Second Chances

by Abbie Williams

Jackson didn’t move as our eyes met. He too seemed rooted in place, wearing crisp khaki-colored pants and a polo shirt, impeccable even on a casual summer evening. Behind him, up the gently-sloped incline from the lake, the windows of Shore Leave refracted the setting sun in a blinding array of golden-red.

  “Can I join you?” he asked then, still speaking softly.

  I turned away and shrugged, palms up. I heard him sigh, but he was joining me in the next moment, though he chose to take a seat on the glider. Stubbornly I kept my gaze focused away from him; it was so strange to be sitting here under circumstances like this, a place we’d sat together a million times in years past, where we’d occasionally made love, dripping and giggling under the stars after skinny-dipping. When minutes had passed and Jackson hadn’t spoken either I finally gave in and tilted my chin back over my left shoulder to look at him.

  He was sitting with his forearms braced on his thighs, gazing out over the lake with a distant expression, as though his thoughts were perhaps running in a similar direction. He hunched his shoulders a bit and met my gaze, his own frank and serious. But then he softened a little, and even smiled.

  “Your tooth is fixed,” I said, without thinking, and his smile dissipated instantly.

  “I drove into Bemidji and insisted,” he explained.

  “I am sorry about that,” I said after a second. “I never wanted any of that to happen.”

  “So where’s Lover Boy?” he asked then, trying and failing to keep a note of maliciousness from his tone.

  I shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to tell him anything. But shit, he would know sooner than later. I sighed and said, emphasizing his name, “Blythe and Rich are driving back to Oklahoma. And I’m heading down there tomorrow.”

  Jackson’s back straightened abruptly and displeasure curled his upper lip. He snapped, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Jackson,” I warned. “It is none of your business.”

  “Damn right it’s my business!” he cried, his voice just shy of thundering.

  “Keep it down!” I snapped back. We glared at each other for a long moment before I asked, slightly kinder, “What do you want from me?”

  His face was familiar to me in nearly all of its emotions, but whatever rolled across his features just now wasn’t something I’d ever observed. He looked uncertain, and somehow fearful, before smoothing these expressions away behind a mask of anger.

  “What about the girls? I’ll bring them back home with me if you go after that—”

  “You will absolutely not!” I stormed, pulling my legs from the water and rising to my feet, the better to face off with him. To my extreme relief, no one was streaming out of the café to watch. Not like last night.

  “Joelle, they will not stay here—”

  “This is their home!” I raged at him. “And I will be back within a week.”

  Jackson stared at me, bewildered. He asked, “What the hell happened this summer?”

  “What do you mean?” I hedged, no longer yelling since he was not. I even allowed my hands to slip out of the fists I’d planted on my hips.

  “You look different,” he observed, his chin tipped up to study me in a way he hadn’t in years. The sunset light bathed his features, played over his dark curls, so very like our girls’ hair. “The way you used to look.”

  My heart stuttered at that. It was because I was myself again, thanks to Blythe and his incredible love. The thought of him kept my heart at a fast pace and made blood funnel into my cheeks. Oh Blythe, you should be here. Why was I so blind?

  Finally I said, “I feel like myself again.” And then I couldn’t help but clarify, “No thanks to you.”

  Jackson’s mouth twisted a little. He said, “I truly am sorry about everything, Joelle.”

  “How long?” I asked then, watching him intently.

  He knew exactly what I meant, and a deep sigh came through with his response as he admitted, “Since she started.”

  I turned away, still stung at being cheated upon for all those years. I said, “I knew it, you know.”

  “I knew you did, after a while,” he said, his voice just as quiet as mine now was. “And I hated that you didn’t do anything about it.”

  I spun around to gape at him. Realizing how I must look, I snapped my jaw shut.

  “You could have shown me you cared that I was messing around,” he explained, his eyes boring into mine with a mixture of hurt and anger.

  I was too stunned to reply. Was this a petty, retaliatory way of trying to make this my fault?

  “After the first few times I didn’t even feel guilty anymore,” he said, as though he was in a confessional booth. I wanted him to stop, but somehow the words wouldn’t come to me. He seemed to take my silence as permission to continue. “And when you caught us last Christmas, I was actually relieved. But I am sorry you had to…you know…”

  “Watch you fucking another woman?” I whispered then, bitterness in my throat. “Yes, that was so…relieving.”

  “Dammit, I’m trying to be honest with you, Jo,” he said. “I am truly sorry about that.”

  “Will she be good to the girls? Because I’ll kill her,” I said then, and he rolled his eyes at me.

  “She wants kids of our own,” he said. “She’s only 27.”

  I let that one go. After a moment Jackie asked, “What about Milla? Ben Utley’s little brother is the father? She won’t tell me anything.”

  This was slightly safer territory and certainly something we needed to discuss. When Jackson scooted over and indicated that I should sit beside him by tilting his head, I did. Again it was a bizarre sensation; where once I would have tucked myself against his side, I now sat stiff and slightly uncomfortable with the proximity of our thighs.

  “Yes, and he’s a little bastard,” I said.

  Jackie actually laughed and I sensed him shaking his head, though I kept my gaze over the water. He added, “I should probably go and have a come-to-Jesus talk with him. Joan told me the kid plans to go back to college this fall as though nothing happened.”

  I was still incensed over this. “He won’t even talk to us. And Camille won’t tell me how she really feels. I do know she was totally smitten with him this summer.” Again, I was overwhelmed by my own culpability. I heard myself admit, “I should have been watching her more closely. I blame myself.”

  Jackie surprised me by snorting. “Hell, Jo, she’s 17. You can’t guard her every move.”

  “I know,” I said, but my heart still ached for our oldest, whose life would never be the same. We knew that better than anyone, I guess. “But Camille…”

  “I know, her whole world is different now,” Jackie said. “I’m glad she’s got your family. I don’t know how I would handle a pregnant kid in the house.” I knew it. At least he was being honest. He turned to face me and added softly, “Hey, no matter what I will always be there for our girls. Even if you live in Landon. You know that right?”

  I sighed and braved a look back at him. I said honestly, “I know, Jackie.”

  “How has she been feeling?” he asked.

  “She’s just been sleeping all the time now,” I told him. “But she won’t talk to me either. She keeps everything so close to her heart.”

  “She’s always been that way. Tish tells us everything, at least.” And his smile was fond.

  “That’s true.”

  “How are they taking it? Ruthie seems pretty excited, actually.”

  We were conversing normally for the first time in nearly a year. I felt a ribbon of relief stream through me as I replied, “She is, now that a little of the shock has worn off. Tish is still dealing with the fact that this means her big sister had sex.”

  When Jackson cringed visibly at my words, I added, “Sorry.”

  “She’s my baby,” he said softly. “And she’s having a baby. It’s too much. I wasn’t ready for this yet.”

  “None of us were.”

  “It’s how our folks felt b
ack when.”

  “But we won’t make them get married.” About that I was adamant.

  Jackie turned his head to face me in the gloaming light. He asked, his voice soft again, “You wouldn’t have married me back then?”

  I kept my eyes from his as I said, “I don’t know, Jackie. But the decision was out of our hands. We can’t change that now.”

  He looked away and said, “Yeah, it was. But I will make that kid pay her child support.”

  I felt a rush of gratitude that he was taking this in stride, ready to stand up for his daughter. Despite his failings as a husband, he had always been a good father to our girls and for that I was grateful. From above, up on the porch, the screen door suddenly creaked on its hinges and Tish called, “Dad! Phone’s for you in the café!”

  Jackie and I both turned to look over our shoulders to see Tish framed in the door, holding it open with one shoulder, the porch light bathing her in a yellow-orange glow. He called back, “Who is it? I have my phone right here—” he reached for his pocket and then added, “Guess I don’t.”

  “Caller ID said Chicago,” Tish informed.

  “Better get that,” Jackie said low, rising to move around me.

  I didn’t bother to respond, instead reaching for the zillionth time to touch my own cell phone, imagining how close I was to hearing Blythe’s voice, if I dared to dial that number. My heart pounded hard, sending anxious blood and concentrated longing through my body; I missed him so much it hurt. Soon, soon, soon. Soon I’ll see him. I rose and followed in Jackson’s wake, but headed around to the far side of the porch to see if Mom was free; we had to discuss a few things too.

  It was 10:30 and Ellen had locked up the café, leaving Jilly and me on the porch. Mom and Gran were already home, along with Ruthie and Camille, who could barely keep her eyes open an hour ago. Tish, Clint and Clint’s friend Liam were sitting around the fire pit with the dogs, roasting marshmallows. Their conversation, punctuated by an occasional laugh, was a pleasant murmur in the background. The air was yet motionless, save for the constant hum of mosquitoes buzzing near our ears; I sat with my feet propped on an adjacent chair while Jilly leaned her hips against the railing, blowing lazy smoke rings at the lake.

  “Justin’s coming over in a bit,” she said after we’d enjoyed the night in relative silence for a while.

  “I’m glad, Jills, so glad for you guys.”

  She smiled around her cigarette and then roughed up her spiky blond hair. Her eyes were blue as sapphires, clear as crystals. I’d always been jealous of those eyes, fringed in naturally thick, dark lashes. Eyes I knew as well as my own. She blew a long trail of smoke and said, her voice sweetly sincere, “I never thought I’d feel like this again.”

  Christopher Henriksen, Clint’s father, had been Jilly’s husband for just a few short years before he died in a snowmobile accident the winter Clint was three. I’d been living in Chicago then, but Jilly’s grief had been palpable, reaching me even across the miles separating us physically. She’d vowed never to love again, and for a long time I was sure she meant to keep that promise.

  “I’m so happy for you,” I whispered. “God, Jilly, you deserve to be happy.”

  “So do you,” she returned and looked back over her right shoulder at me. “I saw you out there talking to Jackie earlier.”

  I paused for a beat, at last said, “Yeah, we were talking about the kids a little.” I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly hesitant. Jilly’s gaze sharpened instantly and I added, speaking too quickly, “He seemed weird. Reflective. He said…he told me he wished I would have shown him I was angry that he was cheating. It’s like he was hurt that I didn’t do anything about it.”

  Jillian ground out her smoke in the ashtray and then sat near me, her eyes intent. She didn’t seem inclined to speak and so I went on, “He told me that he was actually relieved when I caught him last Christmas. He didn’t have to keep up the charade anymore.”

  “He was the limping horse,” Jilly said finally, as though to herself, and tapped the index finger of her right hand on her lips.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked, but my tone was curious rather than scathing, despite my choice of words. Even though I knew it was about a dream. Jillian and her precognitive flashes; I had learned to take them with a grain of salt, though Great-Aunt Minnie had also been possessed of the gift, and no one had been skeptical of her. Not even Mom.

  Jilly rolled her eyes. “Last night after the fight, I dreamed about a horse limping across a field. A dark brown horse, limping like it was favoring a leg. I woke up speculating it was Blythe, but now I know it was Jackson.”

  “Shouldn’t the horse have been missing a tooth?” I asked, sounding bitter. I swallowed that away and then said, for no real reason other than to irritate her, “Did you know that Jackie’s parents named him after the Johnny Cash song?”

  Jilly shot me the annoyed look I’d been expecting, her eyes crinkling at the corners and lips looking as though she was trying to bite through an apple seed with her incisors.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said, listening to Tish and the boys goofing off in the background. “That used to be our favorite song. Jackie would sing it in the shower.”

  “He’s limping to make you feel sorry for him.”

  “I know,” I said, quietly, lacing my fingers and fitting my thumbnails together.

  “He’ll keep limping.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, sounding more accusatory than I’d intended. But Jillian was silent, putting on her enigmatic face.

  “Jillian Rae, I would never fall for a lame horse,” I said. God, did she think I was that pathetic?

  At last she sighed and then reached over with one hand to hook her fingers through mine. She said, “I know, Jo, but I had a shiver for a moment there.”

  “Then put on a sweatshirt,” I suggested. I wasn’t sure if I meant that to be bitchy or not; fortunately Justin’s truck suddenly beamed its headlights across the parking lot and Jilly chose to ignore my comment. She sat up straight, fussing with her hair once again.

  Uncharacteristically, she wondered aloud, “Do I look all right?”

  “You look amazing, like usual,” I said, then teased, “What does it matter what you look like just to go have sex?”

  Jillian whapped my shoulder as she rose to her feet, slipped on her sandals, and called good-bye to the kids. Clint called back, “See you, Mom!” in his usual cheery fashion.

  “Have fun,” I chirped.

  “See you in the morning,” she added, over her shoulder. “I’ll get up to say bye.”

  “Thanks, Jilly Bean,” I said, utterly sincere.

  Justin leaned out of his window to wave, and I waved back, then helped myself to the pack of smokes that Jillian had left abandoned on the table. I lit one as the truck pulled out of the lot, just in time to hear my middle daughter’s voice calling over, “I see that, Mom!”

  “Dammit, go to bed!” I called back, only half-kidding.

  But, heartless teens that they were, all three just laughed.

  I ambled back to the house, but found I wasn’t ready yet for bed. I stood for a time in the wedge of light from the fridge before finally closing it without finding anything worth eating, my thoughts flowing back to the night less than a month ago when Blythe and I had crept back to the house during our annual Fourth of July Eve event to make love in the kitchen. I leaned on the same countertop now, at last tipping my forehead against it, thinking of him.

  What if he tells you it won’t work? What if he tells you to go back to Minnesota and forget about him for good?

  My heart scattered panicky blood around my body at the thought. I lifted my head and felt woozy for a moment. If I tried to go to sleep now I would just lie awake for hours worrying. At last I fumbled in the dark kitchen for the old gray hooded sweatshirt that Mom kept hanging on the hook by the back door. Slipping into its ratty warmth, I decided that I’d sit and stargaze until I felt ready to face my bed.
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  I met Tish, Clint and Liam coming towards the house on my return trip to the café.

  “Jeez, Mom, aren’t you going to bed?” Tish asked.

  “I’m just going to sit for a little bit longer,” I told her. The boys were trying to put one another in a headlock, Clint with his unmistakable hee-hawing laugh. He sounded just like his dad, and in the darkness he could have been Chris. I refocused on Tish and said, “I’ll come up and say good-night.”

  “K, Mom,” she agreed, and then embraced me for just a second, but tightly. I kissed her hair.

  “G’night, Aunt Joey,” Clint added, breaking free of his friend to kiss my cheek.

  “Aw, ‘night Clinty,” I returned, and then they all took off at a gallop.

  And I continued on through the stillness of the night.

  Some time later I came awake with a jolt, realizing I’d dozed off on one of the porch chairs. A mosquito tickling my left temple with its bite woke me and I slapped at it in irritation, glad I was at least wearing jeans and the hooded sweatshirt. Shit, I was probably bitten in two dozen new places anyway though. I stretched, noticing the moon was in a new position on the black backdrop of the sky, hearing the high-pitched trill of the gray tree frogs, the grunting bass of the bullfrogs, and the fiddling crickets harmonizing in a grand cacophony of night sounds. Their noise always seemed to escalate after midnight; likewise, a breeze had blown in over the lake, cooling the air but not strong enough to chase away the mosquitoes. I knew sleep would come if I went back to the house now, but decided to have one last smoke before heading that way. I was standing against the porch rail, exhaling slowly, watching the lake as it lay cloaked in the muted shades of night when someone just behind me asked, “When did you start smoking again?”

  I simultaneously gasped and started so hard I dropped the butt, whirling around to confront Jackson as he appeared unexpectedly for the second time this evening. He was standing with one foot on the bottom step, watching me. He was slightly more disheveled than he’d been earlier and he was also drunk. A slow-burn kind of drunk; obviously he’d been imbibing for hours. I pressed a hand to my chest in an instinctive reaction to calm my startled heart.