The Chance: A Novel

by Karen Kingsbury

  She giggled quietly and looked through the window again. “I keep thinking about Nolan Cook, the famous basketball player, and the way my mommy looked when she talked about him. If they used to love each other, then maybe they still do. Right?”

  Ellie felt a chill run down her arms. Kinzie was thinking about Nolan? To the point of praying about him? She took half a step closer so she wouldn’t miss a word.

  “Anyway, I want to pray for my mommy.” Kinzie’s shoulders drooped a little. “Please help her life be happy. I know she’s sad a lot. She doesn’t have her family because everything is broken. And she doesn’t have Nolan, either.” She itched her elbow. “Most of all, Mommy doesn’t have you. And that means she doesn’t have her happy-ever-after.”

  Ellie blinked back tears. She had no idea her lack of faith mattered this much to Kinzie.

  “That’s all for tonight, Jesus. Thank you. Love, your new friend, Kinzie.” She stood up, rubbed her knees a few times, and climbed into bed, probably satisfied with her prayer. But Ellie would never know that satisfaction, never share a moment like this with Kinzie. The fact that she couldn’t join her daughter in faith and prayer was one more price she would pay for her messed-up family. Even though she didn’t believe, she knew this much for sure as she finished the dishes and went to bed, and even the next day at the salon:

  She would remember Kinzie’s prayer as long as she lived.

  Ellie was on a break, organizing bottles of color on the backroom shelf, when she heard the sports announcer on TV say something about Nolan. She’d kept the channel on ESPN throughout the play-offs—especially on days like this, when the Hawks had a pivotal game. Atlanta took the series four to two over the Magic, clinching the win last week. The Eastern Conference Championship was tied at one game apiece, and today was the third game.

  A win against the Celtics was critical.

  Ellie dusted her hands on her apron and found an empty chair closest to the TV. Three sportscasters were lined up at a table, and the topic had turned to Nolan. “He’s definitely got the nation’s attention.” The statement came from the older announcer, a regular with ESPN for a decade.

  The three bantered about Nolan’s recent tweet. Ellie didn’t follow him on Twitter or Facebook. She looked every now and then, but for the most part, it was enough to see him playing his heart out on TV without being privy to his thoughts and updates.

  Nolan’s tweet flashed on the screen.

  I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength! Phil 4:13—Go Hawks!

  One of the announcers shook his head, clearly frustrated. “The thing is, Cook is a public figure. He has more support than any president in twenty years.”

  “He has haters, don’t forget that.” The reminder came from the older announcer.

  “Haters aside, he has a great deal of support. I just think the sports field is no place for religion. Okay, sure, it’s his private Twitter account, but he’s got nearly five million followers. At that level, I think he should keep his faith to himself.”

  No one could doubt God more than Ellie, but even she felt angry at the comment. Nolan could say what he wanted on his own Twitter account. The other two announcers agreed with her. If the tweet had come from the Hawks’ official account, that would be a problem. But not coming from his own.

  “People don’t have to follow Nolan Cook. That’s their choice. You follow a celebrity in today’s world because you want an inside look at his life, his feelings. A deeper look at what drives him and motivates him.” The older announcer sat back firmly in his seat. He looked straight at the camera. “Nolan, you go right ahead and tweet about God. This is America.” He chuckled and looked at his cohorts. “Last I checked, freedom of speech was still our right. If it’s our right, then it’s Nolan Cook’s right, too.”

  The others laughed, too. None of them wanted to go too deep for too long on ESPN. Their job was to entertain viewers with details and stats about players and teams. Not veer into moral, ethical, or legal aspects of the athletes they covered. No matter how often those details became noteworthy.

  “Got an inside tip that Nolan’s bringing his new girl to the game tonight. Home contest against the Celtics in a crucial Game Three situation for Atlanta.” The veteran tapped his pencil on the desk a few times and raised his eyebrows. “Hearts breaking wide open across America tonight. That’s my guess.”

  Ellie felt her stomach drop and slide slowly to her feet. What was this? Nolan had a girlfriend? She moved to the edge of the chair, her eyes glued to the screen.

  “Her name’s Kari Garrett, daughter of award-winning Christian singer Kathy Garrett.” The man pointed to the monitor, where a photo of Nolan and Kari flashed on the screen. The two were walking together on a city street at night. He had his arm around her.

  They definitely looked like a couple.

  Ellie listened for a few more minutes, long enough to hear how Nolan’s manager had worked with Kathy’s agent to set the two up.

  “They seem like a perfect match, if you ask me.” The youngest of the three sportscasters laughed. “With Nolan Cook off the market, the rest of us might have a chance.”

  The guys chuckled, nodding in agreement.

  Ellie didn’t move, didn’t blink. Her eyes were dry, because the news was exploding like a hollow bullet through her chest. Nolan Cook had a girlfriend. She turned the channel to something else, anything else. The Food Network. Yes, that would work. She walked to the back room, her feet heavy. Her next client wasn’t due for half an hour—good thing. Ellie couldn’t face anyone right now, not until she had a few minutes alone.

  She walked through the back door, across the parking lot, and found a spot on the curb. She planted her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. He had a girlfriend? Okay, so that shouldn’t surprise her. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country.

  They’d lost touch eleven years ago. Of course he’d moved on. He must’ve had girlfriends in high school and in college. Not until recently had his every move been chronicled by the press. This girl might just be another in a string of girls. She let that sit in her soul for a long moment. No, that wasn’t it. Nolan wasn’t that kind of guy—dating one girl after another.

  If he’d found a girl, if he were hanging out with Kari Garrett, then it wasn’t a passing thing. It was serious. With Kari on his arm, there was no way Nolan was thinking of Ellie or wondering about their eleven-year mark. The news confirmed Ellie’s greatest fears. For Nolan, she was nothing more than an old childhood friend. If he had ever tried to find her, she had made sure she wasn’t available. Ellie Anne. The girl disconnected from her mother and father. The single mom.

  What am I supposed to do now? She let the question blow in the drafty places of her heart. She’d been looking forward to June first, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself. It was the reason she’d been thinking about a road trip. Like maybe she and Kinzie would pile in her beat-up Chevy and head for Georgia and the tackle box buried beneath the oak tree.

  No wonder she couldn’t catch her breath or think straight or bear going back into the salon. She wouldn’t watch another Atlanta game as long as she lived.

  Somehow, against all logic or odds, she had come to believe that she wasn’t the only one looking forward to the meeting. That if on the first of June she went to their old oak tree across the street from the house where he grew up, he’d be waiting. They’d dig up the box and share their letters and find out they weren’t so different after all. And God Himself would smile down on the moment, and there would never again be a time when she and Nolan Cook lost touch.

  Maybe the reunion between them would stop time, and all the questions Nolan had talked about that long-ago summer night really would be answered.

  Somewhere in the storm cellar of her mind, she must have thought that could actually happen. And as long as the calendar didn’t move them indiscriminately past June first, the idea was at least a possibility.

  Until now.<
br />
  Her last client left just after nine o’clock. Ellie could hardly wait to get home. She had texted Tina a few times to make sure Kinzie was awake, and now if she hurried, she could read to her and hear about her day.

  Ellie left through the front door. Two clients were getting their hair done, so she didn’t need to lock up. She clutched a ten from her tip money in one hand and her new pepper spray in the other. One of the girls had been robbed by a couple of teens in the parking lot last week. Ellie wasn’t taking any chances.

  She spotted Jimbo curled up on the far end of the sidewalk. Poor guy. He looked terrible, his hair more matted than usual. She had invited him into the salon before to get his hair washed and cut. Something he loved. She would have to set up another appointment. Early next week, maybe.

  The strange man popped out of the shadows on her left and slightly behind her. “Ellie.”

  Fear grabbed her and she spun around, her finger on the trigger of her pepper spray. His voice sounded vaguely familiar and his face—she gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. She took a few steps back. “Dad?” The word was a whisper, all that would come out.

  His face looked older, but not much. He had no real wrinkles and the build of a man much younger. But there was something different about him. Something Ellie couldn’t figure out. He held a large box in his arms, almost the same size as the one she’d seen him sitting next to in his living room that night a few weeks ago.

  “Ellie . . . I had to come.” Shame colored his eyes. He held out the box. “This . . . it’s for you. It’s heavy.” He came a little closer. “Maybe I can carry it to your car?”

  It had been seven years since she’d seen him, and he wanted to give her a box? No apology or explanation or questions about how she was? How her baby was? Anger ran cold through her veins. “What are you doing?” Her high-pitched tone gave away her sudden hurt. “How long have you been here?”

  He leaned against the wall. For a few seconds he stared at the ground, and before he looked at Ellie again, he set the box near his feet. He seemed shaky, like he might faint. When he finally brought his eyes to hers, he looked ashen. “I came to tell you . . . I’m sorry.”

  Ellie hesitated. She was furious with him for showing up unannounced, for jumping out of the shadows. But nothing could minimize the impact of her broken-looking father apologizing to her. The way she had always hoped he someday might. She glanced down at the box and then searched his eyes. “What . . .” Her voice trembled. “What’s in it?”

  The question hung there for a few seconds. Her dad brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed to hold his breath before he exhaled and dropped his hand to his waist. “They’re letters. From your mom.”

  Ellie felt her heart rate quicken. She looked down at the box, and this time she could see a fraction of what was inside. It was the size of a laundry basket, and it looked full to the top. She found her father’s eyes again. “From my mom?” She swallowed, dreading the next question and instinctively knowing the answer at the same time. “For who?”

  Her dad shook his head, and again his hand came to his face for a long moment. Finally, as if waging war against himself, he looked at her once more. “They’re for you, Ellie. Every one of them.”

  Gravity ceased to exist. Ellie’s world rocked hard off its axis, her ears buzzed, and she couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. Her knees started to give out, and she could no longer feel the ground beneath her. What had he told her? Letters . . . something about letters. She squeezed her eyes shut, half bent over, her hands on her knees so she wouldn’t collapse. If the box was full of letters . . . that her mom had written to her . . .

  She stood slowly and stared at him. Her words came only with great effort. “She wrote me? All those letters?”

  “Yes.” His face had reached a new level of pale. Almost gray. “I’m sorry, Ellie. It was wrong of me to—”

  “Since when?” Her lungs started working again, and the anger this time around was something she’d never felt before. Her voice rose, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “When did she start writing to me?”

  “From . . .” He shook his head and looked at the box. His shoulders moved up a little in a pathetic shrug. “Ellie, she’s been writing to you from the beginning. Since . . . since we moved here.”

  A tsunami of heartbreak consumed the landscape of her heart, wiping out all she had known or assumed or believed to be real over the last eleven years. Her mother—the one she thought had abandoned her—had been writing letters to her? If the box was full, then there could be a hundred inside. Maybe two or three hundred. Which meant . . . You never gave up on me, Mom. You never stopped trying to find me.

  Ellie’s anger washed away with the next wave of understanding. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back. No, this couldn’t be happening. She shook her head, desperate to fully grasp the revelation, searching her father’s eyes. “Does she know? That you never gave them to me?”

  His spirit seemed to be shattering in slow motion before her eyes. “No. She . . . she must think you’ve been getting them.”

  “All these years?” The words came loud and sharp and slow, despite the fresh tears on her cheeks. “All these years, Dad?” Her mouth hung open, anger once more taking the lead in the emotions pummeling her. “Why?”

  Not even a hint of justification colored his expression. “I thought she’d be a bad influence on you.” His shoulders dropped some. “It was wrong, Ellie. I know that now. God has shown me how much I hurt you and—”

  “Stop!” She was shaking, no longer able to tell the difference between anger and gut-wrenching sorrow. Her world was spinning, but she couldn’t back down. Not now. She pointed at him, every word slow and deliberate. “Don’t you talk to me about God. Don’t!”

  “Ellie, I’m a different man now. That’s why I had to—”

  “Don’t!” She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it.” She stared at him, her heart slamming around in her chest. There was nothing else to say. She slipped her pepper spray into one pocket and her tip money into the other. Then she walked to the box, bent down, and heaved it into her arms.

  “Here. I can help you.”

  She didn’t respond, didn’t look up. Instead, she took the box, turned her back on him, and walked to the end of the strip mall. Her father didn’t follow. She set the box down and bent low, near Jimbo. “Hey, wake up.” The smell of stale alcohol and sweat filled her senses. “Jimbo, it’s me. Wake up.”

  He blinked a few times and squinted at her. “Ellie?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Her dad was back near the salon, leaning against the wall, his head low. This had to be fast. She would break down here on the sidewalk if she waited another minute to get to her car. “Here.” She pulled the ten from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. “Don’t buy whiskey.”

  He took the money, his eyes welling up the way they always did when she finished a shift. “I won’t.”

  “Not beer, either. Get milk and a burger, okay?”

  “Milk and a burger.” He nodded, scurrying to a sitting position and placing the money in his threadbare backpack. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay.” She stood. “See you later.”

  “Yes.” He pressed his back against the wall, more awake. “You know what I do when I’m finished with my busy day, Ellie?”

  She hesitated, feeling the urgency of getting home, getting to the box of letters. “What?”

  “I talk to God about you.” He dabbed at his eyes. “I ask the good Lord to bless you, Ellie.”

  Her heart felt his kindness in a way she needed. Especially with eleven years of her mother’s letters sitting in a box at her feet. “Thanks, Jimbo.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “That means a lot.” She picked up the box again. “Be safe.” She swapped a look with him, then crossed the dark parking lot to her car. The asphalt felt like thick sand, and she was breathing faster than she should have been. But she wasn’t
looking back. Not now or ever. She unlocked her car, slid the box onto the passenger seat, climbed behind the wheel, and slammed her door.

  Was she dreaming? Did that really just happen? She let her head fall onto the steering wheel. How could he do this to her? He had lived with her for five of those years. One season after another, her saying good morning to him over breakfast and walking past him in the hallway and wishing him good night before she headed off to bed. All without telling her the truth. How was that even possible? He’d kept her mother’s letters from her all that time? The number of days and months and years screamed through her soul. Nearly eleven years? Hiding away letters her mother had written to her? How could he do that and not die from the guilt? Breathe, Ellie . . . breathe. You’ll get through this. She lifted her head and looked at the box beside her. The large cardboard container filled with unopened letters her mom had been sending since they moved.

  She started the engine and backed out of the space. And in that moment she suddenly understood why her father had looked different. It was his eyes. He no longer looked hard and angry, the way he had since they moved to San Diego. Ellie knew it with every loud, painful beat of her heart. She glanced at the spot where she’d been talking to her dad. She didn’t plan to look. It just happened. The parking lot lights were bright enough that she could see him. He hadn’t moved. As she drove past, she saw proof that she was right. The anger that had defined him for so long was gone. She knew because he was leaning against the wall, looking at her, and doing something she had never in all her life seen her father do.