“If you ladies will excuse me,” Walt interrupted. He hobbled out of the parlor on his crutches. “I think I’m going out front to see some of that sunshine Danielle was telling me about. Maybe try out the front swing.”
“I should probably get you a towel to wipe down the swing. I imagine it’s wet from the rain,” Danielle suggested.
“I can get it myself. Should I take one from the bathroom?” Walt used one crutch to point to the bathroom Chet had used.
“That would work.” Danielle grinned.
Joanne and Danielle watched as Walt made his way to the bathroom, where he retrieved a hand towel before heading to the front door.
After Walt stepped outside and closed the door, Joanne said, “He apologized to me.”
“Walt?” Danielle glanced from Joanne to the door and back to Joanne.
“Yes. And I have to admit, it sounded sincere and nothing at all like Clint.”
“Well, he does have amnesia.”
“This is horrible to say, but I think that man would be better off if he never regained his memory.”
“Why do you say that?” Danielle asked.
“I have to admit there is something very charming about him now. There was nothing charming about him before. But it is a little odd calling him Walt. I’m working on that.”
“I suspect he’ll just appreciate you giving him a second chance.”
“But what happens if he regains his memory and goes back to acting like he used to?”
Danielle reached out and gently touched Joanne’s hand. “Then that will be on him, won’t it? If we give him a second chance and he decides to resume his bad behavior, well, he’s the one who is the loser, not us. Let’s just see how he does, and give him a second chance.”
Twelve
Walt sat alone on the front swing. He glanced down at his cast with a wry smile. During his first life, he would have cursed the broken leg, especially at a time like this when he was as anxious as a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Yet he wasn’t excited to open presents, it was a life he wished to explore—a romantic relationship with Danielle he wanted to pursue. But he refused to bemoan a broken leg, which according to the doctor meant eight weeks in a cast. How could he complain when he had a second chance at life? Perhaps, he wondered, this was the Universe’s plan. With a broken leg he was forced to slow down—allowing him to ease into his new reality.
A meow interrupted his thoughts. Walt glanced to his left and spied Max strolling in his direction from the side yard. Walt assumed the cat must have made his exit out the pet door in the kitchen after fleeing the living room. He was curious to learn what had happened between Chet and Danielle.
“So what went on in there, Max?” Walt asked when the cat leapt up on the swing and sat next to him.
Max stared up at Walt, his black tail swishing back and forth.
“I know you didn’t understand what they were saying. Oh…Danielle seemed tense? So you…oh…you just walked toward him?” Walt laughed. “I think you spooked him. But like I said before, if you run into him again, avoid him. He might hold a grudge.”
Max looked from Walt to the street and let out a loud meow.
“Hunny?” Walt frowned. He then looked out to the street and spied what Max was telling him. Walking down the street toward Marlow House was Chris and his pit bull, Hunny. Hunny, a young brindle pit with a white chest, walked next to Chris off the leash, as his human casually held a rolled-up leash in one hand.
Max meowed again and then jumped down off the swing and made his way to the side yard.
“You were a lot braver when Hunny was a pup,” Walt called after the cat.
A moment later, Hunny came racing up the front walk with Chris trailing behind her. She wasn’t in pursuit of the cat; her attention was on the man sitting in the swing.
Walt focused his attention on Hunny and smiled. Just before the dog reached the swing, she came to an abrupt stop and sat down. Still focused on Walt, she tilted her head from side to side.
“Yes, it’s really me, Hunny,” Walt said gently. “But please be careful, my leg’s broken.”
Tail wagging, Hunny stood up and wiggled her way to Walt. When Chris reached them, the pit was nuzzling her nose in Walt’s hands and covering them with sloppy kisses.
“I see she recognizes you.”
Walt smiled up at Chris. “She does.”
“Welcome home, Walt,” Chris said, putting out his hand.
Walt accepted the handshake. “Thanks, Chris.”
A moment later the two men sat side by side on the porch swing as Hunny curled up on the ground nearby.
“Eva and Marie told Heather and me you can see them like before, and Danielle told me you can still communicate with Max and Sadie. I wasn’t particularly surprised about being able to see spirits, but I was about the other. Wasn’t sure I quite believed her until I saw you with Hunny just now.”
At the mention of her name, Hunny lifted her head a moment and looked at the two men.
“They were both a surprise to me,” Walt told him.
Chris turned toward Walt, studying his face. “How does it feel, being alive? You got a nice beard going on there, by the way.”
Walt absently stroked his beard. “I forgot what a pain it was.”
Chris chuckled. “You mean shaving?”
Walt nodded and moved his hand from his beard back to the side rail of the swing. He clutched it.
“How is the leg doing?” Chris asked.
Walt shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt. Gets a little itchy. But I have to say, it is an adjustment getting used to—well, sensory sensations. Even standing in the shower and feeling the water on my skin—it’s—I can’t explain it.”
“Is it uncomfortable for you?” Chris asked.
“No. Just the opposite. It feels amazing—like Danielle’s chocolate cake.”
“Her chocolate cake?”
Walt smiled. “Tasting food—good food—it’s something I never truly appreciated before.”
“I thought Danielle said you had stitches in your forehead. I don’t see anything.”
Walt let out a sigh. “It’s the strangest thing. I don’t remember a cut ever healing so fast. And from what they told me, it was a pretty big gash.”
Chris leaned forward and looked at Walt’s forehead. “I thought Danielle said you had something like ten stitches. I don’t see anything.”
Walt pressed his right foot on the ground, stopping the swing from its gentle back and forth motion. He pointed to where the stitches had been. “That’s where it was.”
“Wow, I don’t see anything,” Chris noted before settling back in the swing. “Clint’s body must be in good shape if it heals that quickly.”
Walt gazed off across the street and was quiet a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and said in a sober voice, “When I was about ten, I fell off a horse. Left a scar on my left wrist, shaped like a horseshoe, which I used to find ironic considering the circumstances of the injury. I got several stitches, and that scar never left me.”
“I suspect it has something to do with medical advances—doctors are more skilled today. Equipment used, even for stitching up wounds, I would imagine is better today,” Chris suggested.
With his right hand, Walt unbuttoned his left cuff and folded it up, revealing his wrist. He showed it to Chris.
Chris looked at Walt’s wrist and frowned. “Wow. Your cousin had a horseshoe scar on his left wrist too? Now that is bizarre.”
Walt shook his head and re-buttoned his shirt sleeve. “No, he didn’t.”
“What do you mean? That wasn’t a scar you just showed me?”
Walt let out a deep breath and settled back in the swing. His right toe pushed on the ground, sending the swing back in motion. “Chris, if you woke up in another man’s body, what would be the first thing you would do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m serious. Think about it. Put yourself in my place. What’s one of t
he first things you would do—or would want to do as soon as you were able to? Before doing anything else.”
Chris thought about it a moment and then chuckled. “I suspect I would want to check out the body I got myself into.”
“Exactly. The moment I was alone, I looked over every inch of this body. Well, any inch that was possible to see. When I looked at my new wrists—the scar wasn’t there. I know it wasn’t because I thought, Well, at least you don’t have that scar anymore.”
Chris reached out and grabbed Walt’s left wrist. Walt did not resist as Chris quickly unbuttoned his cuff and examined the horseshoe-shaped scar. “How did you get this? It’s clearly a scar.”
Walt shook his head and after a moment took his wrist back. “I first noticed it yesterday morning when getting ready for Danielle to pick me up. It wasn’t as prominent as it is now. Strangely, as quickly as the scar on my head disappeared, the one on my wrist emerged.”
“That’s freaking bizarre.”
“You’re telling me!”
A woman from the sidewalk shouted, “Walt!” Both men looked up and found Heather, dressed in a purple jogging suit and carrying her calico cat in her arms, rushing toward them, her black braids bouncing up and down.
Hunny immediately jumped up upon seeing Heather approach. But it wasn’t Heather that concerned Hunny, it was the calico cat maliciously eyeing her. Hunny quickly moved behind the swing, cowering.
“Oh, Hunny, stop looking like sweet little Bella is going to eat you up,” Heather said when she reached the swing. She then looked at Walt and grinned. “You’re looking great, Walt. Nice to see you alive. Welcome home.”
Walt grinned at Heather. “Thanks. Nice to see you and Bella.”
“I thought you weren’t convinced it was really Walt?” Chris teased.
Heather shrugged. “I talked to Danielle this morning, and since she’s convinced, I figure it had to be Walt. But just in case…” Heather set Bella on Walt’s lap.
Walt glanced down at the small cat and smiled. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”
Bella paced back and forth on Walt’s lap several times and then nestled down and began to purr.
“Danielle said you’re still able to communicate with our fur babies, so I figured you can prove it. Then it’ll alleviate any doubt about your true identity.”
“Umm…and how am I supposed to do that?” Walt asked.
“Tell me what Bella is thinking.”
Walt chuckled yet did as she asked. He picked up Bella and looked her in the eyes. After a moment he said, “Stop, Bella, that’s not nice.”
“What did she say?” Heather asked excitedly.
“Bella is trying to think of ways to torment poor Hunny,” Walt told her.
“It really is you!” Heather exclaimed as she scooped Bella up in her arms.
Chris stared at Heather and shook his head.
Heather frowned down at Chris. “What?”
“You are one weird girl, Heather.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”
Chris shrugged. “Then you are one weird woman.”
“Why do you say that?” Heather asked.
“Hell, I could have claimed Bella was thinking of ways to torment Hunny, and that wouldn’t make me some sort of dog whisperer. We all know your cat is constantly batting at poor Hunny.”
Heather shrugged. “So you don’t think Walt can still communicate with them?”
“I didn’t say that,” Chris said, now sounding more frustrated than amused. “I’m just saying what he just said wouldn’t by itself convince me.”
“You’re just being perverse, Chris Johnson.”
“And you two work with each other?” Walt chuckled.
“He pays well,” Heather chirped.
“Why aren’t you two at work today?” Walt asked. “It’s not the weekend.”
“Taking the day off. We put in a lot of hours yesterday,” Chris explained.
“Hi, guys,” Danielle said a moment later when she joined her friends on the front porch.
“Hello, Danielle. We were just welcoming Walt home.” Heather then went on to tell her about what Walt had said about Bella, while Chris sat silently, rolling his eyes at her train of thought.
“There is one thing I wonder about,” Danielle said after Heather finished her telling.
“What’s that?” Walt asked.
“Both Max and Bella seemed to enjoy tormenting poor Hunny when she was a pup. But these days I’ve noticed Max tends to take off more when Hunny comes around, whereas Bella still enjoys tormenting Hunny.”
“That’s easy to explain,” Walt said.
“It is?” Chris asked.
“Sure. Max lived on the street for a number of years before coming here. He’s more keenly aware of dangers than Bella, who has been with Heather since she was a kitten. Bella isn’t aware of the damage Hunny could do if she decided she’s had enough of Bella’s teasing, whereas Max is a little concerned Hunny might decide to settle the score.”
“They’ve told you all that?” Chris asked.
“Basically. I’ve tried to reason with Bella, told her she may be pushing the envelope with Hunny. But she is young. Won’t listen. Kind of like a teenager.”
“That’s it, Walt!” Heather said excitedly.
Everyone turned to Heather. “What’s it?” Danielle asked.
“Chris said Walt was concerned about what he would do for a living—”
“Walt doesn’t need to do anything,” Danielle interrupted.
“I have to do something,” Walt said.
“Exactly,” Heather said with a nod. “Walt can be a pet whisperer.”
Walt frowned. “A pet what?”
“You know, when people are having a problem with their pet, they can bring it to you. You can help them work it out, talk to the pet, explain things. Sort of like a translator,” Heather explained.
Chris stared at Heather, his expression blank. He shook his head and muttered, “You are one weird woman.”
Thirteen
Chet pulled up in front of his sister’s house and parked his car. He had been driving around since leaving Marlow House, trying to figure out what to do next. Laverne’s car was not in the driveway where she normally parked, and he assumed she was at work. Putting his car back in gear, he pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, and turned off the ignition. He couldn’t believe Laverne had actually changed her locks. No way did she have time to do that before going to work this morning. She was bluffing, of that he was certain.
Sitting in the car, he studied the house for a few minutes. After his parents’ death during his junior year of high school, the estate had been divided between Laverne and himself. With her share she had purchased this house, which they had both lived in until Chet finally left Frederickport the first time. He had come into his half of the inheritance after he turned twenty-one and soon learned a hundred thousand dollars really wasn’t that much money. It was gone within six months. When Laverne’s brief marriage ended, she managed to keep the house. Chet assumed it had something to do with the fact she had owned it before the marriage.
Taking the keys out of the ignition, Chet got out of his car and sprinted up to the front door. Laverne would settle down when she came home from work and found he had cleaned the house and had dinner on. That would keep her happy for a few more weeks, it always did.
Chet fumbled with his key ring a moment, looking for his sister’s house key. When he found it, he tried unlocking the door. It didn’t work.
“She did it! She really did it!” Chet cursed. Not quite believing it, he tried forcing the key into the lock. It still would not work.
Just as Chet turned from the house, he spied his sister’s car driving up the street. He walked to his car and stood by the driver’s side, its door still open. He watched as Laverne stopped by the entrance to the driveway and rolled her window down.
“You’re in my parking space!” she yelled up to him, her e
ngine still running.
“I can’t believe you really changed the locks!” he shouted back.
“I told you I would! You need to move your car!”
“Not until we talk!” he yelled.
Laverne let out a curse and then parked her car in front of her house. Slamming the car door shut after exiting the vehicle, she stomped up the driveway to her brother.
“Do you want me to apologize, Laverne? Is that what you want me to do?”
“No, you lazy fool. I want you to find someplace else to live. I’m tired of carrying your sorry butt.”
“If I remember, you’re the one who begged me to come back to Frederickport. Stay with me, you said. A fresh start in Frederickport, I will help, you said.”
“Stupid me, I thought you would actually try this time.”
“What makes you think I haven’t been trying? It’s not easy finding full-time work when you have a record. It’s not my fault.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Laverne arched her brow. “Not your fault? I don’t seem to recall anyone forcing you to rob that market.”
“You don’t know what it was like. I’d lost my job. You don’t know how it feels to be hungry,” he said angrily.
“What, you couldn’t have called me and asked for help?”
“You think so?” Chet spat. “You’re turning me away now. Refusing to help me. Why should I believe you would have helped me then?”
Dropping her arms to her sides, Laverne clenched her hands into fists. “So now you’re blaming this on me?”
“It’s not like I had parents to call for help. You saw to that.”
Laverne gasped, clenching her fists tighter. “Don’t go there, Chet. I’m serious.”
Their argument was interrupted when Chet’s cellphone rang. He pulled the flip phone out of his back pocket and answered it while his sister stood glaring at him.
“Hello?” Chet answered.
“Chet, it’s Franco. Are you in Frederickport?”
The Ghost of Second Chances Page 8