The Ghost of Second Chances

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “Can I get you anything before I go upstairs?” Joanne asked.

  “No, thank you,” Walt said. “But I appreciate you asking.”

  Joanne chuckled and walked all the way into the parlor. She glanced at the book Walt was reading.

  “What’s funny?” Walt asked, looking over the book he held.

  “I have to give you credit. You certainly are making an effort to be cordial.”

  “I suspect it takes as much effort being friendly as rude, and I don’t see the point in being rude for no reason,” Walt told her.

  “I wonder if you felt you had a reason to be rude to me.” Joanne’s question wasn’t asked in a snarky manner but delivered with sincere curiosity.

  “The reason being I was an ass?” Walt asked with a chuckle.

  Joanne laughed. She then paused and glanced at the book. “I see you found something to read.”

  “It looks interesting.”

  “From what I recall, you didn’t enjoy reading.”

  Walt smiled at Joanne. “I think we should be open to new experiences. If I didn’t enjoy reading before, perhaps it’s time I learned.”

  “If you enjoy the book and decide you want to finish it, you might want to tell Danielle you’re reading it, before she puts it away and you can’t find it again.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Danielle always keeps a book on the coffee table in here. But she regularly rotates them, and when she sets a new one out, the last one goes back in the bookshelf in the library. I remember once when I first started working for her, I asked her if she or Lily was reading the book sitting on the parlor table, and when she said no, I started to put it back in the library. But she stopped me and said she liked to keep a book sitting out on the parlor table—liked the way it looks.” Joanne paused a moment and then chuckled before saying, “But then I noticed the next week it was a different book. Since then, each week it always seems to be a new book.”

  That’s because I was the one who used to leave the books in here when I was reading them, Walt thought to himself.

  “Although, if I’m not mistaken, I believe that one is from the public library, not one of ours. So perhaps Danielle is reading it.”

  Walt flipped to the front cover of the book and looked inside. He smiled up at Joanne. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “I have to say Danielle does love her books.” Joanne then took a deep breath and glanced around, a frown furrowing her brows.

  “Is something wrong?” Walt asked.

  She shook her head, still frowning. “Wrong? Not really. But I just realized I haven’t smelled it in days.”

  “Smelled what?”

  Joanne shrugged. “Old houses have their own peculiar smell. Every once in a while, I get a whiff of cigar. At least, that’s what it reminded me of. It would come and go. No room in particular…odd…”

  Before Walt had a chance to respond, the doorbell rang.

  “If you will excuse me, I’d better get that,” Joanne said before hurrying off to answer the front door.

  When Joanne answered the door a few minutes later, she came face-to-face with a forty-something man who looked vaguely familiar.

  “I’m here to see Danielle Boatman,” he announced.

  “I’m afraid Danielle is out right now,” Joanne explained, not asking him into the house.

  “Oh, really?” He looked disappointed. “I’m a very good friend of Danielle’s. Do you know when she’s going to be back?”

  Joanne glanced at her watch and then looked back at the man, her hand clutching the edge of the door. “And your name?”

  “My name is Chet Morrison.”

  “Chet Morrison! Yes, that’s why you look so familiar. You’re Laverne’s brother. I’m Joanne Johnson.”

  Chet smiled. “Yes. I remember you now. Nice to see you again. I remember you used to clean this house. You stayed when Danielle took over the place?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” Joanne asked.

  “No, she didn’t mention it.”

  Joanne opened the door wider. “Danielle should be home soon. Would you like to wait for her?”

  “Thank you. Yes, I would.”

  “Come, you can wait in the parlor.”

  After Chet walked into the house, Joanne closed the door behind him and showed him to the parlor. When the pair walked into the small room, Walt looked up from the book he was reading.

  “Chet, this is one of our guests, Walt Marlow,” Joanne introduced. “Mr. Mar…Walt…this is a good friend of Danielle’s, Chet Morrison.”

  Walt closed the book and set it on his lap. He arched his brow and said, “Really?”

  Chet walked to Walt and extended his hand in greeting. Curious, Walt accepted the handshake and studied the man.

  “Chet is going to wait in here for Danielle, while I get back to work. She shouldn’t be long. You two can keep each other company.”

  “Any chance I could get a cup of coffee?” Chet asked as Joanne was about to leave the room.

  She paused and looked back at him. “Certainly. I have some quiche. Would you like a piece with your coffee?”

  “Quiche?” Chet scowled. His stomach growled. “Uhh, yeah. Quiche would be great.”

  After Joanne left to get the quiche and coffee, Chet took a seat and grumbled, “Damn, I hate quiche. Wussy food.”

  “If you don’t like quiche, why did you tell her you want some?” Walt asked.

  Chet shrugged. “I didn’t get a chance to have breakfast this morning. I’m starved.”

  “Why is quiche…what did you call it…wussy food?” Walt asked.

  Chet frowned. “Seriously? Real men don’t eat quiche.”

  Walt had no idea what Chet was talking about. He didn’t respond, but instead he opened his book and lifted it up, pretending to read while he periodically peered over the cover to watch Chet, who was busy glancing around the room, checking everything out. A few minutes later, Joanne returned with the quiche and coffee and then left the room.

  As Chet devoured the quiche, Walt closed his book and set it on his lap. “Does this mean you aren’t a real man?”

  Chet glanced up to Walt and rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha.” He then picked up his coffee and took a sip, almost burning his mouth. It was piping hot. He set it back on the table to cool off.

  “So tell me, how is it you know Danielle?” Walt asked.

  Chet shrugged. “Danielle and I…we hang out sometimes.”

  “Hang out?”

  Chet smiled over at Walt. “To be honest, she sort of has a thing for me.”

  “She does? I didn’t realize Danielle was seeing anyone.”

  Now finished with the quiche, Chet sat back on the sofa and crossed one leg over the opposing knee, taking up a good portion of the sofa. “I like to keep things casual, but, well, she wants more.”

  “She does?”

  “When a woman makes drastic changes to please a man, it’s usually a sign they want more than friendship from him. But frankly, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

  “What kind of changes?” Walt asked.

  Chet grinned. “She used to have really long hair. I told her she should cut it, and the next day, she did.”

  So that’s who you are, Walt thought. The man who thinks a way to a woman’s heart is through insult.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud meow at the door. Chet turned to the meow and watched as Max sauntered into the room.

  “A cat?” Chet said.

  Max sat down in the middle of the parlor, between Chet and Walt. He glanced from man to man.

  “He’s Danielle’s cat. I’m surprised you don’t know him. She absolutely adores Max. In fact, from what I understand, she’s broken up with fellows who didn’t get along with her cat,” Walt told him.

  Chet shrugged. “Yeah? Well, cats love me.” Chet leaned down and put out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Sitting still, his tail swishing back and
forth, Max looked to Walt; their eyes met.

  “Here, kitty, kitty…” Chet repeated.

  Max looked from Walt to Chet and then back to Walt. He meowed and then turned toward Chet and leapt up onto the sofa.

  “See, cats like me,” Chet boasted.

  Just as Chet picked up his cup of hot coffee to take a sip, Max stepped into his lap and settled down, as if preparing to take a nap. He started to purr.

  Chet laughed. “See, the cat loves me.”

  Just as Chet was about to sip his coffee, a purring cat nestled on his lap, Max looked over to Walt, their eyes again meeting.

  Suddenly Chet let out a tortured shriek, throwing his cup and sending some of the hot coffee into his own face. He tried to stand up, but the cat remained firmly attached—back and front claws digging painfully into the thighs of his denims, refusing to let go.

  “Get this cat off me!” he shouted. Reluctant to grab at the cat, afraid he would then find razor-sharp feline teeth in his hands, Chet wailed pitifully.

  I think that’s enough, Max.

  Max released his hold and flew from the sofa, heading out of the parlor.

  Eleven

  Walt set the book he had been holding on the end table. Leaning down, he picked up the crutches he had set next to the chair and awkwardly stood up. Chet had hurried to the downstairs bathroom after his encounter with the cat. Walt assumed it was to assess the damage. Considering the thick denims Chet wore, Walt didn’t believe Max had done any real harm, just mild discomfort.

  After hobbling to the open doorway, Walt looked down the entry hall to the bathroom. Its door was closed, and Max stood nearby, looking from Walt to the door.

  Walt stared at Max.

  You’d better make yourself scarce when he comes out. I don’t want him kicking you. And don’t go outside when he’s in his car. I don’t want him sending you to the other side. Don’t be alone with him.

  Max resisted the temptation to meow in response. He turned, disappearing down the hall. He hadn’t survived this long by being overly foolish.

  Danielle was about to turn into her driveway when she spied an unfamiliar vehicle parked behind Joanne’s car in front of Marlow House. She pulled behind the strange car and parked.

  “Who’s here?” Danielle muttered as she stepped onto the sidewalk and made her way toward the unfamiliar vehicle. Checking out the car, she noted it had Missouri license plates. Considering its condition, she was surprised it had made it all the way from Missouri to Oregon.

  A few moments later she was sprinting up to her house and unlocking the front door. When she opened it, she found Walt standing alone in the entry hall, just outside the parlor.

  “Hey, Walt,” Danielle greeted him. “I’m surprised you’re inside. It’s beautiful outside right now.”

  “The last time I looked, it was raining,” Walt told her as he glanced from Danielle to the closed door of the powder room.

  “It stopped raining about fifteen minutes ago.” Danielle shut the door behind her. “Do you know whose car is parked in front of the house?”

  Walt motioned to the bathroom. “You have company.”

  “Someone’s here? Who?”

  Before Walt had a chance to explain, Chet came walking out of the bathroom. Looking down, Chet stepped gingerly, wincing uncomfortably with each step. However, the moment he spied Danielle, his gait instantly changed, reminding Walt of one of those saddle-sore cowboys trying to tough it out after a prolong time on a horse.

  “You?” Danielle stammered.

  Chet flashed her a grin and walked toward her, masking the flashes of pain he experienced with each step as denim rubbed against his scratched skin. Silently, he told himself to just be thankful the stupid cat hadn’t sunk his claws in a little higher. He felt ill at that possibility and forced a smile.

  “I was hoping I could talk to you a moment.” Chet glanced over at Walt and then back to Danielle. “Alone.”

  “What do we have to talk about?” Danielle asked.

  Max, who had been peeking out from around a plant, caught Walt’s attention.

  Okay, Max, Danielle is here, and you don’t need to hide. In fact, I think it might be a good time to keep her company—if you know what I mean.

  Max let out a loud meow. Chet, who had been walking toward Danielle, stopped abruptly and stared down at the cat, who was running toward his human.

  “Aw, Max, did you miss me?” Danielle cooed. She leaned down and scooped Max up in her arms. He settled down and began to purr.

  Walt resisted his temptation to laugh at Chet, who he was certain had turned green at the sight of the black cat now snuggling in Danielle’s arms.

  “I’ll give you privacy. I know no one’s in the living room,” Walt told them.

  Danielle flashed Walt a glare yet wondered what his bemused expression was all about.

  Stay with her, Max. If she needs me, you know where I am.

  Reluctantly, Danielle led Chet into the living room. She took a seat on one of the chairs while he sat on the sofa, facing her and eyeing the cat nervously.

  “I really am busy. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Danielle asked.

  “This is strictly business,” Chet told her.

  “Business?”

  Chet started to cross one leg over the opposing knee, but winced and changed his mind, setting both feet on the floor in front of the sofa, his man-spread wide.

  “I need to find somewhere to stay, but considering how busy I am, it seems foolish to rent a house or even an apartment. And then I remembered Adam mentioned you rent rooms here.”

  “We’re a bed and breakfast, not a boardinghouse.” Danielle absently stroked Max’s back. The cat’s eyes remained locked on Chet.

  “I understand Mr. Marlow is renting a room here.”

  “Mr. Marlow is a guest of the B and B,” Danielle explained.

  “Boardinghouse or B and B, what’s it matter what you call it?” Chet laughed. “You still rent rooms, and I would like to rent one.”

  “For one thing, the B and B is not currently accepting any new guests. We’re taking a little vacation.”

  “But Marlow is staying here.”

  Danielle smiled sweetly. “Mr. Marlow is an exception because of his tragic accident. But like I said, we aren’t taking any new guests for a while.”

  “Since you already have someone staying here, I don’t see what it will matter if you take one more,” Chet argued. “You have empty bedrooms, and I would like to rent one.”

  “I’m sure you can get a room at the Sea Horse Motel. It’s very nice over there.”

  “I doubt there’ll be anything available at the Sea Horse right now, not with spring break going on. Plus, it’s a motel.”

  “So? What’s wrong with a motel?” Danielle asked. “You said you just wanted a room, and that’s pretty much what a motel is—they rent rooms.”

  “It would cost a fortune staying at a motel,” Chet grumbled. “Surely you can take pity on me.”

  “I’m not sure what you imagined our rates are, but I can assure you they are higher than what the Sea Horse Motel charges.”

  Chet flashed Danielle a broader smile. “Aw, come on, Danielle, stop being mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? I don’t even know you.”

  “I know I embarrassed you about your haircut. I’m sorry about that. But I was right. You look really great in short hair. Maybe if you work a little on the makeup like I suggested, you could really be a knockout.”

  Danielle groaned. Max, who continued to sit in her lap, could feel her body tense.

  “I’m sure we can work out some reasonable price for a monthly rate, and then you won’t have to worry about renting one of your rooms when you decide to open up again,” Chet told her.

  Before Danielle could reply, Max leapt down from her lap and strolled toward Chet. Chet, who was just hitting his stride, froze a moment and watched as the cat made his way to the sofa.

  “Umm…maybe you can
keep your cat away from me?” Chet stammered.

  The next moment Max jumped onto the sofa. Chet stood abruptly and moved away from the cat, who continued to walk in his direction.

  “I’m not renting you a room,” Danielle announced as she stood up. “You need to leave now.”

  Eyeing the cat nervously, Chet accepted Danielle’s pronouncement and fled from the room with a hasty goodbye.

  A few moments later Danielle stood at the window by the front door. She looked out and watched Chet rush toward the street. “I think he’s afraid of cats,” she muttered.

  “Danielle, I see you’re back. Did you see Chet?” Joanne asked after she came downstairs a minute later.

  “Chet, that’s right. I was trying to remember what his name was,” Danielle said aloud, speaking more to herself.

  “I thought he was a good friend of yours?” Joanne asked.

  “Chet seems to have a problem grasping the true nature of relationships,” Danielle said.

  Joanne frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Danielle glanced briefly to the closed front door. “I don’t know him well. I’ve met him a couple of times. Not someone I consider a friend.”

  “I’m sorry I let him in,” Joanne apologized. “He said you were good friends, and he isn’t exactly a stranger to me; I know his sister.”

  “No problem.” Danielle flashed Joanne a smile.

  “I’ve just always liked his sister, Laverne. I always felt sorry for her.”

  “Why was that?” Danielle resisted the temptation to ask if it was because she had a jerky brother.

  “Their parents died in a house fire a number of years ago—tragic, really. I always felt especially sorry for Laverne. A sweet girl, although she could have a bit of a temper, as I recall. But who could really blame her? She took care of her parents for years—they had serious medical issues, both of them. And she practically raised her brother.”

  “You mean Chet?” Danielle asked.

  Joanne nodded. “Yes. It was just the two of them; Laverne was the oldest. She’s just a few years younger than me. I don’t remember much about Chet. Although, I believe when he was younger, he used to hang out with Adam Nichols. And Adam, well, he was a bit wild as a teen.”