Love's Second Chance

by Patty H Scott

  chapter one

  Katrina

  I’m getting a look from one of the guys I’m working with on this faux wedding shoot at a Central California vineyard. He’s rolling his eyes about our fussy “bride.” Who knew a fake bride could be as bridezilla as a real one? This is a prime example of why I don’t shoot weddings for a living. That and the fact that happily ever after seems to only happen in fairy tales and movies, not real life. I’ll stick to my photojournalism shoots any day.

  The guy walks over to me. “I hear there’s cake. Want to come snag a piece with me?”

  “I’d actually pay big money to see the fake groom smear a big piece in bridezilla’s face right now.” He laughs and gives me a flirty smile. Ugh. No. No making men laugh. This totally goes against my motto: No men. At 27 years old, I’ve already been through what I affectionately call “the series of unfortunate events” otherwise known as my dating life. So, no. No cake with cute guys working fake weddings.

  I turn him down graciously. “I actually have to hit the road to head back to L.A. as soon as I can wrap things up. But thanks.” I smile and walk over toward the bride and groom.

  I manage to take a few more decent shots of the fake couple. As I’m packing up, the venue coordinator comes over. “How’d it go, Kat? Did you get enough footage to give us what we need?”

  “It looks good. I have some food shots for the catering company, a good selection of the ceremony, and plenty of aerial shots of the venue on my drone. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “With your talent, I know we won’t be disappointed. You heading back tonight?”

  “I am.”

  I’m actually staying overnight at an inn and stopping at the elephant seal preserve and a few estuaries on the way back down the Central Coast to get some wildlife shots tomorrow, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  I give her the customary thanks. “I appreciate you reaching out to land me this shoot. I’ll have the photos edited and to you by the end of the week.”

  I load my tripod and gear into my trunk and drive off the venue property. I send a quick text to my assistant, Michael, to let him know I’m wrapping things up. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without Michael. He’s everything I’m not: organized, unemotional … and did I mention organized? He’s just out of college, and a total hipster. Basically, he’s like the little brother I always wanted.

  Kat: Hey, Michael. I’m about to leave the shoot. I sent you a file with all the shots.

  Michael: Great, Kat. I’ll look them over.

  Kat: Thanks. You are officially the best.

  Michael: As long as you remember that.

  Kat: Ha! Well, as long as you remember that I rescued you from the dreaded life of hanging around beautiful models all day just so you could schlep around the world as my assistant.

  Michael: You’ve got me there. Speaking of schlepping around the world, I talked to our contact in Uganda, and we’re set for accommodations.

  Kat: Great. Let’s firm all that up together when I get home. You know if you tell me now, I’ll only retain fifty percent of the details at best.

  Michael: Don’t I know it. Okay, Kat. I’ll touch base with you the day after tomorrow.

  Kat: Sounds good.

  I cruise down a two-lane highway dotted with vineyards on both sides heading towards Pacific Coast Highway. About fifteen minutes into the drive I hear my phone through the car speaker. It’s the ringtone I chose after I found Thomas kissing that woman at a sidewalk cafe in North Hollywood. Mick Haywood is singing “I Might Never Get Over You.” I need to change that ringtone. I’ll pick a song about swearing off men for good instead. It will be my anthem. I’ll have an anthem and a mantra. That’ll do.

  I look at my screen to see the naturally tanned face and bright smile of my best friend, Patrice.

  “What’s up, sweet friend?” I ask as I roll my window up to hear her better.

  “Wellll … a few guys at my work want to go out on a night hike to the observatory and grab a late pizza for supper afterward Saturday. Are you game, Kat?”

  “Patrice. That’s a no. No men. For real.”

  “They aren’t proposing, Kat. They just want to go on a hike – as a group – you know, nothing romantic.” I hear her sigh through the phone.

  “That’s what you said about speed dating. Seriously. What genius dreamed up that rare form of torture?” She laughs.

  “Seriously. First, it’s a hike. Then it’s, ‘Can I get your number?’ Next thing you know I am crying my eyes out, with a pint-sized ice cream in one hand and a remote in the other.”

  “Kat, not all men are Thomas. But I hear you. I won’t press the issue. How was the shoot?”

  “Total confirmation that weddings and I should not coexist. The fake bride was super persnickety. And a cute guy asked me to cake.”

  “What? What does ‘asked you to cake’ mean?” Patrice giggles.

  “It means he wanted to sneak off and steal some of the wedding cake together … and before you get excited, I said no.”

  “You are too much. If you ask me, you need to reconsider this whole man fast.” I can picture her exasperated look as I hear her exhale a little loudly.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not about to move to Austria to join a convent and sing Edelweiss the rest of my days. If an attractive man catches my interest, I might let him take me out once or twice, but that’s it. I draw the line at the third date. No men. It’s my mantra.”

  “Well, whatever you decide, I’ve got your back,” Patrice says with such warmth.

  “And I love you for it.”

  “K. Call me when you are back home. I want to see you before you head to Africa.”

  “For sure. We need to get together before I’m gone for a month.”

  The rest of my drive to the inn gives me time to think. For some morbid reason I end up ruminating about Thomas. The heartbreak I went through over him has taken way longer to heal than any broken bone. It’s not like I loved Thomas, but our relationship was the most deeply committed one I ever had. Something happened inside me the day I saw him choosing another woman. He dismantled my hope for a solid relationship in one swift movement.

  Still, I occasionally long for a deeper soul connection – and not platonic. If I’m honest with myself, I want a man in my life. I really don’t know how it would work since I travel like a nomad and I’m so used to living life on my own terms. Thinking of my travels lifts my mood. And to solidify my free-spirited, man-free status, I blare some Taylor Swift. I think I may have found my anthem.

  chapter two

  Jack

  How many skeins of yarn does one woman need? And where can I donate all of this? I look around the room mom called her craft room. I can’t bring myself to throw away any half-finished projects Mom started before she passed. I sit in the rocking chair surveying piles of scrapbook paper, rubber stamps, and enough yarn to properly bind a prized bull. It’s the same rocker Mom nursed me and Caleb in. She’d always remind us of that when she felt sentimental.

  I turn on a romantic comedy on Mom’s TV. I just want it to play in the background to drown out my loneliness. The house seems unnervingly empty without Mom here to give it life. The movie is about an artist who falls for a businessman. Of course, they’ll have their happily ever after. Unfortunately, life isn’t a Hallmark movie. Besides most women I meet aren’t anything like the leading woman in this film, which is why I’ve become a confirmed bachelor.

  I’m startled by a knock at the door. I quickly switch off the movie. No one needs to catch me watching chick flicks at Mom’s. I look out the peephole and see Mindy Morse. She went to school with Caleb and me. I know Caleb has been in love with Mindy since the seventh grade. I’d bet my
stock portfolio that the feeling is mutual, but for some reason they have never expressed anything but friendship to each other.

  As I open the door, she greets me with a compassionate look. “Jack. How are you?”

  “Hey, Mindy. I’m okay. Just clearing through Mom’s things to prep for the sale of the home. You know.” She gives me an understanding smile.

  “I heard you were up here going through things. I’ve got the week off for spring break. Could you use a hand today?”

  “Thanks. I was just trying to tackle the craft room. Could you use a lifetime’s supply of rubber stamps and scrapbook paper? What about a truckload of yarn?”

  “I’m sure I could use some of it in my classroom, but probably not all of it. I can ask at the Bozeman Senior Center and the afterschool program about the rest. Let’s get it boxed up.”

  Mindy walks with me back to the craft room. As we pack, we reminisce. “Jack, your mom truly was one of a kind. I remember how she came to sit with me when I sprained my ankle and couldn’t run in a cross country race I had trained so hard for.” A wistful look crosses her face.

  “I’m sure she loved being there. She had a way of filling in the blank spaces in people’s lives and hearts. And, you meant a lot to her.” Mindy smiles at me.

  It’s obvious we are both fighting tears, but then Mindy brings up a funny memory. “Jack, do you remember when Caleb taped one of those dollar store air horns to the bathroom wall? A bunch of us were over doing homework together that afternoon, and when your mom opened the door the handle hit the air horn so it blared.” Mindy starts giggling at the memory.

  “She screamed like someone was trying to kill her! I bet they heard her on the other side of Montana!” Now we’re both cracking up. It feels good to laugh after so much heaviness has been dominating my thoughts.

  I know I saw a glimmer in Mindy’s eye when she said my brother’s name. He needs to get into action and pursue her. I’m going to say something when I visit him on the way back to California. Girls like Mindy are rare. I’d hate for Caleb to miss his chance at something real with her.

  We finish packing the room and carry the donations out to put them in her trunk. As Mindy drives off, I feel simultaneously lighter and heavier. I’m that much closer to finishing cleaning out the house so it can be put on the market. Every step I take towards that goal solidifies the fact that my mom isn’t coming back. She’s gone and the hole in my soul makes the Mariana Trench look like a thimble.

  * * *

  On my way back to California, I stop in on Caleb at the fire station. He lives only two hours from Mom’s, right outside of Yellowstone. Caleb serves as a wildland forest firefighter in Montana. On the off-season he gets called out to fires around the state and even around the nation, or sometimes he joins a Hotshot crew. He was made for the job: high-energy, adrenaline junkie, a love for the outdoors, and the ability to foster camaraderie in a team.

  As I drive up to the station house, I see why this is the life he chose. It’s gorgeous here. No sooner have I put my car in park than he comes bounding out the door like a Labrador puppy. No bad days for my brother. His energy is contagious – just what I need after packing up Mom’s.

  “Jack!” He embraces me in a big hug.

  “Hey, Caleb.”

  “Come on in, man. Some of the guys are out at one of the towers, but the rest are inside waiting to see you. How’d everything go with Mom’s house? I’m so sorry I couldn’t get time off to be there and help.” He opens the door and leads me into the station house.

  “I know how it is for you. It was actually good to be alone and take things bit by bit. No complications. Mindy popped by the last day to help pack up the craft room.”

  “Mindy, huh?” Caleb’s eyes get a distant look in them.

  “Yes. She misses Mom too. Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  “Yeah. We all miss her, Jack. So, what was Mindy doing stopping in?”

  “You know her. Asking if she could help in any way.” When I say that, Caleb smiles big, with pride, as if she were already his.

  We walk into the kitchen where a few guys are sitting around the dining table and Jared is at the stove. Everyone waves hi to me. Caleb looks at me. “Mindy is about the sweetest thing this side of the Rockies.”

  “You might want to tell her that before you are both old and gray. You know that, right?” I nudge him with my elbow.

  “I know. I know. What am I supposed to say? Hey, Min. Did you know I’ve been crushing on you since before I got my first pimple, and you know, I live in the woods with a bunch of guys risking my life on a regular basis. How ‘bout we hook up sometime?”

  “I don’t know what you’re supposed to say, bro. I do know this. You never stay constant on much, and you’ve been constant on her for nearly your whole life. That’s got to tell you something.” I give him an intentional stare – like the one Dad used to give us when he meant business. Caleb runs his hands through his sandy blonde hair and blows out a sigh.

  I know I’ve said my piece – again – so I shift the subject as I look around the kitchen. “So, who’s cooking in the fire station today? This traveler is hungry for some home cooked food.”

  “It’s Jared. He makes a mean breakfast burrito. Don’t you Jared?”

  Jared stirs something in a skillet. “You got that right. Hey, Jack, glad you could stop by.”

  “Hey, Jared. How have you been?”

  “You know, the usual, single guy, living on the edge of a forest with a bunch of guys like your crazy brother.” He chuckles.

  “That bad, huh?” We share a laugh. It feels good to be with these men who are like family to Caleb.

  “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Jared. I don’t know if I could maintain my sanity in this testosterone-fest.” A few of the guys at the table make some grunting noises and we all crack up.

  Caleb chimes in. “Yeah, Jack needs a desk and all his files in order. Not exactly the qualities we look for when hiring a Hotshot.” I think about how uncomfortable my desk job has gotten lately. He may be right about my need for order, but I feel an itch to pursue something else. I don’t share my thoughts with Caleb. They feel a little too personal and unformed right now.

  Caleb was right about one thing. Jared makes a mean breakfast burrito. After we eat, I hang out a bit and then I tell Caleb I need to take off. My drive home will be a little longer since I decided to go out of my way and head down the California coast on the way home. Mom and I took a trip there two years ago when she came to visit me, and I feel a yearning to revisit the spots we enjoyed together. It’s out of my way, but something in me feels like going there will help me hold onto her a little longer.

  * * *

  I find a bench on the boardwalk where Mom and I took our walks during our visit to this seaside town of Cambria. After watching the ocean for a while, I decide I might as well head to L.A. The drive down the coast is refreshing. I even crack the windows for a while and let the salty breeze whip through the car. Little towns scattered along the shoreline come into view and pass behind me in the rearview mirror.

  I pull into a truck stop outside Ventura to gas up and grab a bag of mixed nuts to snack on. Heading back into the parking lot, I see a woman standing next to her car looking a bit distressed. She’s on her phone talking animatedly, so I stand at a distance and watch her. She’s attractive – long brown hair that falls halfway down her back, and a nice figure. I watch as she hangs up her phone and tosses it through the open window onto her passenger seat. She brings her hand up to her forehead and looks down at the hood of her car.

  I remember something Mom used to say about doing good whenever we’re able and no act of kindness ever being wasted. Still, I’m a single guy and she’s alone. I don’t want to freak her out. I decide to walk over and see if she needs help. Just in case.

  “Hey, there. I’m Jack. You look a bit upset. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Uh. Hey. Hi. Yeah. Well, I think my car overheated. At least that’
s what the dial thing on the dash says. It went over on H for hot and then some steam or smoke started coming out of the hood. I called a friend and he said it sounds like I might need to get the engine looked at. I’m not from around here, so it’s a little inconvenient.” She moves her hands to emphasize her words, and I surprise myself when I realize I’m thinking she looks adorable when she does that.

  I tell her, “I’m not from around here either. Do you mind if I take a look under your hood – of your car?”

  “Sure. Yeah. Yes. That would actually be good. But, do you know what you’re looking for?” She looks a bit skeptical.

  “Well, I know my basic way around an engine. I worked on cars with my dad growing up. Just our cars, not professionally or anything. I know what I’m looking for when an engine overheats. Is your gauge to cool yet? If not, we need to wait.” She walks to the driver door and looks in.

  “Yes. It’s half-way down from cool right now. Is that good?” I notice her accent sounds like she grew up somewhere in the South. Not a Californian native, for sure.

  I lean around the hood. “Yeah. That should be fine.”

  “Ok. Let me pop the hood for you. Thanks a lot.” She reaches in and pulls the latch.

  I look her in the eyes and smile, “No problem.”

  I lift the hood and assess the block for cracks. Then I make sure the oil cap is on tight. I check the coolant level and the hoses. About halfway through my inspection, she comes and stands next to me looking in as though she knows what she’s seeing. Of course, a woman can be anything she wants, and that includes a mechanic, but it’s obvious this woman is not anything close to one, so her joining me gives me a little smile.

  I step back. “Everything looks good. Nothing seems to have cracked. Your hoses are in good condition. All your fluids are full enough. It probably just needs to sit and completely cool and then you’re good to go. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Oh, I’m Katrina. Thanks again. You were a lifesaver.” She looks me in the eyes. Hers are brown and warm and convey a spirited determination and possibly a spark of passion. I’m pretty sure she’s not like any woman I’ve met in the past few years.