Chances Are

by Parker, Mysti

  He found her phone in her bag and put it on the charger in the kitchen.

  Phones. All this time he had been thinking his life was nothing but endless computer screens and bullshit phone calls and columns of numbers that said nothing about kids’ heads and hearts. And he had tried to train himself to accept that she would never touch him again and that he would never again feel right because the woman his heart craved was no longer beside him.

  He had no clothes left in the bedroom, but he went up to the attic and found some in an old suitcase. He dressed in torn jeans and a sweater with holes that she had told him to throw out but that he had packed instead. There was no underwear, no t-shirt; he dressed without either.

  Their lovemaking had been hot. He had felt her burning where their bodies met. He had wanted to touch her everywhere at once, had tried to wrap all his limbs around her to feel the tingling of their skins everywhere. He tried to hold her taste in his mouth and her scent all over him.

  He went down to the kitchen and explored the pantry and the fridge for breakfast ingredients. Not enough eggs, but there was a packet of yeast. He checked—not expired. Perfect.

  As he worked with mixing bowls and wooden spoons, he thought it through. Maybe he was trying to be like a father to Mike Byrne. Without his wife, he would never be father to any child of his own, and divorce or not, Natalie was his wife, his only wife forever. Even if he had gone to bed with Gwen, that time in her house, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere beyond mindless sex. He was a one-woman man, and Natalie was that woman. Having her gone was like being exposed naked to a storm. It left his eyes on the edge of crying till he forced the thoughts away.

  In the night, he often woke and felt her there and whispered to her, “I love you, I love you.” But she was asleep, or he thought so, because she didn’t answer. And then in the cool darkness, he started to think that for her it might have been more like a last lay before they separated forever. Sex wasn’t love for everyone the way it was for him. He thought it was like that for her, too, but had she changed? What might post-partum depression have done to her? Or what if she regretted the lovemaking?

  ****

  Natalie woke to the smell of cinnamon and fresh-brewed Folgers. She went to the bathroom and put on her pink robe. JD’s aftershave—Preferred Stock, her favorite scent— lingered on her skin. She recalled the streetlights through the half-curtained window, desire flashing in his dark eyes, the silhouette of his body moving with hers. She was glad he hadn’t been timid. His touch reminded her that she was more than a grieving mother, but a woman who still needed and wanted. Still alive. Her skin flushed at the memory of his lips on hers and the firmness of his hands. He knew every inch of her body. He knew the intricate touches that drove her wild. When he slid inside her, the walls between them crumbled for one magical moment. Once again, he had become the man who had earned her heart, body and soul.

  Now in the clarity of the morning sun, the doubts crept in. Was she fooling herself to hope Vicki was right—that they were finally recapturing the amazing love they once had? But there was coffee waiting…and that wafting aroma could only be cinnamon rolls! Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled too much to keep pondering her doubts.

  She went to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. JD wore her Christmas apron — it had been folded in the pantry — apparently he hadn’t spotted her regular apron where it hung on a hook on the wall next to the counter with the dish rack. He smiled and winked, but then turned to the open oven. He held two dish towels instead of oven mitts. Typical JD.

  The delicious aroma multiplied as he pulled a pan of fresh cinnamon rolls out of the oven. It was one of his mother’s specialties and had been a Sunday morning tradition for them. He raised the pan and his eyebrows. “Surprise!”

  That was her man. Her man was back.

  “Call in sick,” she told him.

  “There’s coffee,” JD replied. “And yes, if you want me to, I will. The only problem is, if you stay here, and Vicki’s with Phil, who’ll run the daycare?”

  Natalie saw her phone on the kitchen charger, which hadn’t been used since JD moved out. She grabbed it and texted Vicki: Can I take the day off?

  JD laid out plates, coffee cups, a carton of half-and-half and a bowl of sugar. “Thank you for last night. And for inviting me to spend the day with you.”

  Natalie’s phone dinged. The return text from Vicki: You get lucky or what?

  Natalie answered: I was lucky all along, wasn’t I?

  JD poured coffee, added a splash of half-n-half, with no sugar. He held the cup toward her, handle first. “That’s how you take it, right?”

  “You know it is.” She paused before added the last word. “Lover.”

  He smiled. “I’d love some more of you.”

  “Ditto.”

  She took the cup and sipped the hot brew, then closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. JD spread some icing over the rolls and set the pan on the table. He pulled out a chair, and she sat. Then, he took his seat across from her. With a fork instead of the spatula lying beside the pan, he lifted two cinnamon rolls and put them on her plate. He put two on his and just sat there.

  She realized he was waiting for her to take a bite, so she did. “Mmm, so good! I could eat the whole pan.”

  “You want mine?” He chuckled.

  “No, I’m willing to share. Aren’t you going to have some coffee, lover?”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah.” He started pouring, but his phone rang. Coffee splashed on the table. He set the pot down. “I bet that’s work. I’ll tell them I’m calling in.”

  He got up and backed toward the phone, still looking at her as she took another bite. Oh, how she had missed those eyes, dark as black coffee. His hair was still tousled. She hoped he would forget to comb it, and if he did, she’d just have to run her fingers through it again.

  He looked at the screen. “Yep, it’s work. Hold on.” He clicked to answer. “Yes, hi. Listen, I’m not coming in today, feeling lousy. I…no, that can wait till I get in. Vice Principal Knowles is going to run the testing anyway. Tell Knowles to…” He listened. “Oh, shit. Okay, I’ll come in and take care of it. But tell Central I’m taking a sick day.” He hung up.

  “Listen, I need to go in for about an hour. There’s a kid, the kid I was telling you about.”

  Natalie put down her cinnamon roll. “There’s always a kid.”

  “Charlie the Spoon’s son. Mike Byrne. He didn’t show up today for the state test battery. He promised me the other day that he would, when we were playing basketball.” JD looked panicky. Was this really about the boy, she wondered, or was it an excuse for him to run away? Was that why he was acting so nervous?

  “So, he overslept. Teenagers do that.” Natalie didn’t like this story at all. Who had been on the other end of that call? Mrs. Jessup had never, never asked him to come in on a sick day, and she was too stupid to help him fake a story.

  “Yeah, he could have, but the kid’s volatile. I took a personal interest in him. If he’s acting out by not showing up, that I can deal with, but if he got hurt, or he hurt himself…”

  “There’s always a kid,” she said. “Except for us.”

  “Nat…don’t say that. We still could…if we were back together, I mean.”

  In the heat of the lovemaking, she had been ready to say yes to that, to tear up the divorce papers and yank the For Sale sign from the front yard. But it seemed like he was still married to his job. Or was that all it was?

  “Who called you? Was it Mrs. Jessup?”

  “No, it wasn’t… she moved. I have a new secretary.”

  “Mmm hmm. Who?”

  JD dropped his cell phone. It clattered by his feet on the linoleum. “It’s…um…Gwen Beasley.”

  Natalie set her cinnamon roll on the plate and crossed her arms. “Really? Gwen—the one with the poofy lips and double D’s who kept calling and showing up on your doorstep, even after we were engaged? That Gwen?”

  “Yeah,
that’s her. She’s an idiot. Goes with the territory. Listen, let me go take care of it. I’ll spend about an hour at school and call you when I’m done. I’ll pick up some food on the way back. You want takeout or should we cook?” He picked up his phone, slipped it in his pocket and sidestepped toward the door. “If you want me to cook, I can go to Piggly Wiggly and get the fixings for some tacos. How about fish tacos?”

  Anxiety flashed in his eyes. She got up. “JD, it’s time for the truth. Are you really planning on coming back or was last night just a let’s do it for old time’s sake night?”

  “I didn’t hire her. She means nothing to me.” He strode to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned in for a kiss.

  She held him back at the shoulders. “Are you coming back?”

  “You know I am. Nat, I’m not the one who wanted a divorce. I didn’t then and I don’t now. I am coming back unless you tell me not to. I just wanted to know what you want to eat.” He tried to move in again, but she still held him back. “Don’t you want me to come back? Please tell me you do. Look, it’s not for me. It’s for the kid. I’d rather be here, but it’s the kid. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Why not? Why him and why now? There’s always a kid getting bullied or high or skipping school. You’ve never cared this much before.”

  Pain filled his eyes and wrinkled his brow. “Nat, this is the man I am. I am your man, but Mike is different. He’s like me at that age. A smart kid from a poor family, getting bullied by jerks with the IQ’s of Neanderthals. I want him to succeed so he can get out of school and make something of himself. I can’t…” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “I can’t live with myself if I stand by and let him drown, not since we lost John Allen.”

  Natalie crossed her arms and looked away.

  “If you take me back, we can still have some kids of our own. You’ll see. I. Will. Never. Leave. You.” He stepped back. Her hands fell. He took them and held them. “Never.”

  When he was gone, Natalie sat a long time staring at the coffee and the cinnamon rolls. Her phone dinged. She checked the text from Vicki. It read: You sure were the lucky one, honey.

  “I hope so,” she said softly. “Shit, I really hope so.”

  Chapter Twelve

  JD realized he was still dressed in the old ragged clothes from the attic as he drove to work. He had put his pants on without underwear, meaning to put on the underwear later. Then he had rushed out the door and forgotten, and now the old jeans were chafing his private parts, and the sweater was irritating his neck and shoulders.

  Why had he rushed like that? He was worried about Mike Byrne a little, but not just that: he was worried more about Gwen. He needed to make sure she knew he was not interested once and for all. He needed to get her squared away and moved on before he told Nat about the sexual close call. He hadn’t even touched her, had only fantasized and probably led her on, but he hadn’t actually done anything. Nat was the only one he had ever really wanted.

  His phone buzzed again, not Nat’s ring tone or the school’s but the ring tone he had set for an unrecognized number. Absently he accepted the call. “Yeah?”

  “Principal West.” A boy’s voice, a flicker of recognition, the humming breaths of cars going by. The connection was bad and many words were garbled. “…too late…got a gun.”

  “Who’s got a gun? Mike? Is this Mike?”

  “Yeah. … school… shoot…too late.”

  “No, Mike.” A gun. His heart pounded, cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He couldn't feel his legs. His car seemed to be crawling forward when he needed to be SOMEWHERE ELSE RIGHT NOW. He forced out, "Don't do that. Don't, listen, can we…"

  The call dropped.

  OhCrapOhCrapOhCrap.

  They trained for emergencies like this at Elbridge Jones, but they trained in a half-assed way, with one person on the loudspeaker reading instructions off a card. Knowles ran the armed-intruder drills. JD was usually embroiled in data entry or phone calls. This stuff was news fodder for other, distant, turn-the-channel-already places. They had the security measures, the lockdown routine, the rent-a-cops. He didn’t waste time worrying about system failure.

  What to do, what to…

  He dialed 911 and got transferred to the police operator. “State the nature of the emergency.”

  “This is the principal of Elbridge Jones High School. We have been informed of a possible armed intruder.”

  “Is this intruder inside the school building?”

  “I have no idea. I’m currently en route to school. Can you have officers meet me there?”

  “Do you know the intruder’s identity?”

  “A student called me to warn me. The call wasn’t distinct. I’m not sure.” He swerved to avoid a standing parked delivery truck, and nearly hit another car, whose driver blared the horn at him. “It’s a male, I think. Please send some officers to the scene.”

  He couldn't bring himself to say Mike's name. The boy had been through so much already. He didn't need an arrest or a criminal record if there was anything else that could be done. Yet he remembered Mike saying during the basketball game that he wanted to "kill all those assholes.”

  “Hang on,” said the dispatcher. In the background of his call, JD heard lots of police chatter.

  “Caller?” the dispatcher began.

  “This is Principal John Dewey West.”

  “Yes. We have a multiple-car collision with possible fatalities near the school’s location. We will detach some squad cars to respond to your possible intruder as soon as we can.”

  The line went quiet. He looked at the display. Call ended. Disconnect.

  JD understood. The police were prioritizing, and his report was vague and unconfirmed. Indeed, he heard lots of distant sirens. That crash had happened.

  This was on him. He would have to talk Mike down.

  He speed-dialed the office number. Gwen should still be there. It was busy, of course. Now he needed to talk business with her when he had been within moments of getting naked in her apartment last time they saw each other. Stupid, stupid, he thought. Never, never get mixed up with your secretary.

  He redialed. He braked to a full stop behind a double-parked furniture truck. Goddamn it.

  Still busy. Was Gwen gossiping with her mother or equally airheaded sister or some late-to-the-prom girlfriend?

  Where had Mike been calling from? Was he in the building already, on his way there, hiding in an alley, what? Was the gun hidden in a backpack, or in the back of his pants?

  A few minutes later, he'd blown his horn six times, braked behind two slow trucks and a pickup full of scarred and pitted cantaloupes, zig-zagged around all of them, run three red lights, and was almost to the school.

  Still the switchboard was tied up. That was terribly unprofessional of Gwen. It would be just like her to be talking about her sister's problem blackheads or making college-era claims about JD's dick up until the moment a pale, undernourished waif slipped into the office and waved a shiny pistol at her.

  JD whipped his vehicle into the parking lot. The tires skidded on the broken pavement. He should have changed them a year ago after that harsh winter with a pothole on First Street that it took the city two months to fix.

  Elbridge Jones looked normal. JD stopped on the sidewalk in sight of the door and listened. It was quiet. No gunshots, no one running in panic. Would he have time to evacuate the building? He went to the door. He was about to face the most deadly challenge of his life, one demanding all of his skill and compassion and courage, wearing old clothes and no underwear.

  ****

  “I overreacted, didn’t I?” Natalie’s cell was perched on her thigh, speaker on, as she pulled out of the driveway. It was five miles to the high school. Plenty of time to get a little reassurance.

  “Yes,” Vicki said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s too late, honey.”

  One of the daycare kids squealed in the background. She shouldn’t have missed work over this,
though Vicki had assured her only three kids were there. Nothing she couldn’t handle. But all this drama felt a little high-schoolish on Natalie’s part.

  She turned onto the drive. Elbridge Tigers vs. St. Marshall Lions this Friday-show your pride by wearing stripes flashed in bright red across an LED sign. “But what if I find him screwing her or something? They kinda got it on back in college. I mean, she’s got big boobs and she practically stalked him back then.”

  “Do you really think JD would leave you for a set of boobs? They’re probably fake, anyway. Give him the benefit of the doubt. He says a kid’s in trouble. Trust him—I’m sure he just wants to help.”

  Natalie pulled into a space near JD’s truck. “You’re right—I’m sure you’re right. It’s just…” God, why was she crying? Would she ever dig herself out of the emotional mess she’d become? “I’m scared.”

  “I know, honey. It’s OK to be scared. But, JD loves you, and you love him. You’ve both been through h-e-l-l and back. It wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t scared.” Vicki always spelled out curse words when they were in the company of the kiddos. Natalie smiled—she was lucky to have such a good friend.

  “OK, I’m going in. Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need it, but good luck. If it’s any consolation, Phil’s picking me up after work—we have a date with Madame Gorda.”

  “That rock lady?” Natalie laughed.

  “She’s a crystologist, thank you very much. A darn good one, too. She can see auras and manipulate them.”

  “That sounds shady.”

  “It’s called holistic, and if we’re lucky, she’ll make sure our auras line up so Phil will stick around.”

  “Now who’s doubting?”

  “Oh, hush and go talk to JD! I’ll call you later. Bye.”