Chance McCall

by Sharon Sala

  “Do you need money?”

  Chance stepped forward. “Now you ask? Now that she doesn’t have to lay on her back to get the money to feed us? Now that she won’t have to turn another trick to keep the gas from being turned off in winter?” He took a deep breath and pointed down. “You ask her if she needs any money. I don’t want a damn thing from you!”

  Logan was hurting too. And when he hurt, just like Chance, he lashed out at whoever was available.

  “Stay away from Victoria,” he said.

  Chance sneered. “I’m not the low-life you are, mister. I wouldn’t do that to her. You just keep your hands to yourself. You hit her again…I’ll know it.”

  Logan flushed. “I didn’t mean to hit her. It was an accident. I’ve never laid a hand on her in my life.” And then he took a deep breath and let the words fall out before he changed his mind. “She tried to kill herself.”

  Chance turned pale. “My God,” he mumbled, as his knees went weak. “Is she…”

  “She’s alive. And she’ll be fine. It was the shock…I think.” His voice shook. “I’ve got to find a way to make it up to her,” he said. “In time, she’ll understand. She has to.”

  Chance saw the guilt that Logan Henry was bearing. He wanted to enjoy the fact that the man who’d ruined his mother’s life was in pain. He needed the satisfaction of knowing that he wouldn’t rest easy again in this lifetime, but all he could do was weep.

  “Victoria may never understand why you were such a bastard,” Chance said, as a single tear ran down his face. He stared at the mound of earth that was quickly drying to a hard shell over the only family he’d ever known. “She didn’t.”

  Logan looked at the grave and wanted to take back the last twenty years of his life and do them all over again. But it was too late…for everything.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, as he watched Chance walk away.

  “I’m leaving you here to face your ghosts,” Chance said. “And I hope you rot in hell alongside them.”

  The moon was up, shining a weak, quarter glow on the overgrown yard and the rusty pickup parked on the street in front of the house. Chance walked through the rooms, occasionally opening a drawer, looking in a closet, making certain that he’d taken everything he would possibly need.

  Only yesterday one of the neighbors had knocked on the door and callously inquired as to what Chance intended to do with his mother’s things. Chance had slammed the door in her face. He already knew what he was going to do with their things. What he couldn’t take, he wouldn’t leave behind.

  His suitcase was packed. Several things he’d simply left on hangers and dumped in a pile in the seat of the truck. He had his wallet, what little money he’d saved from his last paycheck, and his high school yearbook. It was a strange combination of choices, but understandable when he thought about it. They were the only things of value that he owned, that Logan Henry hadn’t indirectly provided. He wanted nothing from the man.

  A strange anxiety seized him. It was time! Suddenly he couldn’t get away fast enough. He grabbed the can he’d brought from the station and began walking through the house, methodically pouring a thin, steady stream of gasoline on and over everything. Walls and floors, furniture and clothing; nothing escaped his treatment.

  He walked out of the house, tossed the empty can into the back of his truck, and stood for a moment in the shadows of the yard, watching the house take its last breaths. He shuddered, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a book of matches. They were from Charlie’s Gas and Guzzle. He stepped up onto the porch, kicked the door open, and yanked the safety match across the pad. It flared instantly. Chance gave it a toss and then ran.

  The air inside the house ignited before the match ever hit the floor. Chance reached the pickup just as the first window blew, shattering glass and wood across the front yard. He started the truck, put it in gear, and accelerated. The glow of the flames was bright in the rear view mirror over the dashboard. The hair on the back of his arms smelled singed where he’d come too close to the flames. Chance McCall had just burned every bridge connecting him to Odessa. He headed out of town with the sound of sirens fading away behind him. It was time to leave. He never looked back.

  “Hey, good lookin’,” the waitress teased, “what’ll it be this morning? We’ve got a special. Pancakes and sausage, all you can eat for two ninety-nine.”

  Chance nodded. She was becoming a familiar, almost comfortable part of his life, even though he still didn’t know her name. He wondered how many other good people were still in this town that he’d never had the pleasure of meeting.

  The town had become almost familiar, too. He’d gotten used to its flatness and even welcomed the wind, knowing that by evening it would be nothing but a cool reminder of the dying day. Every morning he awoke with a feeling of anticipation, hoping that this would be the day that his problems would be resolved and that he could go home to Jenny. But every day turned into the next and then the next, and he was starting to worry. Maybe he should just call it quits and go back.

  He fiddled with the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, waiting for it to be cool enough to drink. The early morning sun bounced off the windshield of a car that had just pulled up in front of the diner. It flashed directly into Chance’s eyes. He blinked, tilted his head to get away from the sun’s rays, and then stared at the woman getting out of the car.

  She was tall and blond, about his age, and wore her years and her money well. The stiff breeze outlined the long legs beneath her dress as she fought the wind gusts and her skirt. Her other arm was wrapped around her hair, trying to hold it in place. Neither was succeeding. Chance started to smile at her struggles and then he saw her face.

  Coffee sloshed over the side of the cup. A pain shot through his head, single and swift. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. A sense of dread began to take hold. He’d felt it once before, when he’d learned that Letty McCall had committed suicide. He held his breath, resisted the urge to bolt, and watched the woman walk into the diner. She was heading for his booth.

  “My God! I thought you were dead! You left without a word…and never came back. I thought you were dead!”

  Her voice shook as she slipped into the other side of the booth and slid her fingers across his hand. The look on his face made her jerk back in surprise. He looked as if he didn’t know her. “I’m sorry if I’ve made a mistake. But…you are…your name is Chance McCall…isn’t it?” she asked.

  Chance took a deep breath. He’d come to Odessa for this reason. He’d wanted to locate someone who knew him. It was the only way he’d ever be able to find himself. But now that the opportunity was here, his fear of knowing the truth increased.

  Victoria couldn’t understand this distance between them. Yes, one relationship had ended between them, but there was still another that she desperately wanted to salvage.

  “I’m Chance McCall,” he answered.

  “I knew it,” she cried. “I couldn’t be that wrong about someone I knew so well.”

  Chance didn’t want to hear this. Thoughts of Jenny overwhelmed him. What if he’d left a wife behind…or children? He’d never considered that possibility. The idea of not being able to claim Jenny Tyler made him sick.

  Victoria was stunned. She hadn’t expected a cold shoulder. Not from Chance. They’d shared so much as victims of the same twist of fate. Surely he wasn’t blaming her, too?

  “Chance? What’s wrong? Don’t you recognize me? I know it’s been twelve years, but I can’t have changed that much.” She tried to smile, but it died when she saw the look in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t know you. Should I?”

  “Yes, dammit,” she said softly, and waved away a waitress who’d started toward their booth. “You should know me. I’m Victoria!” And then she hesitated before adding, “I’m your sister!”

  The pain behind his eyes surfaced upon impact. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he pulled
himself up from the booth. A persistent feeling of doom lent strength to his legs as he walked away. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, threw his head back, and drew long, slow breaths into his lungs. A sister? I have family? Why don’t I believe her? Yet what could she possibly have to gain by lying? And then another thought struck him. She said her name was Victoria? The girl in the picture was Victoria. He’d left the picture in his room.

  Getting that picture suddenly became all important. He didn’t think, he just reacted. He started across the street, heading for his room at the motel.

  “Chance! Wait! I don’t understand,” she called. “You’ve got to let me explain.” She was behind him. He could hear her running to keep up.

  He unlocked the door. The school yearbook was on the table, and the picture beside it. He grabbed the picture and turned to her. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Victoria was out of breath and nearly out of patience. She hadn’t slept a wink since Della had called her from the courthouse. She’d talked way into the night with her husband, Ken, before deciding that this meeting must take place. She wanted to shout in frustration when it dawned on her that he was sincere. She took the picture out of his hand and stared.

  “My God! You’ve had this all that time? Yes, it’s me,” she said. “But I don’t understand. You have this picture, yet you pretend not to know me?” Her voice was thick with hurt.

  There was nothing to say but the truth, and hope to hell that it made things better.

  “I’m not pretending,” he said. “A few months ago I was injured. When I finally recovered, everything was back in place except mv memory.” He took a deep breath and then blurted the rest of it out in a rush. “I’ve even had to take someone’s word that I’m Chance McCall. I don’t remember. The doctor kept telling me to be patient. That it would all come back when it was time. But time was running out. There’s a woman I love very much, who deserves more than bits and pieces of a man. I came back, hoping that this place or someone I found here would trigger the memories. Until today, I’d just about given up.”

  It hurt her to hear him say that he loved another woman. Once he’d said the same to her. And then her conscience and reason surfaced. Jealousy didn’t belong in their relationship anymore. “So, do you remember me now?” Victoria asked.

  “No. But you’re the first person who’s remembered me. I was beginning to think I hadn’t mattered to a living soul. I guess when you recognized me, I got rattled. Sorry I ran out on you.”

  He waited, willing her to accept him. There was nothing else he could say or do to make it easier for both of them.

  But Victoria knew what to do. “Oh, Chance. You mattered. You always did. Come here. I’ve waited twelve years to do this.” She gave him a quick hug.

  Her touch was gentle, and unobtrusive, and for some reason, familiar. Chance took a deep breath. “My sister?”

  For a moment, Victoria remembered more, but now was not the time. It would be better if he remembered that on his own. And it might be better if he didn’t remember that at all.

  “Yes, darling. Your sister. Welcome home.”

  His arms slid around her shoulders. He closed his eyes and finally relaxed.

  Jenny Tyler drove into Odessa with a new understanding of the man she’d known as Chance McCall. This country he’d come from was so different from hers. Here it was all flat and open, with nowhere to hide. Nowhere except inside one’s self, and Chance had been good at that.

  She pulled up to the pump at a gas station and parked. An attendant hurried out, wearing greasy coveralls and a smile.

  “What’ll it be, miss?” he asked. “Fill ’er up?”

  Jenny nodded.

  “How ya’ll doin’?” he asked.

  Jenny smiled. People were certainly friendly here. It made her feel just a tiny bit better. The hole in her heart was badly in need of patching, and a friendly face helped.

  “I’m doing fine,” Jenny said. “Maybe you could help me locate an address. I’m looking for a motel.”

  “You bet,” the man answered as he finished wiping the windshield. “There’s the usual chain motels. And there’s a couple that come to mind that are privately owned. There’s the Best Western Garden Oasis or maybe the Parkway Inn. Want me to tell you how to get there?”

  “No,” Jenny said. “I already have an address. I just need directions. Here it is,” she said, and handed the scrap of paper out the window.

  The man frowned, looked at Jenny and then back at the paper. “I don’t think you’ll be happy staying there, miss,” he said. And then he hesitated, obviously loath to criticize his own hometown, before his better judgment overcame his pride. “In fact, I’d like to ask you to reconsider your choice, miss. This place doesn’t exactly cater to your type of clientele. They go more for the ‘hourly’ customers, instead of the overnight ones, if you get my meaning.” He almost blushed as Jenny smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t intend to stay there. I’m just looking for a friend. This was the last address I was given.”

  “Oh!” He nodded, satisfied that he’d given her sufficient warning, and handed back the paper. “Well, then you’ll be wanting to take a left at the next stoplight. That motel is about nine or ten blocks down on the left-hand side of Second Street. Good luck to you. And you owe me twelve-fifty for the gas.”

  Jenny paid and drove away. Anticipation was mounting. She knew it might be a bad time to catch Chance. But she didn’t care if she had to wait all day. One way or another, she was going to see him…and soon.

  Her excitement gave way to a growing fear that if and when she found him, he might be angry, even furious, that she’d followed him. But she didn’t care. She had the right.

  The motel was exactly where the attendant had claimed it would be. And the reputation at which he’d hinted was obvious. She’d never seen such a seedy, run-down place. It was hard for her to believe that Chance had chosen it.

  She turned in and parked by the office. There was a truck in the lot that looked just like his. Her heartbeat accelerated. She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and started toward the office, then turned back and locked her car. It was instinctive.

  The row of dead bugs lying against the outside wall of the building did nothing to assure her that there were not countless live ones running about inside. She pushed the door open and walked up to the counter.

  “It’s twenty dollars,” the desk clerk said. “It don’t matter whether it’s for an hour or all night. Twenty dollars.”

  Jenny stared. She hadn’t seen horn-rimmed glasses in years. And that particular shade of peroxide-blond hair must have been painful. It was the only way to describe the translucent white fuzz teased in all directions. And then she remembered her manners.

  “I don’t want a room. I want to know what room Chance McCall is in.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the clerk answered, “but we aren’t allowed to give out that information.”

  Jenny’s eyebrows rose, and she stared, persistently, watching the woman’s gum that slipped from one side of her mouth to the other as she chewed.

  The clerk fidgeted. She didn’t know how to argue with someone who wouldn’t talk. Finally she added, “It’s nothing personal, you understand. I’m sure you’re a real nice lady and all, but I have to answer to paying customers. They have a right to privacy, you know.”

  Still Jenny said nothing. She stepped up to the counter, stared at the wall of keys hanging in plain view, and noted that only one was missing, twelve B. It was a place to start. If she had to, she’d knock on every door in the place until she found him. She’d been afraid for too long, and come too far to be stopped now.

  “Never mind,” Jenny said. “I’ll find him myself.”

  “Now you wait a minute,” the woman called. “I might just have to call the police.”

  “Go ahead,” Jenny said. “Call them. And then call Chance McCall and tell him that you just had Jenny arrested. And then…I suggest you ge
t out of town while you can. He won’t be happy.”

  The clerk remembered the man in twelve B. She’d already been witness to his temper. She had no intention of suffering the same fate again.

  “Fine,” she said, and turned away. “Just don’t blame me if something happens to you. That man ain’t friendly. Not one damn bit.”

  Jenny smiled to herself. That was her Chance. He was still here. She hurried down the cracked walkway, searching the numbers on the doors as she ran. Some numbers were missing, some were hanging by a hint and a promise. One door was open…standing ajar. Twelve B! This was the one.

  “Chance?” she called as she pushed the door all the way open.

  For the longest time, she stood frozen, staring at the tall couple entwined in each other’s arms, one blond and female, the other dark and very familiar looking. A pain hung suspended just behind her heart, making it very difficult to catch her breath. Her legs began to shake, her eyes filled. But it wasn’t despair that erupted. It was anger. In pure, unadulterated, Tyler form.

  “You must be real desperate, honey.” She enunciated with venom in every syllable. “It’s not even Saturday night and you’re already at it.”

  Her accusation sent the couple spinning around, surprised by the sound of a woman’s voice. Victoria stepped back in shock at the sight of a furious woman standing in the doorway. But Chance grinned. He started toward Jenny with arms outstretched.

  “Jenny! How did you—”

  “None of your damn business, Chance McCall. How dare you? How dare you run off without a word? How dare you do this to—”

  Chance caught her and pulled her into his arms. He mashed her face against his chest and began to laugh. “I missed you, Jenny. I don’t know how in hell you found me, but I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.”

  Victoria watched the couple’s greeting with a trace of envy. She knew that she’d just met the woman who’d claimed her brother’s heart, and it was up to her to smooth out this misunderstanding before it got worse. Chance had suffered enough at the hands of her family. If she had to, she’d spend the rest of her life making certain that it never happened again.