Second Chance Girl Read online

  “Betty Grabis saw her at Helen’s early today, and told Phyllis Weitzman at the Bridge Club that meets at the Senior Center on Saturday mornings,” she says. “I ran into Phyllis when I went to the grocery store just a little while ago, and wanted to come tell you.”

  “Well, you’re too late because I already know.”

  “How’d you find out?” she asks.

  “I went to take a look at her roof.”

  My mom’s mouth drops open, as if I’d just given her the best news all year.

  “You saw her?” she asks, causing me to roll my eyes again.

  “Yes,” I say. “What’s the big deal?”

  Mom stands and walks around to me, patting me on the shoulder. There it is, that pity again. Before I know it, the whole town will probably be giving me sullen looks and sending me sympathy cards.

  “The big deal is that Elizabeth Quinn was your first love, Cameron. Your only love, as far as I can tell. It must be difficult to see her again.”

  “I appreciate your concern, mom, but I’m fine.”

  “Are you going to see her again?” she asks.

  “What? No way,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll send some guys to help patch up Helen’s roof, but I’m not going anywhere near Elizabeth. All of that is in the past.”

  She sighs heavily before returning to her seat at the table, looking downright disappointed. I can feel myself beginning to get annoyed, as much as I hate to feel that way about my own mother. I just don’t want or need her butting in, is all. Not with this.

  “I just think you didn’t give her a fair chance, is all,” she says. I clench my jaw, trying not to let the anger bubbling up inside of me rear its ugly head. “She went to college, a perfectly normal thing for an 18-year-old girl to do, and you didn’t want to give a long-distance relationship a shot. I know it hurt you that she went so far away, but you were both kids, Cameron. You didn’t even give it a chance.”

  “Mom, I’m not having this conversation,” I say firmly. In my mother’s typical fashion, she ignores me.

  “Why don’t you just try to talk to her? What can that hurt?”

  I stand up abruptly from my seat and grip the back of my neck. What can it hurt? Oh, I don’t know. My heart. My pride. Again. I don’t tell my mom this, though.

  “You haven’t had a serious relationship since Elizabeth,” she continues. “I don’t think you’ve ever gotten over her.”

  “Mom, enough. Okay?”

  She raises her hands as if I’m pointing a gun at her. “Alright,” she says. “I just want what’s best for you, honey. I just want to see you happy.”

  “And I appreciate that,” I say, my voice softening. “I just don’t want to talk about this right now, okay?”

  “Okay,” she concedes. She looks around the kitchen again, taking in the white, custom cabinetry I built, the shiny quartz counter tops, and the wide, copper farmhouse sink. “It really is a beautiful house. Your father would be proud.”

  I smile, wishing my dad could be here to see my hard work. “Thanks, mom. I think so, too.”

  A FEW HOURS LATER, I’m sitting in Ryan’s Pub nursing a beer and a bad attitude. My mom didn’t bring up Elizabeth again after I’d asked her to drop it, but the damage was done. She’d reminded me of the very thing I’d spent the last several years trying to forget: I let Lizzie get away.

  I mean sure, she hadn’t been as honest with me as she should have been about what school she’d picked. And yes, there were plenty of closer options. But she had still wanted to be with me, still wanted to try, and I’d given her an ultimatum – me, or college. What was she supposed to do, not go to college? Give up on her dreams? Asking her to throw it all away and stay in Rocky Point had been a selfish thing to do, but that’s what I’d done. I’d been the one to make her choose. I couldn’t blame her when she’d chosen what was best for her, even if it didn’t include me.

  A bell chimes above the door, and Eddie Dearing strolls into the bar, spotting me immediately. He makes a beeline toward me and plops down in the seat next to me at the bar. The bartender, Laura Jean, bounces over to us and gives Eddie a knowing smile.

  “Bleu Cheese Burger and a Miller Lite?” she asks Eddie, who nods while she scribbles on her notepad. She gives him a wink. “Be right up.”

  Laura Jean makes it a point to memorize every regular customer’s order. The minute I’d stepped into the bar, she’d had my usual Sam Adams lager on the counter waiting for me. She’s worked at Ryan’s Pub for as long as I can remember, long before her long brown hair turned silver and her attitude toward out-of-towner’s and newly minted 21-year-old’s had soured.

  “So, Trish tells me you’re doing some work for Lizzie Quinn,” Eddie says, as Laura Jean slides him his beer.

  “Words travels fast,” I say, causing Eddie to snort a laugh.

  “Have you forgotten who my wife is?” Eddie grins, and I nod. The man has a point. Before she was Trisha Dearing, Eddie’s wife was Trisha Dodd, one of the It Girls of our high school and a notorious drama queen. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she wouldn’t be too tight-lipped about the whole thing.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Well, happy to help you out with whatever materials you need. You just let me or Trish know.” He tips his beer bottle toward me, I raise mine, and we clink bottles.

  “Will do, man. Thanks.”

  I try to order my supplies and materials from Eddie as often as possible. I like to purchase locally whenever I can, and it’s almost an unspoken rule in Rocky Point that local small business take precedence over the big box stores the next town over. Even if Eddie doesn’t have something in stock, he’s always willing to order it in for me, and my customer’s usually don’t mind being delayed a few days for the sake of supporting a local business owner.

  “You know, between you and me, I think Trish might’ve been doing a little matchmaking when she called you earlier,” Eddie says, taking another long pull from his beer.

  ”What makes you say that?”

  “If she hadn’t told you Lizzie was in town, would you have gone? Or would you have just sent one of your guys over to check it out?” he asks. And I have to admit, he has me there.

  If Trisha hadn’t told me about Lizzie being in town, I wouldn’t have thought twice about sending one of my guys over to check it out. The moment I’d heard her name, though, it was like a light switch had been flipped. I told Trisha I would send someone out, but I’d been in my truck and on my way before she could even hang up. The truth was, I’d needed to see her myself. I needed closure, or something close. I needed to know that I could walk away from her on my own terms, so I could stop feeling like I’d thrown away the most magical thing in my life.

  “If you want my opinion though,” Eddie starts, removing his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair. I just shake my head.

  “I don’t.”

  Eddie continues on anyway. “I think you’ve just had a second chance drop right into your lap.”

  The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m not about to tell Eddie that. If seeing Lizzie had shown me anything, it’s that she is still my Kryptonite, after all this time. No, this isn’t a second chance. Not for me.

  Chapter Four

  Elizabeth

  “MISS? ARE YOU SITTING here?”

  I’m standing in Java Point, holding a large cup of coffee, and staring at the table by the front window when I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I snap back to reality, and turn around to see an older couple holding coffees and pastries, pointing to the table.

  “Are you sitting here?” the man asks again, and I shake my head.

  “No, not at all. Sorry,” I say, finding a small table far away from the window and parking my exhausted butt down before I totally lose it. I got maybe an hour or two of sleep, waking up what seemed like every two minutes in between dreams of Cam, and how we left things so long ago. Typically, coffee does the trick. Today, not so much.

  I
take a desperate sip, closing my eyes as I let the caffeine seep deep into my soul. When I open them, Trisha is sitting across from me, beaming. She’s in a bright pink tank top and denim shorts, and looks a lot more like the Trisha I remember. I scowl when I see her.

  “Hi!” she exclaims, smiling so wide I begin to wonder if her cheeks ever get tired.

  “Hello,” I say, avoiding eye contact as best as I can.

  “I came in for a latte, and saw you sitting here. Figured I’d check in on how everything went with the roof last night.”

  If my eyes could shoot laser beams, I would burn a hole right through our little table. Wishful thinking. Instead, I turn them on Trisha.

  “Peachy,” I say. She claps her hands together, then gives me a conspiratorial wink.

  “I have something to tell you,” she says. I take another long draw from my coffee cup before acknowledging what she has said.

  “And what’s that?” I ask, wondering where on earth she could possibly be going with this.

  “The handyman I called? Well... it was Cam.”

  I take another sip of my coffee, trying to figure out if I had just entered the Twilight Zone. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

  “You do?” she asks, and now I can’t help it. I glare at her, trying to figure out what kind of game she thinks she’s playing right now.

  “Obviously, Trisha. He showed up at the house.”

  Trisha screws up her face as she digests what I’ve just said. “Cam showed up at your house?” she asks.

  “Are we having two separate conversations? Or...”

  Suddenly, her mouth drops open like someone has just told her the juiciest secret ever. “Oh my God,” she says, slapping the table so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crumble beneath us. “He stopped by your house!”

  Rather than answering, I take several more gulps of coffee. My lack of responsiveness, however, doesn’t faze Trisha.

  “I called him yesterday after you left and asked if he could send one of his guys over,” Trisha explains. “I told him that I’d seen you, and that you needed someone to look at the roof. He told me he’d send one of his newbies over to take some measurements of the leak. I gave him the heads up because, well... your history and all... I didn’t want any awkwardness.”

  “Well,” I say, “mission not accomplished.”

  I feel like all the air has suddenly left my lungs. Trisha is still staring at me, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “So, was that the first time you two have seen each other since...?”

  Since I broke his heart and left town? “Yeah, it was.”

  Trisha reaches out and grabs my arm, and I freeze. I still can’t get used to Trisha being a nice person, and yet, she’s in front of me, living proof of a mean girl, reformed.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. “How did that go?”

  Deciding that what I need most in this moment is a friend, I tell Trisha everything.

  She listens with rapt attention as I walk through my entire brief, yet slightly embarrassing, run in with Cam. When I finish, she is practically hysterical.

  “You asked him out for drinks?” she asks, and I nod shamefully.

  “And he declined. By practically sprinting out of the house.”

  She dissolves into hysterics again, and I playfully smack her on the arm.

  “That’s rough, babe,” she says. “I wouldn’t take it too personally though.”

  “Oh yeah? How would you take it?”

  “Well, he went to see you on purpose. He knew you would be there.”

  “True,” I say, considering her point. “But maybe he just wanted to see how bad of a mess I am.”

  “Oh please, if you’re a mess than I’m a dumpster fire. No, he wanted to see you again.”

  I let myself entertain that for a moment. If he did want to see me, why would he behave so cold toward me?

  As if Trisha can read my mind, she says, “I’m sure the only reason he wasn’t exactly a chatty Cathy is because he didn’t realize how seeing you again would make him feel.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah, you weren’t there. It was chillier than the arctic circle.”

  A barista brings over Trisha’s latte, and she sips through a devious smile.

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  Wanting desperately to change the subject, I blurt, “So you and Eddie Dearing, huh?”

  Trisha erupts into giggles again. “I know, right?” she says. “He is just the most wonderful husband, though. I never saw it coming, myself. One day we got to talking at the hardware store, I was buying paint for my little rental at the time. One thing led to another, we started dating, and...” she trails off, seemingly enraptured by her memories. “The rest is history.”

  I think to myself how great it is that Eddie and Trisha can put the past behind them, knowing how Trisha helped bully Eddie in school. I must look deep in thought because Trisha does her mind reader thing again.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “How can Eddie and I be so in love when I was so awful to him in high school?”

  Busted. “I mean, I wasn’t really...”

  Trisha puts a hand up.

  “I know that I was not a very kind person as a teenager. You don’t have to beat around the bush. I apologized to Eddie for how my friends and I treated him, and we were able to move past it. I’m lucky that he’s a very forgiving person.” She smiles at me. “Time heals all wounds.”

  I think of Cam, and his ice-cold demeanor. Not all wounds.

  “That brings me to my next point,” Trisha says, her voice a little shaky. She clears her throat and looks me in the eye. I can see tears have begun to well up in her eyes. “Lizzie, I was not very nice to you, either. The things my group of friends and I did and said to you, well, they were inexcusable. Especially...” she trails off, and looks down at the table. She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to. “Could you ever forgive me?”

  I tilt my head, my mouth dropping open slightly. Is she for real?

  “Trisha, of course. It’s in the past, no harm no foul.”

  She reaches across the table and grabs my forearms, her eyes desperate.

  “I mean it, Lizzie. Say you’ll forgive me.”

  I swallow hard, a little alarmed by the sudden turn the conversation has taken.

  “I forgive you, Trisha,” I say to her, and she launches back in her chair, clapping her hands in front of her. She is back to her usual self.

  “Oh, wonderful!” she exclaims. “I do hope we can be friends, Lizzie. For however long you’re in town.”

  The earnestness in her voice catches me off guard, but warms me at the same time. That kind of candid sincerity isn’t exactly abundant in Manhattan, especially coupled with the apology I just received. I wonder if I have grown so used to the disingenuous, kill-or-be-killed mentality of my job and the big city, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to prioritize friendships over the next big project, promotion, or prize trip to Bali. I look at Trisha, and smile.

  “Me, too.”

  A FEW HOURS LATER, there is a tarp on the roof of Gran’s house being held down by sandbags, and two younger guys are packing up a ladder onto a beat-up truck. I decide to head to Golden Acres to check on Gran and see how she’s settling in, and tell her about the roof situation.

  When I arrive at Gran’s apartment, she is seated in the living room in front of the television. She does not look up when I enter, just sighs heavily. Typical.

  “Hello, gran,” I say, practically shouting over the ear-splitting volume of the game show she is watching. She grunts in response, then dials the volume up. I walk around the khaki-colored couch to face her, bending down to switch off the TV. Gran mumbles something unintelligible, but I assume it’s something close wretched girl.

  “Gran,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice upbeat. “How long has the roof of the house been leaking?”

  Scowling, Gran looks away and doesn’t answer.

  “It
rained last night, and a lot of water got inside. I had someone come out and take a look at it, apparently it’s pretty old and needs replacing.”

  This gets Gran’s attention. She snaps her head toward me.

  “The roof is fine! It doesn’t need to be replaced, what a load of bologna!”

  “Gran,” I say, trying to reason with her. “I’m afraid it does. The roof is damaged enough that it’s actually very dangerous.”

  She swats at me, as if to say I’m full of it, then crosses her arms over her chest. After a moment, she adds, “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re selling the house, then? And this,” she gestures to the small living room of her new apartment, “is where I can look forward to spending the remainder of my life?”

  My throat tightens. “No one is selling anything, Gran. The house just can’t sit in disrepair, is all.” A lie. I sit down next to her and take her hand, ignoring how she flinches when I touch her. “Selling the house would be your decision. I just want to make sure it’s ready in case you need to.”

  As the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but be sickened with myself. Eventually, there won’t be a choice but to sell the house. Golden Acres Assisted Living might be affordable now, but if Gran’s health and memory continue to decline, and they will, the cost of her care will increase dramatically. Gran knows this – she’s heard it from me, from Cheryl, and her doctor – but she hasn’t accepted it yet. If I know my Gran, she never will. By the time a decision needs to be made, it will be mine to make as her power of attorney, a thought that doesn’t comfort me much. I look around her tiny new apartment, comfortable and efficient, and can see that it’s not a home. It’s a waystation, a temporary place. The thought chills me to the bone.

  I squeeze Gran’s hand lightly, overcome with a desire to comfort her that catches me completely off guard. My stomach roils as I think about the last ten years, and the fact that I haven’t been around nearly as much as I probably should have been. If I had been, could we have caught Gran’s dementia earlier on? The logical part of my brain tells me no, this is an unfortunate inevitability, and there is nothing I can do or could have done differently. I’m here now, and that’s what matters.