Second Chances (14 page)

The girls were having a pajama party
when I found them later, after sitting for a half an hour on the dock, watching as the dark blue of evening slowly seeped across the sky and permeated the glowing western horizon. I smoked the last two cigarettes from the pack on the porch as the setting sun backlit the trees ringing the lakeshore in a molten yellow, totally dazzling, though my thoughts were a thousand miles away. I played over our conversation, savoring his words, analyzing how his voice had sounded; it had been good to hear his humor, if just for an instant. I'd been so glad to hear his voice; even with the distance between us it resounded in the deeps of me, places that had never been touched before him. I loved my girls unequivocally, and my family, but there was something so powerful between Blythe and me that I could sense, if not exactly define. And it was astonishing to me, certainly nothing I'd been seeking, nor even realized I'd needed until I'd found him.

I wrapped my arms hard around myself, which I had been doing plenty these days. I closed my eyes against the tail end of the sunset light, letting it bathe my eyelids with the last of the day, picturing Blythe and his teasing grin, the love in his smoky eyes. I squeezed myself even more tightly, shuddering with the remembrance of being in his arms. Earlier this summer I'd been with him often enough that his scent would cling to my wrists, my neck.
If I had a shirt that he'd worn, or something that smelled like him, something I could hold and breathe at night
…
Joelle
. It was times like this that the force of my need for him stunned me like a physical blow. I continued mentally scolding myself.
Enough of this for tonight. You talked to him and he's all right. It's not much longer. And your daughters need you. You can't sit out here and think these kinds of thoughts right now
.

And so I'd risen from the glider and made my way through the gloaming, across the grass, to Jilly's. I jogged up the wooden staircase that climbed the outside of the garage to Jillian's apartment, a storey up. Dodge kept the stairs sturdy, although I had always hated using them in the winter. My spirits inadvertently lifted as I heard the radio in my sister's kitchen blaring; her outer light had been left on for me, and I pushed through the screen door into the sound of Cyndi Lauper's “Good Enough.” The kitchen was bright and cheerful, Tish and Ruthann busy popping corn and melting caramel, respectively, both swaying in time to the beat. Tish was singing along in her painfully off-key alto.

“Hi, Mom!” Ruthie said over her shoulder from her position at the stovetop, where she was vigorously whisking melting caramels. She was barefoot, wearing white terrycloth pants and an oversized aqua blue t-shirt, her long dark hair wound up in a green scrunchy that had surely been in Jilly's possession since the ‘70s. Tish, whose hair was almost to her shoulders these days, was clad in an ancient Van Halen t-shirt and black cotton shorts covered with tiny purple sailboats. She was also wearing the bunny slippers I'd given Jilly for Christmas one year in middle school.

“Hi, guys,” I said, leaning to give each of them a kiss on the cheek. “I can't believe those are still intact,” I added, indicating the fuzzy slippers with their ridiculous googly eyes and floppy pink ears.

Tish kicked out one foot to admire them. “Aunt Jilly said I could keep them if I wanted.”

“Mmmm, it smells good in here,” I said. “What else are you guys making?”

“Brownies with mint chips,” Tish said. And then, as the chorus rang out, sang at the top of her lungs, “It's gooo-
ooood
enough, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!”

“Caramel corn'll be ready in five minutes,” Ruthie explained.

Jilly came bounding around the corner, yelling, “Pregnant lady needs a drink, outta the way, people!”

I giggled at her as she made a show of searching the fridge, jamming along to the song with the girls.

“Where's Clinty?” I asked, helping myself to a can of beer, reaching into the open fridge around Jilly. She was in her PJs too, a white tank and matching shorts printed with multi-colored ladybugs. Her toenails were painted a vibrant neon yellow. She smelled good, like coconut oil and possibly a margarita.

“We kicked him out, didn't we, girls?” she said, as Cyndi switched to “Time After Time” and we all started crooning along, inescapably.

“Ugh, remember how many hours we spent in front of the mirror, singing with our curling irons as microphones?” I groaned.

Jillian giggled and then yelled in the direction of the living room, “Milla, what do you want?”

“Cola, if you've got any,” my oldest called back, and Jilly passed a can to me.

“Here, honey,” I said, heading around the half-wall that separated the two spaces. Only a small lamp was glowing in here, and the television was on even though it could hardly be heard over the radio. I recognized the movie
The Great Outdoors
, which we'd seen enough to make sound superfluous anyway. Camille was curled rather pitifully on the recliner, her hair in a braid that fell over one shoulder, reminiscent of her elementary school years. My heart bumped with a moment of nostalgia, remembering those days when her face was round and plump and dimpled, and she'd gotten on the bus like a big girl to become a part of the wider world. I perched on the arm of the chair and cracked open the soda for her and then smoothed a stray hair from her forehead, feeling a swell of tenderness beneath my breastbone. “How are you?”

“I'm so hot,” she half-groaned.

“Here, for heaven's sake,” I said, leaning to redirect the oscillating fan. I clicked it down to a less forceful flow and aimed it on her. She did look sweaty and it was humid as a sauna in here.

“How's Blythe?” she asked, closing her eyes in relief as the cool air rushed over her face.

“He's all right, just missing all of us,” I told her. “It was good to hear his voice.”

Her eyes opened and flashed to mine. She looked at me searchingly for a moment before saying, “That's good. I know you miss him.”

If only she knew. My girls would be shocked at half of my thoughts these days, but that was beside the point. I was slowly realizing that beneath the mother-cloak I'd worn for nearly two decades was still a woman. And that it was all right to let her out. Camille had redirected her gaze at the movie, and I commented, “Remember how much of a crush you used to have on the oldest brother?”

Camille laughed a little, shifting position and then taking a long drink of the soda. “Buck. Yeah, of course.”

“He is a cutie,” I said speculatively.

“Ugh, he looks like Noah,” Camille said then, and my gaze snapped back to her instantly.

“Have you talked to him lately?” I asked her cautiously.

She shook her head wordlessly and so I didn't press the issue.

“Jo! You want a beer-ita or what?” my sister was calling. She leaned around from the kitchen with eyebrows raised.

“A what?” I asked.

“It's my own concoction, a beer mixed with tequila, lemonade and lime juice. And ice,” she added as though just recalling.

“Are you already wasted?” I teased. “That sounds awful. And I'm good with this,” I added, holding my can aloft. “I'll take a brownie though.”

“Me too, Mom!” Camille said.

Ruthie came bearing a tray loaded with brownies and plastic bowls of caramel corn. And at that moment, probably sensing the goodies, there was intense thumping on the steps outside, as though a SWAT team was ascending them. The screen door opened with a loud whack and Clint and his best friend Liam came barging into the kitchen.

“No!” Tish yelped. “You guys are banished outside, remember!”

“She's right,” Jilly was agreeing. “Boys in tents only tonight!”

“Aw, Mom, we just need food,” Clint wheedled. He stuck his head into the living room and said, “Hi Aunt Joey!”

God, I loved my nephew. “Hi, Clinty, you guys camping out or what?”

“Yeah, but we need supplies.”

“Ruthie, give them some treats,” I told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Wait, not all of it!” Tish snapped. “Clint!”

“Ruthie, bring me a napkin, will you?” Camille requested.

“I'll get it,” I told her, and made my way through the boys to tear off a couple of paper towels. Jillian was pouring lemonade from a two-liter bottle into the blender.

“We'll take some of that too,” Liam teased, and Jilly slapped at his hand.

“Your mother would have my hide,” she said.

“Not before me,” said a new voice then, full of teasing, and Justin was in the doorway next, backlit by the yellow glow of the outside light, grinning at Jilly.

Jilly made a face at him and ordered, “You get out of here! It's girls only tonight.”

“We'll see about that,” Justin teased, and then added, “Hi, girls. Hi, Joelle.” He did manage to collect Clint and Liam, in addition to half the pan of brownies and a 12-pack of soda. After the boys had thundered back down the steps Justin dared to enter the kitchen, wrap an arm around my sister and command her for a quick kiss. I watched with amusement as she struggled playfully before submitting and kissing him back, but chastely.

“That'll have to tide you over,” she said to him.

“You know where I'll be,” he said, then to the girls, “Thanks for cooking, ladies, this looks great.”

“You're welcome,” said Ruthann, beaming, while Tish glared at him and remarked, “You guys took almost all of it and we weren't cooking, we were
baking
.” He grinned in amusement and winked at her before heading back outside.

“Ugh, I'm never falling in love,” Tish grumbled.

Two hours
later Jilly and I were leaning on our elbows on the small round table in her kitchen. Camille was snoozing in the recliner, snoring lightly, while Tish and Ruthann watched
Mystic Pizza
with rapt attention, both sprawled on their stomachs in front of the television, the last of the caramel corn between them. The kitchen radio was still playing, but softly now, tuned to the local country station out of Bemidji. Every other song reminded me of Blythe.

“So how's everything with you and Justin?” I asked Jilly in attempt to redirect my attention. There were three empty cans on the table near me, and I was working on a fourth, past the giddiness and into the sentimental-bordering-on-melancholy phase of beer drinking.

Her lips curved into a sweet smile.

“He is one smitten kitten,” I said, using a phrase from our high school lexicon. “Tail over teakettle, as Gran would say.”

“Jo, I am so in love with him,” my little sister said then, and I looked hard at her. We had talked about this, but the depth of her sincerity struck at my heart. I tended to get so involved in my own concerns that I forgot hers. I leaned over the table to listen. She continued, “I mean, we've known each other our entire lives. Dodge always brought him and Liz out here to play when we were little. And I remember when you'd drag me to football games to watch Jackie, Justin was always playing too. And for so long he had Aubrey, and I had Chris. But now, it's like I've been waiting my whole life for Justin, and I just realized it.”

“Jilly,” I whispered. “Oh God, I remember that day we sat at your old kitchen table and you vowed to never love again. I didn't dare say otherwise. But I'm so glad you were wrong.”

Her blue eyes poured into mine. “Back then I thought that was it for me, Jo, you know I did.”

“We were all so worried about you. Jilly, seriously, I know you loved Chris. We all loved him. He was just like Clinty is today.”

Jilly's eyes welled with bright tears, but they weren't the type that led to broken-down weeping. Instead they gleamed like tiny crystals, the kind of tears that spring almost unbidden to a mother's eyes when she thinks about her children in any capacity. Oddly, Jillian hardly ever cried otherwise, though I had never doubted the depth of her anguish over Christopher's death. It just wasn't in her physical and emotional make-up to show overt sadness. It ran like a river underneath the surface, though, which very few people knew. She was too good at displaying only the bright, effervescent parts of herself. But I knew her better. She sighed a little and then said, “God, I know. Sometimes when he says something and I'm not looking at him, I'll think for a split second that it's Chris. He even sits at table three, like Chris always did. I never told him that's where his dad always sat.”

“I noticed that too,” I told her.

“Clinty gets along really well with Justin,” she said then, pressing her pinkies into the outer corners of her eyes for a moment, banishing the last of the tears.

“Clinty gets along with everyone,” I teased. “But he does seem to genuinely like Justin.”

“What's not to like?” Jilly asked, sounding more like herself. There was a new gleam in her eyes now, and I smiled to see it. She added, “Jo, he is so incredible. So hot, I can't even tell you.”

“You can tell me,” I teased her.

Jilly continued as though I hadn't spoken, her eyes a brilliant flame-blue. “When he kisses me it's like I've never been kissed before. I crave him. I can't get enough of him and it's the same for him. It almost scares me.”

I reached and slipped my hand into hers. “He loves you too, you know it. It's as plain as day all over his face every time he looks at you. What have you got to lose?”

She snatched her hand away. “God, bite your tongue, knock on wood. Jesus, you know I hate those kinds of questions!”

“Jills, the curse on our family isn't real,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

“So where are all the men then?” she asked point-blank.

“Justin's here,” I said, determined not to squirm under her gaze. “And Bly will be.”