Maybe This Time (A Second Chance Romance)

by Susan B. James

  Lance linked hands with her. “Not quite the celebration we planned for tonight.”

  “There will be other nights.” There had to be.

  He shook his head. “Sylvie kept looking at me as if I were a slug she wanted to crush.”

  “I know. In conversation, I used to refer to you as Lance the Loathsome. She hasn’t caught up yet.”

  “What will she think when she realizes we’re married?” He glanced at their linked hands and stopped dead. “Where’s your ring?”

  “I caught it on a coat hook. They don’t make wedding rings like they used to. Not to worry. I got us a new one.” She scrabbled in her purse for the daisy ring. “Look.”

  Lance turned the ring around. “Looks like the one I gave you when—”

  “Yes. Give it to me again.”

  He slid it onto her finger and kissed it into place. “Much better. You’re a wonder, you are.”

  She cupped his neck, inviting his kiss. “Forever. However long it might be.”

  A gust of wind came between them, stirring up dust and fallen flower petals. The garlands and bells swung wildly. “This is not proper Christmas weather.”

  “Never mind.” Jen rested her head against his shoulder. “We’ll have a proper Christmas when this is over.” Please let that be true.

  Chapter 26

  When Jen and Lance got back to the apartment, Sylvie and Jeremy were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

  “We’re back,” Jen announced unnecessarily. She was aware she looked windblown and probably thoroughly kissed. “You didn’t start without us, did you?”

  Sylvie set her cup down with a click. “You took your time. Jeremy’s been filling me in on the current state of your relationship with Lance the Loathsome.”

  Sylvie marched up to Jen and shook her lightly. “You could have told me. I might have found a wedding cake or something.” She glowered at Lance. “If you hurt her again, you’ll be sorry. I have some very scary friends.”

  Lance held up his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. “I promise you. Jen and I plan to do much better this time.”

  Jeremy seated Sylvie in one of the overstuffed armchairs, and put her cup of tea on the table beside her. “Sylvie, we have to know. What exactly happened to Jen?”

  Jen sat next to Lance on the sofa and closed her mind to the sound of Sylvie’s voice. She remembered every word Sylvie told her. Didn’t want to hear it again.

  “Dear God!” Lance's arm tightened around Jen’s shoulder, fingers biting into her muscles. She welcomed the pain. Proof here, at least, she was alive. “It’s very odd to hear about your own death.”

  “But you didn’t hear your own death.” Jeremy’s eyes were wet. “You only heard no one ever saw you again. There’s no proof.”

  “I thought the computer saying we don’t exist anymore was proof enough.”

  “Don’t you see?” Jeremy looked almost happy. “This can be changed. At least I think it can.”

  Lance nodded. “If there was no body, there could be another reason you disappeared. Time travel, for instance.”

  “Right,” Jeremy turned to Lance. “But first we have to find out about you.”

  “That’s right,” Sylvie said brightly. “Jeremy said you’re dead too. Any idea when it happened?”

  “Not yet. All we know is I disappeared around the time Jen did.”

  “You were in New York?”

  “No. Washington. Or Boston, maybe.” Lance’s voice sounded detached. As if it were a problem in a textbook. “There was a conference I was supposed to address.”

  “Oh, my giddy aunt!” Sylvie’s hands flew to her mouth. “You could have been on one of the planes.”

  “It’s possible,” Lance said.

  Jen stiffened her spine. If she allowed herself to shake, she’d fall apart.

  “I could have been anywhere.” Lance kept one arm around her shoulder. “For all we know, I had a massive heart attack in my hotel room and died in my sleep.”

  “I would rather not talk about your death,” Jen said through gritted teeth. “Could we please move to plan B, whatever that is?” She desperately wanted a cigarette. The pounding in her head was excruciating. “I don’t suppose anyone has an aspirin?”

  “Lean forward.” Lance’s hands moved down her spine and then up, lingering at the base of her neck. The pads of his thumbs pressed deeply into the place between her neck and shoulder blades, forcing the knots to unkink. “Better?”

  “Much.”

  “Jen, why don’t you get some rest? It’s pointless you sitting in on speculation about when and how Lance died. You don’t need to hear it.”

  Jeremy. Always the protective big brother.

  “I can take it.” But she couldn’t. She wanted a lobotomy. She wanted to excise the part of her brain which kept replaying the images she’d seen of the disaster. She couldn’t bear the idea of Lance's death being a part of it. There were too many hideous ways it could have happened.

  Sylvie pulled her to her feet. “Jeremy’s right. They don’t need our help on this script. Let them figure out what to do next, and then Jeremy can tell us the plan. Come into the bedroom and we’ll have a gossip.”

  Jen shook her head numbly.

  “Go,” Lance said. His hand at the small of her back urged her toward Sylvie. “Let us narrow it down. We’re about to get technical, anyway.”

  Jen forced her frozen lips into a smile. “Maths speak. All right. I’m going.”

  Chapter 27

  She led Sylvie into their bedroom, the sheets still imprinted with the shape of their bodies. She couldn’t bear to think of losing him all over again.

  “I need an aspirin.”

  “You need a maid.” Sylvie straightened the covers in a few quick flicks. “That’s a lovely quilt. An obvious Jen decorating touch. These apartments come as sterile as a hospital ward.” She sat on the bed and pulled Jen down beside her. “Cry it out. You’ll feel better.”

  Jen buried her head on Sylvie’s shoulder and wept. Finally, the sobs turned to shaking gasps.

  “Better?”

  Jen rubbed her eyes. “I hate crying.”

  Sylvie regarded her critically. “You don’t cry pretty. Never do it in front of Lance.”

  Jen blew her nose into the tissue Sylvie produced from the wilds of her purse. “I ruined your blouse. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve others.” Sylvie handed her an aspirin. “Take this and go wash your face.”

  Jen stumbled to the bathroom, washed her face, and finished by pressing a cold washcloth over her eyes. It felt wonderful. She swallowed the aspirin, filled a glass with tap water and downed it. “Crying makes me thirsty.”

  “Want to redo your make-up?”

  “No.” She massaged the moisture-restoring night cream she’d bought at the mall onto her hands, and applied it with gentle strokes. “Lance knows what I look like without makeup and he doesn’t mind.” She smiled at Sylvie in the mirror. “When I was in my thirties I couldn’t imagine going about without the armor of makeup. I dashed to the bathroom first thing in the morning. Even before the morning cuddle. My eyes had to be perfect. My breath, minty fresh. It doesn’t matter the way it used to. This morning I went shopping with Lance without even a bit of lipstick on.”

  “Oh, the horror.” Sylvie reapplied her lipstick. “It still matters to me. I put on makeup before I go to the studio so no one but the makeup artists ever sees my bare face. Time sucks.”

  “Yes. It does.”

  Sylvie handed Jen a throat lozenge. “Your voice sounds like Joan Crawford. This will help.” She guided Jen back to the bed. “Let’s catch up, shall we? I’ve got years of gossip to tell you. I got married again.”

  “Legally?” Sylv
ie usually limited herself to shack-up arrangements.

  “Yes. Guy and I eloped to Las Vegas three years ago. Elvis married us in a touching ceremony.”

  “Guy? Jen searched her memory and couldn’t match the name to a face. “Did I know him?”

  “No. We met on the set of . . . Drat. My mind’s slipping. I’ve lost the name of the film. Never mind. It was a terrible clunker. Guy was the personal trainer they hired to make me fit enough for the marathon scenes.” Sylvie’s eyes were dreamy. “Greek god of a man, and those muscles? His stamina was astounding. He read Proust.”

  “Proust?”

  “I was so impressed with his intellect.”

  When had Sylvie become an intellectual? “When do I meet him?”

  “You don’t. It ended after six months.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “Proust. I tried to read Remembrance of Things Past. I waded through three chapters and drowned. Who knew Proust was an anagram for Stupor? As it turned out, Guy was an anagram for Yug.” Sylvie sighed deeply. “I miss the sex, though. On the plus side, my stamina increased. I’ll have you know I’ve run the Aids Walk. All five miles of it. Twice.”

  “That is impressive.” Sylvie’s romantic adventures fascinated her. “Have you got a replacement in mind?”

  Sylvie toyed with her charm bracelet. “Not yet. But there is this lovely widower in the running club I belong to. I’m thinking of laying a trap for him. He’s good husband material. Loved the same woman for forty years. Now that’s stamina.”

  “You’re a wonder.” Sylvie could always make her laugh. “I wish you could find someone who would love you as you deserve.”

  Sylvie shrugged dismissively. “Not sure I’m happy-ever-after material. Actresses rarely are. We’re better at pretend than real life. Did I ever tell you I had a massive crush on Jeremy?”

  “Frequently, but you didn’t have to. Every time he came round, I expected your tongue to hang out. You had such a spaniel look in your eyes.”

  “Laura was never good enough for him. I wanted to stand up at the wedding and forbid the bans. I wanted to scream, ‘I object! She’s a total slug, and only wants his money and a chance to be called Baroness.’ But I couldn’t overcome my natural good manners.” Sylvie’s smile didn’t quite banish the shadow in her eyes. “I tried to seduce him on the way over here. He wasn’t having it. What a waste.”

  Poor Sylvie. “You never had a chance. He fell in love years ago. And he’s been chasing her ever since.”

  Sylvie’s eyes sparked. “What’s wrong with her? Can’t she see what a wonderful man he is?”

  Jen sighed. The look in Jeremy’s eyes when he spoke of his Sherry was . . . “Their time is out of joint. Shakespeare always has the right words, doesn’t he? As long as you know this much, you might as well know the rest. Jeremy met Sherry in November 1969. I knew you fancied Jeremy then and I wanted to tear her eyes out. I could see their besottment. Knew my chance of having you as a real sister was slipping away. She came from America with a friend. Hollywood, actually. Her friend was an actress. A good one. She helped me with the accent for A Streetcar Named Desire. Lorena something.

  Sylvie’s eyes widened. “Unusual name. Lorena. Not Lorena Anderson, by chance? She guested on the series last year.”

  “Could have been. I don’t remember.” Jen sighed. “As it turns out, the America she came from was in the future. She had to return to it. And Jeremy’s been trying to find her ever since. Which is why he built the cursed machine.”

  Sylvie put her hand over her heart. “Just like Somewhere in Time. Only different. I hate unhappy endings.”

  “Well, it hasn’t ended yet. We’re all still here. It could come right.” But probably not for Sylvie. Not with Jeremy. Exhaustion fuzzed her thoughts. She could barely keep her eyes open. She kicked off her shoes. “Tell me the gossip?”

  Sylvie whizzed through a list of their mutual friends. “And John Lutterman’s been through another marriage.”

  He’d been single the last time she’s seen him — the night before the time trip. “Tell me she was at least older than his daughter.”

  “Barely.” Sylvie kicked her Louboutins off and lay back on the bed. “John ages physically, but his eye for a woman is exactly what it was at twenty two. He was offered the artistic directorship of a new rep theatre in Melbourne. He took it. He’s going to be so happy to know you are —” She turned to Jen, her eyes bleak. “But he can’t know, can he? This is truly hard.”

  “Yes. But you will keep the secret. Won’t you?”

  “Of course I will. I just wish I knew how it was all going to end.”

  The aspirin was taking effect. She could barely keep her eyes open. “So do I. This is exactly why I never watch soap operas. I can’t stand the suspense.”

  Chapter 28

  Jen felt warm arms steal around her. Definitely not Sylvie’s. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt too heavy. “Where’s Sylvie?” she slurred.

  Lance’s voice sounded like it was coming down a tunnel. “After you fell asleep on her, she left.”

  “I’d rather have you.” She snuggled into his embrace. “Goodnight.”

  Lance’s voice rumbled something. Sleep reclaimed her.

  When she awoke again, she felt pinned down. Lance’s arm lay across her throat. She carefully removed it. He snorted slightly and rolled over. She spooned around him rubbing her fingers over his cheek stubble. Prickly and good. She ran her hands along his back hoping for a response. Nothing. The honeymoon was over.

  She stroked her hands down Lance’s back, defined each muscle with her fingertips. It must be the martial arts training. He didn’t get those muscles from bending over a computer. She curved her arm around his waist and felt something stirring. Good. She withdrew her hand and pressed a line of kisses along his spine.

  “I’m awake.” His voice was a sexy growl. “Are you?”

  Jen faked a yawn. “Not really.” She closed her eyes.

  Lance rolled over, tucking her underneath him. “Then I’ll have to do something about that.”

  She felt the gentle press of his lips on hers. Then on her throat. They paused at her breasts arousing them to an aching want. Her eyes flew open. “I’m awake.” She turned him onto his back and proved it.

  ~ ~ ~

  An hour later, they shared the shower. It didn’t have any of the lovely jets Jeremy’s had, but Lance’s hands stroking soap down her back more than made up for it.

  She followed him into the kitchen where a row of empty beer cans decorated the counter. “Hard night?”

  “We didn’t solve the problem, if that’s what you’re asking. But we got closer to defining the parameters.”

  Jen slanted a glance at the empty beer cans. “Remember any of it?”

  “I had coffee. Jeremy had two beers. The rest of them are Sylvie’s. The woman can drink like a fish.”

  “You didn’t let her drive home, did you?”

  “No, we called her a cab. She said she’d pick up the car today, or you could drive it to her and meet for lunch.”

  Jen propped up her chin with her hands. “Watching you watch the coffee drip is like watching a cat stalk a mouse. Squeeze some more of those lovely oranges, darling. It will keep your mind off it.”

  They were nursing their second cups when Jeremy walked in. He went straight to the cupboard, grabbed a mug, and poured what was left in the pot into his cup. “Pigs. You might have started a second pot.”

  Jen sprang up. “I’ll do it now.”

  Lance frowned. “I should have bought flour at the store. I could have made pancakes. We’ll have to make do with French toast.”

  “Sounds good.” Jeremy stared at his cup morosely. “I’m worried about what Kat’s up to. I went through the ema
ils Kat and my now-time self exchanged this year. She’d invited him-slash-me to look her up on a new social media website called Facebook. I checked it out. It seems very popular.”

  Jeremy stared off into space.

  “And?” Jen prompted.

  “And her yesterday’s post was a picture of her and Daniel looking out on the sea from a balcony. Something about this being the night of her dreams. I think she’s sleeping with him.”

  “Jeremy, she’s twenty five. You don’t seriously think she hasn’t had sex yet, do you?”

  “I never think about it. I don’t want to know my child has sex. It’s like knowing your parents had sex. You are dimly aware of it, but your mind doesn’t go there.”

  “You’re right.” Jen placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. “Is the whole world on this Facebook thing? Are you?”

  Jeremy nodded. “My now-time-self joined back in September. I’m sure he joined to keep up with Kat. He doesn’t seem to use it for much else.”

  “Pity.” Jen watched Lance flip over a golden-brown piece of toast. It smelled deliciously of egg and cinnamon. “If I understood you correctly, you’re alive in this time, twice. I was hoping you might spot the other you.”

  “I agree. It would be useful to know where I am. I’ve tried Googling me, but I don’t seem to have done anything Google-worthy in the past few years.”

  “I’ve thought of a new parameter for my trace program,” Lance said. “When it’s done, I’ll be able to find out what you had for dinner yesterday.”

  “Kinky,” Jen decided. “Is it a mind reading program?”

  “Among other things. The program will trace where he spent his money. A money trail gives a good picture of one’s life. Like having a spy cam follow you about.”

  Silence reigned as they paid tribute to Lance’s cooking skills.