Second Chance Summer

by Irene Hannon

  Fletch let out a slow breath, feeling as he had the day his ten-year-old buddy Justin Hoff had suckered him into taking care of his vegetable plot while the family went on vacation for two weeks. “It’ll be easy,” Justin had said. “Just water it with the hose every other day and pull a few weeds.”

  Ha.

  Fletch had ended up waging a battle against an army of rabbits intent on decimating the lettuce patch. Hauled bucket after bucket of water across the street several times a day when the Hoffs’ hose burst and the temperature soared during a record-breaking heat wave. Blistered his hands pulling the rampant weeds that thrived in the scorching weather even as the vegetables withered.

  And in the end, what had he had to show for his efforts?

  A miffed friend who thought he’d fallen down on the job, a painful sunburn and a lingering feeling he’d been had.

  His gut told him this project could leave him with the same feeling.

  Yet as he gazed at the Good Samaritans around the table and thought about the problem-plagued families in the file he’d skimmed, he couldn’t say no.

  “I think I can spare a few hours here and there.”

  “Wonderful!” Eleanor sent him another dazzling smile, tapped the papers in front of her into a neat pile and stood. “Now let’s eat cake.”

  When he rose, the rest of the good-intentioned group crowded around him, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, assuring him they would be grateful for any time he could spare.

  But as the minister guided him toward the food table, he hoped their good intentions weren’t paving a path toward a place he’d prefer to avoid.

  * * *

  “Were you serious yesterday morning, when you offered to help out at Francis House, dear?” Aunt El set a plastic-wrap-covered plate on the kitchen table. “This is supposed to be your vacation.”

  “Very serious.” Rachel lifted the edge of the plastic and pressed her fingers against the crumbs—all that remained of the cinnamon coffee cake her aunt had baked for this morning’s meeting at church. “I see your cake was a hit.”

  “Yes. And the meeting went well, too. It was so generous of Fletch to make that contribution. Such a nice man, don’t you think?”

  Rachel captured the last crumb and popped it in her mouth instead of responding.

  “Don’t you think?” Aunt El prodded.

  “Think what?”

  “That Fletch is a nice man.”

  “Seems to be.”

  Her aunt heaved a sigh and tugged the plate away from her. “I’ll add your name to the list of volunteers before I make up the work schedule.” She crossed to the sink and deposited the plate. “As for Fletch...”

  The phone trilled.

  Yes! Perfect timing.

  Rachel lunged for it. “I’ll get that.”

  “Help yourself. I need to put this in my bedroom.” Eleanor indicated the sweater in her hand. “Reverend Carlson keeps that meeting room like an icebox. Must be his Wisconsin upbringing.”

  While her aunt moved down the hall, Rachel snagged the phone from the holder and greeted the caller.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Mary Richards from guest relations at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel. One of our guests would like to speak with you. A Carolyn Butler.”

  Madeleine’s mother?

  Odd.

  Rachel picked up the pen from beside the pad of paper by the phone. “If you’ll give me her phone number, I’ll call her.”

  The woman recited it. “That’s her cell. I just spoke with her, and she sounded quite anxious to reach you.”

  “I’ll call her as soon as we hang up. Thanks for passing on the message.”

  Once they said their goodbyes, Rachel pressed the switch hook, waited for the dial tone and tapped in the number.

  The woman answered on the first ring, an almost palpable distress quivering through her taut hello.

  “Ms. Butler? This is Rachel Shaw. I babysat your...”

  “Yes, I know who you are. Thank you for calling so quickly. Look...I don’t mean to impose, but Madeleine’s sick and...” Her voice broke.

  Rachel’s heart skipped a beat, and she tightened her grip on the phone. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “They think it might be appendicitis. Here’s the thing. She’s really scared, and she keeps asking for you.” Once again her voice choked. “I know it’s a huge imposition, but I wondered if you might be able to come by for a few minutes. We’re in the E.R. at the hospital in Brunswick.”

  “Yes.” Rachel didn’t hesitate. “I’ll get there as fast as I can. Tell Madeleine I’m on my way.”

  As she said goodbye and dropped the phone back into the cradle, Eleanor returned to the kitchen.

  “I made some chicken salad if you’d—” Her aunt came to an abrupt halt. “What’s wrong?”

  Rachel grabbed her purse and gave her the shorthand version while she groped for her keys.

  “My. Madeleine must have been very taken with you.”

  Only because she was in desperate need of a mother figure—but Rachel left that unsaid. No need for Aunt El to worry about the neglected child, too.

  “We spent the whole day together.” She started for the door. “I guess she had a lot of fun. I have no idea when I’ll be back. Don’t wait dinner for me.”

  “Do you know how to get there?”

  Rachel stopped. “No.”

  “Call me from the outskirts of town and I’ll walk you through the directions.”

  She hesitated, then pushed the door open. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  She’d just have to trust that Aunt El was better at phone directions than she was at passing on verbal instructions for her killer coffee cake. Forgetting to mention that the egg whites were supposed to be beaten had led to a dud that was still the butt of jokes in the teachers’ lounge.

  But half an hour later, as the hospital’s E.R. entrance came into sight, it was clear her aunt was more adept at relaying routes than recipes.

  “I’m here.” Rachel pulled in and inspected the packed lot, searching for an empty spot. Once she homed in on one, she accelerated toward it. “I’ll call you when I know...”

  Thwump. Thwump. Thwump.

  What in the world was that weird noise?

  “Rachel? Your phone must have cut out. I missed whatever you just said.”

  Struggling with the suddenly uncooperative wheel, she pulled into the empty spot.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hang on a sec.” She set the brake, pushed her door open and slid out with a sinking feeling. She’d heard a noise like that once before, years ago.

  Hoping she was wrong, she circled the car.

  She wasn’t.

  Her right front tire was flat as the proverbial pancake.

  Expelling a breath, she snagged the phone off the seat, set the locks and started toward the entrance of the hospital. “I’m back, Aunt El. You’re never going to believe this. I have a flat tire.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. And there you are on a mission of mercy.” She tut-tutted. “Sometimes I have to wonder what the good Lord is thinking.”

  You and me both.

  “It could be worse, I suppose.” Rachel picked up her pace. “Though I have to admit, changing a tire isn’t high on my list of favorite activities.”

  “Now don’t you even think about doing such a thing. After living here all these years, I have people lined up for jobs like that. I know just who to call. You go see that little girl and don’t spend a minute worrying about that tire.”

  “You’re a life saver.” The doors to the E.R. whooshed open and she headed straight for the intake desk.

  “Hold that thought.
And call me later with an update.”

  The phone clicked off, and Rachel shoved it in her purse as she approached the window.

  “Could you let Carolyn Butler know I’m here? Her daughter, Madeleine, was brought in earlier with a possible case of appendicitis.”

  The woman consulted the computer screen in front of her. “She’s in the surgical waiting room. Let me give you directions.”

  Surgical waiting room. It must have been appendicitis after all.

  Five minutes later, she found Carolyn slumped in a chair in one corner of the sterile room, her head in her hands.

  At least the woman wasn’t on her cell or laptop, trying to catch up on email while the doctor operated.

  A twinge of guilt pricked her conscience.

  Not very Christian, Rachel. The woman’s obviously distraught. Cut her a little slack.

  Doing her best to refrain from judging, Rachel approached Madeleine’s mother. “Ms. Butler?”

  The woman looked up. It took a second for recognition to dawn in her eyes. “It’s Carolyn. And thank you for coming.”

  “How’s Madeleine?”

  “In surgery. Her white blood count was off the charts.” She closed her eyes, and her features contorted. “I should have listened when she started complaining about a stomachache on Monday night. But I assumed it was just some bug, you know?” The woman looked at her, seeking reassurance.

  The one thing Rachel couldn’t offer.

  Because she’d struggled with plenty of second thoughts herself, gone through the whole “should have” list over and over and over again.

  She still did.

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she took the seat beside Carolyn. “What did the doctors say?”

  The woman combed her fingers through her not-so-stylishly mussed hair. “That I shouldn’t blame myself. That diagnosing appendicitis in children is tough because they don’t have a lot of the typical adult symptoms. That if it ruptures, she could have life-threatening complications.” Her face crumpled. “I still feel like such a terrible mother. I never realized how disconnected I’d become from her until she asked for you in the E.R. I was standing right there, and she wanted you.”

  Rachel remained silent. What could she say in response to the woman’s anguished words?

  Madeleine’s mother didn’t seem to expect a reply. Her focus remained on the carpet, the knuckles of her knotted fingers whitening. “The thing is, I’ve always been career-focused. My husband worked hard, too, but he was better at balancing things. He travelled quite a bit, but when he was home, he was home. You know what I mean?”

  Yeah, she did. Mark had been like that, too—a hard worker with rock-solid priorities. God and family had always come first.

  He’d have made a wonderful father.

  Her stomach kinked, and she gritted her teeth. Now wasn’t the time to rehash all that. She needed to put her own regrets aside and focus on the distraught woman beside her.

  “Steve tried to get me to see the light, to realize I was missing out on the important stuff in life. But I couldn’t dial it down. Eventually I got to the point where I never left work behind. So he left me.” Carolyn sniffed. “All because I was s-scared.”

  Not what Rachel had expected.

  “Why were you scared?”

  The woman finally looked up, a world of hurt in her eyes. “Because you can’t count on other people. When I was ten, my father walked out the door one night and never came back. After watching my mom struggle for years to keep a roof over our heads, I vowed I’d never put myself in that position. So I worked hard. Too hard, I guess. Harder still since Steve left. I have to make sure I can provide for Madeleine, you know?” She swiped at her tears. “Now I have a great job—but my husband’s gone and my daughter would rather be comforted by a kind woman she just met than her own mother. I don’t even think she loves me anymore.”

  As Carolyn fished in her purse and withdrew a tissue, Rachel took a long, slow breath.

  This was why you shouldn’t judge people. Things weren’t always as clear-cut as they seemed. Carolyn wasn’t a mother more enamored with her job than her child. She was a woman who bore scars and feared rejection. A woman who was running scared and making bad decisions based on the past, not the present.

  She was a woman who needed understanding and guidance, not criticism.

  “Madeleine does love you.” Rachel leaned forward and touched her hand. “And she wants to know you love her, too. If she didn’t care anymore, she wouldn’t have asked you to look at her artwork yesterday.”

  A glimmer of something—perhaps hope—flashed in the woman’s eyes. Then it dimmed. “But I didn’t have time for her.”

  “You could change that going forward. I’m a grade-school art teacher, and I’ve seen remarkable things happen when parents make more time for their children.”

  “I’d like to think that could happen.”

  “There’s no reason it couldn’t.”

  The woman bit her lower lip. “Except after this, Steve may not give me a second chance. He wanted custody when we separated. He might push harder now.”

  “Maybe not—if you’re willing to make some changes.”

  As Carolyn’s expression grew thoughtful, a man in surgical scrubs appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Butler?”

  Carolyn vaulted to her feet. “Here.”

  The surgeon crossed the room and joined them. “Let’s sit for a minute and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

  Rachel started to rise, but Carolyn waved her back into her seat, making it clear she wanted her to stay.

  And as the physician pulled up a chair, Rachel prayed for good news about Madeleine—and for a fresh start for her fractured family.

  Chapter Six

  He could have called Rachel on her cell—or simply finished the job and walked away. There was no need to make personal contact.

  Except he wanted to.

  Ignoring the little voice in his head telling him this wasn’t the best way to stay uninvolved, Fletch dodged a meal cart and checked the pediatric-floor room numbers along the corridor. It should be the next one.

  As he approached, conversation filtered out.

  “...and Daddy will arrive soon.” An unfamiliar female voice.

  A child responded, too softly to discern the words.

  “I’m here, honey.” Rachel.

  “Will you stay?” The little girl again.

  “Of course. At least until your daddy gets here.”

  Fletch paused on the threshold. Given how upset she’d been yesterday, he wasn’t surprised Rachel had come running when Madeleine asked for her. But according to Eleanor, she’d been here since noon—almost six hours. And he had a feeling she’d spend the night if the little girl asked.

  Funny. Based on their first encounter at the beach, he’d never have guessed she had such a sensitive and compassionate heart.

  Just went to show how easy it was to jump to wrong conclusions.

  Lifting his hand, he gave one quick knock on the open door and stepped inside.

  Three people looked his direction—but his focus was on Rachel, who was holding the young patient’s hand.

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly. “What are you doing here?”

  He held up the spare car key he’d found secured with a magnet inside her front wheel well—just where Eleanor had said it would be. “Jack’s Garage, at your service. Can I talk to you for a minute?” He inclined his head toward the hall and retreated.

  Rachel joined him a moment later, frustration etched on her features. “I can’t believe Aunt El called you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A faint flush stained her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “Wrong order, but I’ll
take it.” Fletch handed over the key and gestured toward the room. “How’s she doing?”

  “The prognosis is excellent. Thankfully, her appendix didn’t rupture.” Rachel examined the key, then slid it into the pocket of her capris and exhaled. “Look, I’m sorry Aunt El bothered you. When she told me she’d amassed all kinds of resources for stuff like this during her years on Jekyll and knew just who to call, I didn’t have a clue it was you. I apologize for the imposition.”

  “It wasn’t an imposition.” That was a stretch. Eleanor had interrupted him in the middle of a complicated schematics review—but he could pick that up again later tonight. He propped one shoulder against the wall and folded his arms, assessing the faint shadows under eyes. “You look tired—and stressed.”

  She made a face. “Hospitals aren’t my favorite place.”

  “Mine, either.”

  As Fletch fought back a wave of unpleasant memories, he caught sight of a tall, late-thirtyish man striding down the hall, his tie askew, his face taut with worry. He was heading straight for Madeleine’s room. After giving them a distracted glance, he brushed by and entered.

  “Madeleine’s father, I presume. Why don’t we give them a few minutes alone?” He gestured toward the waiting room he’d passed on his way from the elevator.

  Rachel hesitated. “You don’t need to hang around.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “No. Trying not to take up any more of your day—and to figure out how to repay you for taking care of my tire.”

  “No repayment necessary.”

  “I don’t like being in people’s debt.”

  “You only incur debt if you borrow. I donated.” He took her arm and guided her down the hall, indicating a soda machine as they entered the waiting room. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Why don’t I get you one?” Already she was rummaging through her purse.

  Since she seemed set on a concrete thank-you, he relented. “A Sprite sounds good.”

  After purchasing two sodas, Rachel joined him in the corner and claimed the chair beside him.

  He popped the tab on his. “Eleanor gave me the topline. You want to fill in the details?”