Once Upon a Second Chance

by Marian Vere

  They make their way up the beach as I grab the vinegar bottle, the phone, the wallet, and the tongs—AHHHH!

  GOD DAMN SON OF A BITCH!

  I look down at my hand and realize I wasn’t careful enough with the tentacles. There must have been one left on the tongs and it’s now wrapped around my index and middle fingers. I furiously shake it off and bend down to rinse my hand off in the seawater. Luckily no one is looking my way, so I swallow the pain, bite on my tongue, and run up the beach, leaving the tongs behind.

  As I reach the parking area, the ambulance pulls up. The paramedics jump out and administer an injection to Bree, for what I can only assume is the allergic reaction. The next few minutes are a blur of questions, most of which I answer, before they load Bree into the back of the ambulance. Nick immediately speaks up when they ask who will be going with her, and the rest of us begin to pile into the cars to follow them to the hospital.

  Just before I climb into the Escalade, I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Nick.

  “Come with me,” he says quietly, but with incredible intensity—his blue eyes are practically begging. “Please.”

  I nod, utterly shocked. “I’m going in the ambulance. We’ll meet you there,” I call to Margaret in the driver’s seat. With that, Nick and I climb through the large red doors, they close behind us, and we take off.

  The atmosphere is much calmer as one of the paramedics checks and records Bree’s vitals. After that, he starts an IV and then confirms that her allergic reaction is under control. He crawls up to the front cab so that he can call in Bree’s information to the hospital, and Nick takes the now-vacated seat next to Bree. He looks horrible: pale, sweaty, and obviously sick with worry. But of course he would be; they were practically dating. I turn my head and swallow the lump in my throat. As ridiculous as it is, I feel so guilty. Not twenty minutes before the accident, I’d wished her harm. Well, maybe not wished it per se, but close enough.

  And why? Because I was jealous of her relationship with a man I had no claim over? Because I resented the fact that they could be happy together? Isn’t that what I should want? I love them both; shouldn’t I want them to be happy, even if it is with each other?

  After a few minutes of self-loathing, I hear Nick sigh as he leans back against the ambulance wall and stares off into space. I notice something else in his expression. Something beyond the worry—guilt? Of course. It was his suggestion to go swimming, so he’s going to blame himself for anything that happens during said suggestion, even though I was actually the one mentally spouting voodoo curses. That would be just like him. He closes his eyes, and I feel so bad for him that I want to cry. He just looks so young and helpless. I have to fight the urge to throw my arms around his neck and assure him that everything will be all right.

  “Jules?” he says quietly without opening his eyes.

  “Hmm?” Just hearing him say my name sends a bolt of lightning though me, and I struggle not to seem as overwhelmed as I am. This is the first time he’s spoken directly to me since our short hello back in New York.

  He turns toward me with such a powerful look in his eyes that my throat constricts and it takes everything in me to meet them and not drop mine to the floor. “You really—”

  “Okay, guys,” the paramedic cuts in, “we’re here. You two are going to have to get out first so we can pull the stretcher out.”

  No, damn you! Go away! I really…what?

  The back doors open and Nick and I hop down, and once Bree is pulled out, we follow the stretcher into the ER.

  The moment is lost.

  A half hour later, we are in one of the beige-walled ER triage rooms, and I feel like the proverbial third wheel. Nick sits beside Bree, holding her hand, and I’m sitting over by the door in the only other chair in the room. Everyone else had followed us to the hospital, and arrived just after we did. They sat in the waiting room for a while, but once it was determined that Bree was doing well and would be able to leave in a few hours, they decided to go back to the house and wait there. They left us a car, and told us to call with updates.

  Bree woke up shortly after we got here, and she and Nick have been talking almost nonstop ever since. Their conversation consists of Nick asking her how she is, if her leg hurts, if there is anything he can do, telling her how sorry he is, then starting all over again from the top. Bree actually did seem comfortable enough, which was most likely due to the massive amount of numbing cream they put on her leg when we arrived. On the other hand, my fingers are stinging like a bitch, and have grown to the size of sausages. I probably could get some cream if I speak up, but I am not about to make a fuss over something so small. I can deal.

  A moment later the doctor comes in. “Well, Miss St. Charles, how are you feeling?”

  “All right,” she answers with a smile.

  “I’m going to have the two of you step out to the waiting area for a few minutes while I examine her. I’ll come to get you when I’ve finished,” he says, looking at Nick and me.

  Nick takes a last look at Bree, squeezes her hand, and we walk down to the waiting area in silence. There are only a few other people there, and we find a small couch on the far side of the room that no one is using. Nick all but collapses on it, leans his elbows on his knees, and rests his face in his hands. I sit next to him and again feel the overwhelming need to comfort him, though I’m not entirely sure how to do it. As opposed to telling him the reason this was all my fault, and looking about as crazy as the day is long, I decide to go in another direction.

  “It’s not your fault you know,” I whisper. I can’t let him continue to torture himself.

  He doesn’t move for a minute, then slowly leans back against the couch and lets his hands fall in his lap. “Yes it is,” he answers just as quietly. “I called her out there. She was talking with Chris nowhere near me. She came because I asked her to.”

  “That doesn’t make it your fault.”

  “She wouldn’t have been out there if it wasn’t for me. Besides, it was my idea to swim in the first place.”

  “We were at the beach. I think the general idea was to go in the water. Someone else would have suggested it if you hadn’t.”

  “I was in deeper water, I should have…”

  “It doesn’t matter where you were,” I say, taking advantage of his pause. “Jellyfish travel in huge groups; there were probably hundreds out there. We were all going to be in the water at some point today, so someone was bound to get stung. None of that is your fault. Bree is a big girl, and she wouldn’t have gone out to you if she didn’t want to.”

  We lapse into silence, but he does seem to relax a little.

  “Thank you,” he says after a few moments. I glance at him, and he looks steadily back at me. “For today, I mean,” he says, ashamed. “You were amazing. We were all useless, and you…you were incredible. How did you know what to do?”

  “Lisa was stung once when we were kids. I remembered my dad using his shaving cream on it. I knew no one had that, but I remembered her doctor saying something about vinegar. The rest, cleaning it and all, was the same.”

  Even as I’m talking, I realize how strange this is. For the first time, there is no weirdness between us. We’re actually having a normal conversation, with no awkwardness or embarrassment. I expect no less from him, as I’m more than aware he’s over the whole “us” thing, but for me, this is new. New, and unbelievably nice.

  “Well, you were great. I don’t know what we would have done. Thank you.” He reaches out and takes my left hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. My heart jumps.

  Oh God, I love him, I love him, I love him…

  Okay, weirdness back, awkwardness back, embarrassment back.

  I look down at the floor as my cheeks begin to flame, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that I have seen this man naked. But before I can thoroughly embarrass myself, the doctor appears. Nick sees him and stands, letting go of my hand.

  “How is she?” he asks.

>   “She will be just fine. Who cleaned her leg? Do you know what they used?”

  “I did,” I say quietly. “It was vinegar.”

  “Oh, it was you? Very well done. So well in fact, that had it not been for her reaction, she would not have even needed to be brought in at all.”

  “Thank you,” I say, as I catch Nick looking at me out of the corner of my eye. What’s that expression in his eyes? It looks like—but it can’t be—affection?

  Affection?

  “She’s dressing now,” the doctor continues. “I have given…” He stops suddenly, having caught sight of something. My hand.

  Shit!

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks me with a disapproving look.

  “What?” Nick asks, looking back and forth between us, confused.

  “Did it happen when you were cleaning Miss St. Charles?”

  “Yes,” I say, timidly. No use in denying it now.

  I glance over to Nick and see the change in his face as he finally sees my hand. “Jules!” he says under his breath, glaring at me.

  Even when he’s mad it sounds beautiful.

  “Here.” The doctor hands me a tube of something and gauze from his pocket. “Put this on it, and wrap it. You can get tape from the reception desk. The swelling should go down by tomorrow.”

  “Th—”

  “Thank you,” Nick says, cutting me off and taking the tube and gauze from the doctor.

  “Miss St. Charles will be out in a moment. I have given her a prescription, and she will be walking with a cane for a day or two, until the swelling goes down. Otherwise, she is ready to go.”

  Nick thanks him again, and shakes his hand. Once he is gone I turn to Nick. “It’s really not a big deal—”

  “Sit,” he commands, with a still pissed off “don’t even try it” look in his eye.

  I sink down to the couch, giving up. He sits next to me, takes my hand carefully in his, and begins to dress my fingers. “You should have said something,” he says, with less anger and more worry as he sees my fingers close up.

  I don’t answer. I stare quietly down at his work, never once lifting my eyes to his face. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll cry. As he gently cares for my sting, something I have avoided for a very long time becomes painfully evident—how much I’ve missed him. I’ve been pushing the feeling away for so long, that the open realization of it is almost more than I can handle.

  He finishes my hand, and places it gently in my lap. I raise my eyes and they lock with his; for a moment I almost can’t believe what I see. It’s as if all my current emotions are there staring back at me: longing, pain, affection, hope, everything. It stops my breath and makes my pulse race. Could this possibly be real? Deep down I know it can’t be, but my heart wants to believe it is.

  Over his shoulder, I see Bree come around the corner and I reluctantly break our gaze to greet her. Nick rushes over to her side while I drag behind in a daze. We help Bree out to the car, and Nick hands me the keys. I climb in behind the wheel, while Nick helps Bree into the back where there is more room, and takes a seat next to her. I glance back at them in the rearview mirror before pulling out, but for the first time, I don’t feel the stab of jealousy I normally do every time they touch. I don’t need to, because…because I saw something.

  I don’t know what, but it was there—in his eyes. My head is still spinning, and I don’t care how impossible it is. All I know, is it couldn’t have been my imagination. It was real. I know it was.

  9

  IT’S QUARTER TO ONE, and I’m unable to sleep for the second night in a row. At this rate, I may need surgery to get rid of the bags under my eyes.

  Today, as I’d expected, had been a total disaster in almost every way. I got to watch Bree and Nick hold hands and frolic in the waves, heard a firsthand account of how much I had hurt Nick all those years ago, got stung by a jellyfish, and Bree almost died due to an allergy she had no idea she had.

  Oh yeah, what a great day.

  Though oddly enough, none of those events are what’s keeping me awake. Through all the chaos and mayhem, something else had happened. Something that I had honestly never thought would.

  Nick and I talked.

  Talked like regular people, alone, just the two of us. Talked without any awkwardness or tension. More than that, we had shared something. Something unspoken, but powerful. Something communicated only through his eyes. It’s that nameless, obscure, emotional thing that is currently raging an all-out war in my head.

  This mental war is basically the familiar forces of practicality and sensibility battling it out with the evil empire of emotion. My practical and sensible side knows that anything I saw in Nick’s eyes today was completely my imagination. I know that I am over analyzing, and turning the whole situation into something it isn’t. I’m making it what I want it to be, simple as that.

  He was grateful for my help and is a compassionate person. No less than that, but certainly no more.

  Unfortunately, no matter how many times I try to make that case, my emotions won’t listen. All they can think about is the tenderness he used caring for my hand, when he easily could have left me to wrap it myself. Or the way he had practically begged me to come with him in the ambulance. “Come with me,” he had said, not “Come with us.” He wanted me there for his sake, not Bree’s. That had to mean something, didn’t it? People don’t beg strangers for comfort during difficult times; they turn to people they trust. He could have just as easily asked Derek or Cathy to go with him, but he didn’t. He asked me.

  I always listen to my practical, sensible side, but for some reason, I just can’t make my mind obey tonight. Doesn’t that mean something? It has to! I can’t just ignore all these signs; this could be fate! Maybe deep down, somewhere inside me, there is a part that knows that my sensible side is wrong, so…

  Sigh. All right, calm down.

  I take a deep breath and sit up slowly, rubbing my face with my hands. I pull my legs up under me, staring out the window into the night sky and wondering idly if the moon is full, as it seems unusually bright outside. After another deep breath, I let out a long sigh.

  Okay, what am I saying here? Am I actually suggesting that Nick still has feelings for me? After all, it’s easy to talk about abstract things like a look, or a gesture, but when I actually think about it like that, the whole thing becomes almost absurd.

  For God’s sake, I dumped the man flat, broke his heart, and betrayed his faith! He has no reason to feel anything for me! I should be the one left to suffer with feelings like this the rest of my life, not him! He is totally innocent in all this! He owes me nothing! And now, when he has moved on—something that I will obviously never be able to do—I feel the need to drag up the past, simply because of a few harmless little details! And, if we’re being realistic, these details mean nothing at all.

  Did he ask me to come in the ambulance with him? Yes. Was that because he felt some emotional need for me? Probably not. More likely he wanted me there because I had been the only one who was of any help during the initial panic, and he was worried he wouldn’t have been able to answer all of the questions the paramedics might have asked.

  Did he wrap my hand? Yes. Would he have done the same for anyone else? Probably. He obviously didn’t like seeing me hurt, but that’s his nature. He would have done the same for Margaret, or Cathy, or anyone else in my place.

  Was there actually affection for me in his eyes? Probably. Was it love, or anything even remotely close? Probably not. Far more likely it was appreciation mixed with emotional exhaustion, which could be confused for a lot of things. Especially when the observer is incredibly biased.

  But still…what if…

  Ugh!

  I throw the covers back in a frustrated huff, get out of bed, and storm over to the window. Why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t I have a little help? Where’s my fairy godmother? Bree seems to get one, so where’s mine? Not the creepy bingo lady my subconscious seem
s to think I deserve, but a real one. I needed her to slap some sense into me eight years ago, but she didn’t show. Where’s the bibbity bobbity do-over for all the schmucks like me who botched it up the first time around because we were on our own? That’s what a fairy godmother is supposed to do, right? She shows up when you hit rock bottom, and gives you everything you need to “land your man.” She might not hand you everything on a silver platter, but it’s her job to give you the proper tools, if you will.

  Take Cinderella. She just happened to need a shower, some pumps, and a chauffeur—which wouldn’t do me a whole lot of good right now—but I’m sure it’s a customizable program. All I need is a nudge in the right direction, or maybe the ability to read minds for an hour or so. Come on, after Cinder-needy-ella, is that really too much to ask?

  I cross my arms with a groan and lean my forehead against the glass. What’s the use? No one is coming to help me. No happy grandma with wings, no wand-wielding fairy, not even the boorish, beehived harpy from my dream. Scary as that last one was, even I can admit she had a point: say my fairy godmother did pop up and tell me exactly what to do—would I trust her? Honestly, probably not. Let’s not forget, I did have a fairy godmother eight years ago. I gave Lisa the job, whether or not she realized it, and her advice pretty much ruined my life. Unintentionally of course, but does that really matter? If I’d followed my own instincts and not asked for help, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

  So, what then? Is the answer to follow my own instincts? Currently I have two sets, and they are still at war. It would be easy to fall back on my usual choice of practicality and sense, but there is another factor here. What if he really does still have feelings for me?

  I know, I know, just hear me out.

  Ever since my time with Nick, I’ve lapsed into a life of the practical, the sure, the sensible, and the boring. It was never a conscious decision per se; I just gradually started to shy away from anything risky or passion-driven, because those were the things that could ultimately lead to more pain. However, there was one conscious decision I did make, and that was to never allow what happened with Nick to happen to me again. To never again let something that wonderful slip through my fingers due to my own indecision or stupidity. Up until now, the answer had been simple: don’t ever want anything that much again. But this is Nick. I will always want him, and always love him. There is nothing I can do about that—and God knows I’ve tried. So, what if I’m right and he does still have feelings for me? Can I really just ignore it all and walk away? Can I allow myself to blow what could be a second chance? I promised myself I never would, though promises like that are easy to make when you don’t actually think you’ll ever have to worry about keeping them.