Love's Second Chance

by Patty H Scott

  I walk up to Ferris Wheel and try the door. It’s locked. What time is it anyway? Only 4:45 p.m. Oh. Looks like they close at 4:00 p.m. on Wednesdays. That’s small-town Montana for you. In L.A. everything’s open pretty much around the clock.

  As I turn to walk back to my car, I see Jack sitting on the corner stage inside the shop strumming a guitar and singing. I didn’t know he could play guitar. Maybe there’s a lot I don’t know about Jack yet. But, wait, if the shop is closed, why is Jack still in there? It doesn’t look like anyone else is there. This is odd.

  Just then Mindy walks up. She catches me off guard. “Katrina! Hi. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, hey, Mindy. I was just peeking in Ferris Wheel and looking at Jack. I didn’t know he played guitar.”

  “Yeah. He played in high school in the talent shows and for fun, but I didn’t know whether he still played. Seems like he wouldn’t have much time since he opened Ferris Wheel.”

  He owns Ferris Wheel? That means he lives here. Why wouldn’t he tell me these critical details? I thought we were growing close. I feel like I could fall backward. I’m lightheaded and my vision is spotty. I may be losing the feeling in my legs. I try to get my bearings. Why? Why didn’t Jack mention that he owns this shop? He confessed his lifelong dream that day in Santa Monica, and I encouraged him to take the risk.

  That first day I saw him here, come to think of it, he was heading down the service hallway or coming out from somewhere when I walked in. And that explains why he was here most of the times I showed up. He’s always here. He owns the place. I kept meaning to ask why he was in Bozeman. I had assumed it had something to do with his mom or a vacation.

  At first, I was distracted with him giving me the cold shoulder, and then I got swept up in the romance between us. I’ve never been known for my attention to detail. This would have been one time that quality would have come in more than handy. I feel so foolish.

  Jack Anders is just like every other man. He lied to me. I don’t know why, but he hid the fact that he’s here in Bozeman for good. He’s not going back to L.A. He led me on into thinking what we were doing would last past this trip. I’ve been a fool. Suddenly I realize Mindy is staring at me. “You okay, Katrina?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m ok. I just remembered I have to go, um, meet Michael at the inn. I’ll see you around, okay, Mindy?”

  “Sure. Maybe at small group this week or church.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I’ll let you know.” I just need to get away right now. I can’t think or even talk to Mindy any longer. I take off from the front of Ferris Wheel as fast as I can. If I could book a flight out of Bozeman tonight, I would.

  I cross the street and get into my car. I almost lurch out into traffic when a pickup truck pulls up to pass me. I slam the brakes just in time to let him by. I’m really in no condition to drive, but I have to get back to the inn to make plans to get out of here.

  I can’t tell Michael why I need to leave town. He’ll talk me out of it. I know he will. He’ll try to coax me into talking things through, listening to Jack’s side or something insane. I’m not talking to Jack Anders again for as long as I live. I let my guard down with him. I let myself believe he was different. I allowed myself to fall in love.

  Oh no. What a moment to realize that. If there were a contest to name the queen of fools, I’d win the world title. They could give me a sash and a dunce cap and parade me around. I fell hard for Jack. Well, now I’ll just have to go home to L.A, lick my wounds, and move on. It’s not the first time I’ve been through a bad ending. I have what it takes to get through this.

  I’m running on adrenaline fueled by anger when I jog up the entire staircase at the inn. I’m still trying to figure out what to tell Michael as I grab my laptop and start scanning flight options. Of course, Montana. Nothing except flights at 7:00 a.m. or 2:00 p.m. That’s it. Two times to fly out of this state. It’s like I’m trapped in Alice in Wonderland, the out-west version. Instead of tea with the Mad Hatter I’m going to sit with a bunch of buffalo and ranch hands drinking water from a spigot. Except I’m not. I’m not staying in this Godforsaken state one more minute.

  I start frantically searching other flight options. Short of paying a private pilot, which I know I can’t do, I will do what it takes to find a way out of here. Jackson Wyoming is a four-hour drive. Praise all that is holy there’s an 11:30 p.m. flight! I book it right then and there. It’s 5:25 p.m. If we load up now and drive a teensy bit fast, we should get to the airport by 10 p.m. It’s a close call, but one I’m making.

  I call Michael, trying to put on my calm, composed, this-is-not-an-emergency-but-it-is voice. “Hey, Michael. I know this is going to sound radical, but we have to drive to Wyoming right now.”

  “What? Did you say Wyoming?”

  “Yes. I said Wyoming.” I’m shoving things in my suitcase as I talk. “It’s a long story and I can’t tell you all of it right now, but we have to get back to L.A. stat.”

  “Okay, Kat. Are you sure? Are you okay?”

  “I’m sure and I’m okay.” I am sure, but I’m definitely not okay. “Can you meet me at the car with all your stuff in less than 20 minutes? I’ve already got the gear packed in my room. I just have to toss my stuff in my suitcase. I’ve booked us two redeye flights out of Jackson tonight.”

  Typical Michael, he’s chill and prepared for whatever. “I’m good to go. I’ll meet you down there. Then you are filling me in on what’s going on. Did you tell Jack you can’t make your date?”

  I tell a momentary fib. “I cancelled with Jack already. Sorry for the rush. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t urgent. We can reschedule our shoots while we travel.” I’m scurrying through the bathroom grabbing things as I end our conversation. “See you downstairs. Thanks, Michael.”

  “K. Bye.”

  I don’t like dumping any extra work on Michael. I also have never lied to him before and it feels awful. I know it’s ironic. I’m sort of hiding key details from him, and I just told him I cancelled supper with Jack. Which I did, except Jack doesn’t know it yet. Remaining in the same state as Jack Anders one more minute would crush me. Eventually I’ll tell Michael all the details. On the flight. When he has no option but to let me go to L.A.

  I throw the rest of my stuff willy-nilly into my suitcase, do a once-over to check drawers and the bathroom, and jog down the stairs. I could win so many awards right now – like a game show for who can check out of a hotel the fastest. That’s me. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. I give the key card to the woman at the desk and explain we had an emergency and have to leave ahead of schedule. I manage to tell her the inn is lovely, and it was great staying here. In all honesty, I hope I never see this inn again.

  Michael comes down right behind me. Runner-up in the hotel exit game. That’s my boy. He must see the panicked look on my face underneath my attempt to look like a cool, sophisticated entrepreneurial woman. He knows me too well. All he says as we walk out the door is, “I’m driving.” Fine by me.

  chapter eighteen

  Jack

  I drive up to Katrina’s inn at 6 p.m. My thoughts have been on her all day. Tonight, I’m going to take her to Ferris Wheel for supper. She thought we were going to go to the Chinese place off Main, but I decided the best way to tell her about the fact that I own Ferris Wheel Coffee is to thank her for her inspiration in person.

  Betty came back after closing to bring in chicken, cornbread, and salad, and to light candles on the bar and at one of the tables. We’ll walk into a romantic ambiance. I’ll lead her to the table where I will share with her how that day in Santa Monica really was life-changing, how a girl like her gave me the courage to take risks. Then we’ll eat together at the table Betty set for us, and we can plan the details of our future together over dinner. I even have some slow songs cued on the sound system so we can dance after we eat.

  I wrote Katrina a song. She has me doing things that make me barely recognize myself. I plan to sit on the edge of the stage in the
corner after supper, pull up a chair for her, and sing the song to her while I look straight into her eyes.

  I know it’s going to be complicated figuring out how to manage our relationship when we live in separate states and she travels, but I’ve never felt this kind of love for another woman. Yes. I love Katrina Bradshaw. I’m not going to blow her away with that quite yet, but I am going to let her know I’ll do what it takes to make this work between us.

  If she truly hates my being here in Montana, I can consider keeping Ferris Wheel Coffee afloat for a while longer until it’s really solid and then transferring ownership of the business so I can relocate. I love being home, but I already felt what it was like to have my shop without her in my life and I don’t want that. If being in L.A. matters most to her, I’ll consider opening something down there.

  I jog up the porch steps and walk into the lobby. She’s not down yet, so I take a seat in the overstuffed chairs. About ten minutes go by. I decide to text her. For as disorganized as she can be, she’s not usually late to meet me. Maybe she is just running late. I can wait. It’s okay. Katrina’s worth waiting for.

  Jack: Hey, beautiful. I’m here downstairs. Just want you to know. No hurry. I’m looking forward to our dinner together. And you’re going to love it because it involves a surprise.

  She doesn’t text back. I wait about five more minutes. I’m getting a little concerned. Maybe she lost track of time and isn’t near her phone. A few more minutes go by and the woman behind the desk comes over. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to meet a guest of yours.”

  “May I ask the name?”

  “Katrina Bradshaw.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Miss Bradshaw and her traveling companion checked out about a half hour ago.” They what? I sit there stunned. The woman from the inn is staring at me. I feel numb. There must be some mistake. My brain feels foggy and confused.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure. They seemed to be in a hurry.” Well, maybe there was an emergency. But why didn’t Katrina text me? I hope she’s okay.

  I walk out the door and down the stairs trying to consider all the possibilities of what could have happened. Most of my guesses don’t adequately explain why she didn’t text, call, or respond to my text. I sit in my car and decide to text her again.

  Jack: Katrina, you ok? The woman at the inn just told me you and Michael checked out around 5:30 p.m. Is that true? What happened? Text me back as soon as you can. I’m worried about you. Please tell me we can have a raincheck on dinner. Always, Katrina.

  I’m not really sure when the last time I prayed was. I think it was when I received the call informing me they took Mom to the hospital because she was having chest pains. I asked God to make her well and to keep her alive until I could get there. She died that night of heart complications. None of us even knew she had a heart issue. I never had the chance to say goodbye.

  And now Katrina left without a goodbye too. I have to believe there’s a good reason. I sit in my car staring out at the Gallat-Inn and say the first prayer I’ve prayed in months. “God, I don’t know what’s going on with Katrina, but I imagine you do. Can you take care of her for me, and bring her back safe? Help me to reach her. Amen.”

  I turn the key in the ignition and drive back to Ferris Wheel Coffee. The candles are burning. The food is in the warming oven and the salad is in the fridge. I blow out the flames and take the dishes to the kitchen. Then I pack up the rest of the food and store it. I lost my appetite. I sit on the stage and take out my guitar. I play Katrina’s song. I just wish I knew where she was right now.

  * * *

  I have texted Katrina for the past two days since our cancelled date and left her multiple voice messages. She never answered my texts that night and she hasn’t responded since. I shot a text off to Michael too. No response from him either. I’m starting to wonder if they were in a car accident. There’s no word of them at all. I wish I had other contacts for her, but I just have her cell and Michael’s.

  Today I’m off and Amelia is manning the shop for me. I put my running gear on and meet Brannon for a morning run.

  He starts in by asking about Katrina. “So you haven’t heard from her yet?”

  “No. When I mistakenly thought Michael was her boyfriend, and she thought I was avoiding her she gave me the frost treatment. I wonder if she misunderstood something, and I need to straighten it out. If she did, I can’t imagine what.”

  “Well, there’s no way for you to know unless she tells you, right?”

  “Yes. The thing that’s driving me nuts is that we left things on such good terms. She was looking forward to supper. None of it makes sense, Brannon.”

  “Yeah. If she had a change of plans, she would have texted or called, right?”

  “Right.”

  He throws out another idea. “If she were in an accident, we would have heard about it through news or just talk around town.”

  “Right. That’s the loop my mind goes on too. It’s endless – with no resolution. I can’t figure this out. My mind flits through scenarios. None of them add up.”

  “I wish I could help.”

  “You are. Just sorting through this out loud helps, even if it doesn’t get me closer to a solution.”

  chapter nineteen

  Katrina

  If moping were an artform, I’d be considered a master. It’s not like I’m trying to throw myself a pity party. I just do pathetic really, really well. I may have worn the same pajamas for three or four days now. I don’t count. Counting would be purposeful, and I pretty much feel like the most lack-of-purpose person on the earth right now. I look Rastafarian with my new hairdo of unkempt dreadlocks.

  Michael stops by, picks up wads of Kleenex and throws them in the trash. I wish I were making that up. While he’s scolding me about how I need to eat something besides pint-sized ice cream, Patrice comes in. They have formed a conspiracy.

  I glare at Michael, “You jump ship too easily. First you told that man I was thinking of him, and now you’re on her side.” I point to Patrice.

  “Girl, you know I don’t have a side. Michael and I are on your side. You’ve been back for a week and your mood is like the shade of oatmeal. You’ve got to get some color back into your life. Let’s go out dancing or catch the weekend cruise to Mexico. Something. What sounds good?”

  I wave my hand from my head to my toes. “One, do you think they will let me on a cruise like this? No, I don’t think so. Two. I am not dancing because happy people dance, and I am not happy. Look guys, y’all are truly the best. I’m not trying to worry you or drag you down. I’m hurting …” And with that I start crying – again.

  Patrice comes over and puts her arm around me. Michael, bless his heart, comes to the other side and lopes his arm over my back and Patrice’s arm and the three of us sit huddled together while I let more tears flow out into the comfort of friendship.

  “I know this will pass – in my head I know it. It’s just that I’ve never felt anything like I felt with him. Yes, it was a bit unusual how we kept running into one another, and we didn’t have a lot of dates, but I just knew. He was my always. Except now he can’t be.” I cry harder.

  Patrice hands me a clean Kleenex. “We’re here for you, Kat. I know he was special. This isn’t Thomas. Let’s just give it time.”

  Michael echoes her care. “You know we’re here for you. You’ll get through this.”

  “You two are awesome. You know that, right? I still maintain my right to mope. Just so you know.”

  Patrice gives me a light shove. “Carry on, then. We’re here when you want to rejoin the living.” I laugh through my congestion.

  I lift my head to look at Michael. “Maybe in a week I’ll call Seth Greene just to break out of the constant thoughts I have about that coffee shop owner.”

  I refuse to use his name. It hurts too much to say it out loud. I put Patrice and Michael on the ban too – no names. Refer to him by labels.
The liar in Montana works in certain moods. The man who wrecked my life is another, though that list gets confusing as to who we are talking about. Mostly, I don’t want to be as petty as I feel, so we’ll stick with job descriptions or the location of that man.

  Surprisingly, Michael looks at me and says, “It’s not time to call Seth Greene yet, Kat. You need some space to patch up the broken places.”

  * * *

  After Patrice and Michael left, I felt a little better. It wasn’t the first of their visits to check in on me since my mope-a-thon started. They just hadn’t joined forces before today. Something about both of them here together, two of my closest people, gave me a little spark of hope. I’m not admitting that to them right away – don’t want to make them think ganging up on me is a new approach they ought to commit to using whenever I’m down. But I did take a shower. I washed my hair twice because the first wash didn’t even seem to do anything.

  I make a cup of coffee and sit on my couch looking for freelance opportunities on an online photog job listing site. After a few hours of stabbing around at potential projects I might want to pursue next, I send Michael an email.

  Hey, Michael,

  Thanks for coming over and cleaning up my Kleenex. I didn’t know that was in your job description. I probably owe you a big bonus for grunt work like that. ;) I did move off the couch and look at some potential shoots. See the attached list of what I’ve found. If you have anything on the radar, let me know. Avoid the northwest region of the US like the plague of death. Also, please steer clear of states that start with the letter M.

  You are the best. K

  After I hit send, it occurs to me this might be a good time to head home for a visit to see my folks. I know we just got back a week ago, and I need to resume working, but I’ve been meaning to see them anyway. Maybe right now, before Michael and I put more work on the books, I can take a short trip to catch my breath. I probably should be visiting under better circumstances, but I know Mama and she’d want me to call her and come use her shoulder to cry on. Not that I’m crying. I feel cried out. I don’t want to waste another teardrop on that man. I just need to get away for a bit, even if it feels like I’m being weak running back to my parents when the cow dung hits the fan.