like your mother.

  Enough.

  She ordered the battering memories to stop. If only he’d really known her. The way she never crossed a single line, never cussed or drank or did anything with boys, not until she graduated from high school. By then she felt guilty every time she was around her father, constantly compelled to prove him wrong.

  At a James Taylor concert in the park that summer with her girlfriends, Ellie met C.J. Andrews, a handsome soldier six months from being sent to Iraq. He kept her out late at night and told her things she was desperate to hear. He was in love with her, and he’d waited all his life to meet a girl like her, and he would do anything for her. She was young and naive and inexperienced. On their fourth date, he took her back to his apartment and promised her they wouldn’t go too far. The promises didn’t stop until she had given him everything she had to give.

  As soon as she got out of bed, she ran to the bathroom and threw up. Disgust and fear and filth crashed together inside her, and she demanded he take her home. He only flopped into a chair by his bed. “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

  Ellie had analyzed that terrible night a thousand times, and always she came to the same conclusion. C.J. really thought she’d stay, that he was some sort of gift she couldn’t walk away from. But that was exactly what she did. She left his house that night and walked four miles back to her house. The whole time she couldn’t think about what had just happened or how he’d lied to her or what she’d done.

  She could only think about Nolan.

  How much she missed him and how she wanted to find him in the worst way. She would tell him what happened and ask him to pray with her, to help her find her way back to the innocence of that Savannah summer. But she couldn’t bring herself to call him.

  When she got home that night, her father was waiting up, and for the first time, his accusations were right. Only a harlot stays out this late, Ellie. Where’ve you been, and who’ve you been with? Ellie only stared at him, blinking. Then she ran to her room and barely came out for the next two months.

  By then she knew something was wrong. Her period was late, and she felt sick to her stomach in the mornings. She bought a pregnancy test, and as soon as she had the results, she told her father. There was no point in hiding it from him. She half expected him to kill her. And that would be that. Instead, he pulled out the Bible and forced her to listen to twenty Scriptures on sexual sin and giving in to the flesh. He told her she wouldn’t be allowed out of the house until she could live a godly life.

  His accusations and criticism made it impossible to breathe. That night she packed her things and—just like her mother—she left Alan Tucker for a new life without him. By then Ellie had already started classes at the same beauty school Tina attended. She walked to Tina’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  Her friend took one look at her and pulled her close, hugged her, and welcomed her in without asking questions. Twice, after she’d finished beauty school for the day, her father was standing outside waiting for her. Both times he admonished her, told her she needed to repent and get back into church if she wanted a chance at eternal life.

  Every word came rapid-fire, and Ellie remembered the feeling. How her father didn’t need a gun to kill her. He had the Bible. After his last attempt to save her from hell, he stopped trying.

  With Tina at her side, Ellie had her baby, and a few months later, she got word that C.J. had been killed. She didn’t attend his memorial service. As far as she was concerned, the only part of him that mattered lived in the form of her baby girl. And so began the rest of her life. Through the constant missing of Nolan, Ellie had one reason to live.

  Kinzie Noah. The baby girl neither of Ellie’s parents had ever met.

  Tears filled her eyes, and the image of her dad on the sofa next to the cardboard box grew blurry. She eased her car back onto the road and flipped on her headlights. Enough time in the past.

  The ghosts were suffocating her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ryan Kelly had found her.

  On his first day off from touring with Peyton Anders, he located the doctor’s office where Caroline Tucker worked. It wasn’t hard, really. He Googled Savannah and found a listing for every doctor’s office. Sixteen calls later, he dialed a number and said the same thing he said every time someone picked up. “Caroline Tucker, please.”

  “She’s at lunch.” The voice on the end didn’t hesitate. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh . . .” The response had surprised him. “That’s okay. I’ll . . . I’ll call back.” When he hung up, Ryan pulled his notepad close and scribbled the doctor’s name and contact information. He checked the tour schedule. They had a month left on the road, but tomorrow they were playing the Savannah Civic Center. Chills ran down his neck and arms as he went looking for Peyton.

  Ryan knocked on the singer’s dressing room door.

  Peyton sounded distracted. “Come in.”
<
br />   Ryan opened the door and stepped inside. The singer had a can of beer in his hand, and he was looking over a spreadsheet. He grinned at Ryan. “We’re making a fortune on this tour.” He held up the document. “Proof positive.” He crossed the room and took a spot on one of the couches. “You need to talk?” He took a long swig of beer and stared at his spreadsheet again.

  Ryan waited, allowing the moment the seriousness it deserved. “I found her.”

  Peyton kept his eyes on the numbers. “Who?”

  “Caroline.” Ryan watched for the singer’s reaction. “Caroline Tucker.”

  Slowly, Peyton lowered the paper and set it on the coffee table. “I never asked you to find her.”

  “I wanted to.” Ryan wasn’t worried about Peyton’s reaction. If things got bad between them, he didn’t need the job. Studio work was waiting for him back home. “I haven’t talked to her, but I’m going to see her when we’re in Savannah.”

  Peyton massaged his temple and then the bridge of his nose. “I never should’ve told you.”

  “There could be a child involved.” Ryan paused, containing his frustration. “If she had the baby, if she kept it, wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “Truthfully?” He lifted his eyes to Ryan. “No. I’ll never see the child. Why would I want to know?”

  Ryan took the couch adjacent to the one Peyton sat on. He sat at the edge of the cushion and lowered his voice. “You have an obligation.”

  “Yeah, well,” Peyton muttered the words. “She should’ve protected herself.” He took a drink from his beer. “It’s not my fault.”

  Ryan felt sick. “I’d like you to go with me. I know where she works.”

  Peyton hesitated. Then he leaned toward a built-in drawer, jerked it open, and pulled out what looked like a checkbook. Without explaining himself, he took a pen from the same drawer and scribbled something fast and furious across the front of the top check.

  He ripped it from the book and handed it to Ryan. A quick glance showed that it was for twenty thousand dollars.

  Ryan folded it. “She may not want it.”

  “You can offer.” For the first time since Ryan entered the room, Peyton’s expression softened. “I’d feel better if she took it.” He stood and pulled another beer from the small refrigerator. He looked over his shoulder at Ryan. “Want one?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Right.” Peyton popped the top and returned to his chair. For a long time he didn’t say anything. “You excited about the show? It’s sold out.”

  “I’m still thinking about Caroline Tucker.” Ryan stood and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe you should think about her, too.” He walked toward the door.

  “Wait.”

  Ryan slipped the check into his shirt pocket and looked back. “Yes?”

  “Tell her . . . tell Caroline I’m sorry.”

  His words caught Ryan off guard. “I will.” As he left Peyton’s bus, Ryan was encouraged. God had put him on this tour for a reason.

  He believed he would know why before the last show.

  Five minutes before Caroline’s lunch break, Ryan walked into the doctor’s office where she worked and approached the front desk. Only one woman worked behind the counter, and Ryan guessed it was her. Even now, in her early or mid-forties, the woman was beautiful.

  “Hi.” He kept a professional demeanor. “Are you Caroline Tucker?”

  “Yes.” She positioned herself in front of her computer. “Checking in?”

  “No.” He wanted to explain himself quickly. He looked around to make sure no one was watching. “I’m a guitar player for Peyton Anders.”

  Her hands slowly fell from the keyboard. “Why . . . are you here?”

  “Peyton told me about what happened. My wife and I . . . we wanted to find out what happened to you. Whether you were okay.”

  Shame colored the woman’s face, and she folded her hands tightly together. She looked over her shoulder and then back at Ryan. “Could you wait outside? I have a break in two minutes.”

  “Definitely.” Ryan walked outside and leaned against the redbrick wall. The woman must’ve been shocked. Peyton said over a decade had passed since the two of them had talked. A few minutes later, Caroline came outside. She was shaking despite the afternoon sunshine. Ryan spoke first. “Can I take you for coffee?”

  She looked doubtful, afraid, even. “I’ll drive.”

  “Fine.” Ryan understood how the situation must’ve looked. A stranger walks into her office and asks about her affair with Peyton Anders? Of course Caroline was guarded. Ryan followed her to her car. Lord, use me to help her.

  They drove in silence to a coffee shop a mile away. He paid for their drinks and sandwiches, and they sat at a table in the back corner of the room. She held her nervous hands in her lap and stared at him. “How did you find me?”

  “Peyton said you worked at a doctor’s office in Savannah.”

  She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. Then she folded her arms, hugging her elbows to her thin body. “What does he want?”

  “Nothing.” Ryan needed to get to the point. “Did you keep the baby, the one you had with him?”

  Outrage sparked in her eyes, but it faded as quickly as it came. In its place was fear. “I have a son. He’s ten.”

  Ryan felt his heart sink. “Peyton said your marriage . . . it was in trouble back then.”

  “Of course. My husband . . . he was the love of my life. We grew distant. We let things fall apart.” A sound more cry than laugh came from her. “Peyton was a diversion. It . . . lasted two years.” She looked more nervous than before. “Why is he talking about it now?”

  “I don’t think he told anyone else.” Ryan had no proof, but he believed it, anyway. “My wife and I, we both prayed about you, about the situation. Peyton has a show here tonight.”

  “I know.” Caroline looked down, her shame tangible. “I’m glad he didn’t come see me.”

  Ryan wasn’t sure what to say. When he finished his sandwich, he pulled the check from his wallet. “Here.” He handed it to her. “Peyton wanted you to have this.”

  Caroline looked confused. Several seconds passed after she opened it before anger set in on her features. She ripped the check in half and in half again and dropped the pieces on the table in front of Ryan. Her eyes grew damp, and her hands shook harder than before. “The guy’s a millionaire, and he thinks he can buy me off? For twenty thousand dollars?” She smoothed her hands over her black slacks. “You tell him he can have his money.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ryan was angry with himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. “Peyton wanted me to tell you he was sorry.”

  She lifted her chin, clearly trying to preserve whatever dignity remained. “My son and I are fine. You tell him that. We don’t need his pity or his money.” She breathed out and waited. Fifteen seconds . . . thirty. Gradually, he watched a calm come over her. “We have our faith in God. And we have each other.”

  Ryan felt his heart respond. “My wife and I, we’re believers, too. Is there anything we can do, anything we can pray about?”

  For a single moment Caroline looked like she might dismiss the possibility, deny needing anything, even prayer. But as she stared out the window, tears spilled onto her cheeks. She sniffed and faced Ryan again. “Please . . . pray for my daughter. I lost touch with her after . . .” A series of small sobs caught in her throat, and she covered her face with her hands.

  The woman’s torment was as real as the air between them. You led me to look for her, God, to see if she was okay. Show me how I can help . . . show me my part in this.

  Ryan waited, and finally, she took the napkin from the table and pressed it to her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I have time.”

  She sniffed again and took a few sips of her coffee. “Thank you.” Again she looked out the window. “My affair with Peyton . . .” Her eyes found his. “I lost my family over it. When I told my husband wh
at happened . . . and that I was pregnant, he blew up. He kicked me out.” She wiped at another couple of tears. “Two days later, he took our daughter and moved across the country to San Diego. She was fifteen.” Caroline held the napkin to her face again. Seconds passed before she could find the rest of the words. “Ellie and I . . . we haven’t talked since.”

  Ryan worked on his espresso. The weight of her confession settled around him like so many sandbags.

  “My affair cost me everything.”

  Ryan had questions, but he wanted to wait, to give the moment the space it deserved. “I’m sure she misses you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Caroline seemed to gather herself, as if trying to find her way back to the controlled and collected woman she’d been at the doctor’s office. But her tears kept falling. “I’ve written to her. A letter every week since she left.”

  “You know her address?”

  “Alan’s mother lives in San Diego. I send the letters to her house. They’ve never been returned. I have to assume Ellie is getting them.” Caroline pressed the napkin to her face again. “She’s never written back.” The sounds of the coffee shop filled the moment. Caroline’s grief looked like it could kill her. “Ellie lost a lot, too. She didn’t have a choice about the move. Her best friend—” She stopped short. Almost like she didn’t want to say too much. “He was a basketball player at their high school. They were very close. As far as I know, they lost touch, too.”

  Ryan searched his brain. How could he help her? And why had God placed him here? He didn’t want to bring up the money again, but he had to ask. “Peyton’s money . . . it would at least help you find Ellie.”

  “I don’t want his money.” She spoke the words as if they were poison, as if she couldn’t wait to get them out of her mouth. Another few sips of her coffee, and she looked more composed. “I’ve been saving, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve called around, searched the Internet for her.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, and her fingers trembled again. “She doesn’t want to be found.” Caroline’s voice faded. “It’s not about the money.”