Second Chance Friends

by Jennifer Scott

  “Diapers,” Karen said. “I don’t see any diapers.”

  “And a mobile,” Helen added.

  “Maybe some Winnie the Pooh decorations or something,” Joanna said, hopefully. “I’ve always loved Winnie the Pooh. The baby should have something cute.”

  And so they’d spent the next few days painting and buying and arranging, taking shifts opposite their work shifts, trying to overlap where possible so they could catch up quickly before the others had to leave.

  The room began to take shape—soft yellow walls with dim lamp lighting, bumblebees hanging from a mobile cresting on the wave of warm air when the furnace kicked on. Melinda had repurposed a rocking chair. Cleve had built a toy box. Joanna and her friend Sutton had filled the dresser drawers with a rainbow of T-shirts and pajamas.

  Which left Karen the task of buying diapers, a shopping trip she enlisted Antoinette for. She seemed all too thrilled to go. Between Travis’s drama and Kendall’s nonsense, Maddie’s difficulties, and having Marty Squire in her life, Karen hadn’t had as much time for her friend as she used to.

  “I’m so glad you called,” Antoinette said as they pushed a cart down the grocery store aisle. “I’ve been thinking it’s been way too long since I bought a couple cases of diapers. Let’s see, when was the last time? Oh, I remember. Never. I have never bought diapers in my life.”

  Karen smacked at Antoinette’s shoulder. “Yes, well, it’s a thrill, I can assure you. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

  “Really,” Antoinette said. “I feel like it’s been forever since we talked. Your work hours have been weird. You’ve been ditching me at lunch for that man.” She gave an elaborate roll of the eyes.

  “Stop right there,” Karen said, holding up a finger as she tried to dodge a child pushing a cart twice the size of himself. “Need I remind you that you were the one who practically begged me to start dating that man?”

  “No, of course not,” Antoinette said. “And I’m glad you two have your thing going. I’m just saying, it would be nice to have another payroll meeting like we used to. The Cheetos don’t taste the same without you. And the gossip is a lot less tasty. I’ve been reduced to watching one of those all-female daytime talk shows. Do you know how many fashion segments I’ve had to sit through?”

  “Point taken,” Karen said. “Next week. I promise.” She veered down the middle aisle, which was choked with parents picking up last-minute Easter items.

  “Speaking of Marty Squire,” Antoinette said. “Have you two gotten . . . you know . . . close yet? Surely you have by now. You’re holding out on me. I’m watching the latest on stiletto trends when I should be getting the down and dirty on your down and dirty.”

  Karen pursed her lips at her friend. “Shhh, there are little kids around here. And no.” She slipped between two carts, leaving Antoinette to shove her way through the mob.

  “Why not?” Antoinette stage-whispered when she caught up. “He’s so cute. Aren’t you curious? My Lord, when was the last time you did that? I would think you’d be dying.”

  Karen spotted the overhead sign for infant wear and headed for it, sighing. “It’s been a long time, but, no, I’m not dying for it.”

  “How long exactly?”

  Karen stopped; Antoinette nearly bumped into her with the cart. “Truth?”

  Antoinette nodded.

  “Since Travis was born. When Doug took off, I guess I just sort of gave that up.”

  “What?” Antoinette howled. Karen quickly started walking again. “Are you sure it still works down there? It’s probably all full of cobwebs and dust.”

  Karen couldn’t help laughing. “Everything is just fine down there. And besides, it’s not like I’m turning down scores of men. It just hasn’t come up.”

  “Clearly. Well, surely it’s come up with Marty.”

  “Actually, it hasn’t. Here they are.” Karen had, thankfully, found the diapers. It hadn’t come up, mainly because Karen had let Marty know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t available for that. Not now, probably not ever. He seemed fine with it.

  Although lately he’d taken to feathering her collarbone with his fingertips when he kissed her, and she’d started to think that never was a very long time.

  She grabbed two boxes of diapers and heaved them into the cart, then went back for two more. “If I recall, she’s going to need a lot of newborn diapers. Seems like Travis went through a diaper about every half hour.”

  Antoinette grabbed a box and held it for Karen, who took it and tossed it on top of the others. “And how is she doing?” she asked. “Maddie.”

  “Better,” Karen said. “Last night she ate dinner at the table. And Joanna said earlier in the day she sat in the rocking chair in the nursery. She’s not sleeping as much. And she’s not crying as much. So progress, I guess.”

  “Is it an act to get you guys to go away so she can off herself?” Antoinette asked.

  Karen had to admit, it was a question that had probably crossed all their minds at some point. She’d learned through her years with Travis’s nonsense that manipulation could be very, very hard to spot, and sometimes you realized that you fell for something obvious only a long time after the fact. Was Maddie simply “acting better” so they would stop watching her every move?

  But Maddie wanted help. She and Melinda had talked about it a lot. Melinda thought they’d turned a corner, so it was possible that they really had.

  “I—,” Karen started, but was interrupted by her phone ringing. Her heart leapt—maybe it was Kendall—and she set down the box of diapers she’d just started to pick up so she could dig her phone out of her purse. It was an unknown number.

  She answered, and a machine told her it was a collect call from the correctional facility.

  Oh, God, what now?

  She okayed the call, and after a pause, Travis’s voice filled her ear. “Hello? Hello?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is it true, Mom?”

  “Is what true?”

  “What Kendall said about the guy.”

  Her hand tightened around her phone. “You’ve heard from Kendall? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, shacking up somewhere in South KC. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “South KC?” Karen interrupted. “She’s back in Missouri? When did she get here? Does she have Marcus with her?” Travis hadn’t called about Kendall, but Karen didn’t care. Kendall’s whereabouts were the only thing she cared about right now. Kendall’s, and Marcus’s.

  “I don’t know.” She could hear the annoyance in Travis’s voice, but she ignored it. After all that she had been through for him, it was the least he could do to humor her for a change.

  “But you’ve heard from her?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” More annoyance. “She called this morning to say that guy woke up. Said no residual problems. Is it true?”

  “What?” Karen asked, but realized she had heard him and was asking only for herself. “Curt MacDonald woke up?”

  “What?” Antoinette barked, and leaned into Karen’s shoulder to get a better listen. Karen tilted the phone away from her ear so they could both hear.

  “If you can believe Kendall,” he said. “Which I don’t. I thought maybe you’d know.”

  “I don’t,” Karen said. “Oh, my God, Travis, it would be a miracle.”

  “I know, right? I could get the fuck out of this place. You could get that Sidwell guy to go ahead and arrange a plea. I want out.”

  “No, I mean, it would be a miracle for the guy to live. And with no residual problems. Imagine how relieved his family must be.”

  He could get married to that adorable girl, she thought. He could give her faith a real kick in the keister. They could live happily ever after and he could smile at his kids and think back on the day wh
en he was brutally attacked in a bar for no reason whatsoever. He could marvel that he lived through it, so life must be a blessed thing indeed, and he would never take a moment of it for granted.

  “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care about him. I just want to go home,” Travis said. “Can you find out for me? Call Kendall or something?”

  “Of course,” Karen said, realizing that she wanted to know. She had to know. Had Curt MacDonald lived? Had all her hoping and wishing and praying actually worked? “But I can’t call Kendall. Unless you have her new phone number?”

  He made a blowing noise into the phone. “Like that bitch would give me anything.”

  Karen threw her phone back in her purse and hurried the diapers up to the cashier.

  “So we’re definitely not going to the house to deliver these,” Antoinette said, as Karen tossed the diapers into her trunk.

  “Are you kidding? No way,” Karen said. She slammed the trunk shut and climbed into the car, having trouble containing herself long enough for Antoinette to return the cart and join her inside the car.

  “You know I owe you, right?” Antoinette said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I promised you that if the guy ever woke up, I’d tell you what Marty Squire said about you that time I ran into him.”

  It took a moment for said promise to click, but when it finally did, Karen found herself somewhat curious. She was high on good news. “Okay,” she said. “Lay it on me. What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘I’m going to marry that woman someday.’”

  “He said that?” Karen asked. Antoinette nodded. “Well, that’s just ridiculous. I already got my one miracle.” Karen cracked the window open and laughed as the wind blew through her hair.

  • • •

  Antoinette waited in the car while Karen practically sprinted into the hospital, moving past the information desk so quickly the elderly woman manning it barely had time to look up from her novel, much less offer to help. But Karen didn’t need any help anyway. She knew exactly which elevator would take her to 502.

  She had to force herself to slow down, catch her breath, calm herself before the elevator doors opened. When they finally parted, she saw the same sleepy floor as before, only this time no nurses were in their station. Karen could hear someone talking inside a room to her left, but she veered right and marched straight to Curt MacDonald’s room.

  The door was wide open, and she could tell from the light spilling into the hallway that the curtain was drawn as well. She took a breath, braced herself, and stepped inside.

  A girl in scrubs was taking the bedding off the bed Curt MacDonald had been lying in before. She was the only one in the room.

  “Oh, hi,” she said when she saw Karen. “Can I help you?”

  Karen pointed blankly at the bed. “The man who was here. Curt?”

  The girl turned her mouth down in a fake pout. “You just missed him.”

  “He left?”

  The girl nodded. “Like, literally minutes ago. You might still be able to catch them downstairs if you’re fast. I wish I’d seen him go. They forgot a bag.” She pointed to a black-and-white striped tote, which was leaning up against the leg of one of the chairs.

  “So he just . . . woke up, and walked out of here?”

  “Well, he left in a wheelchair. Hospital policy.” The girl’s eyes averted above Karen’s shoulder, and Karen turned just in time to see Curt MacDonald’s fiancée—Katy—hurry in.

  “I forgot my bag,” she said, a little out of breath herself. She walked over and picked it up, and only then seemed to notice Karen. She stopped abruptly. “Oh.”

  Karen’s eyes glistened with tears. “He came out of it,” she said.

  Katy nodded warily. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” she said. The girl in scrubs wilted and went back to her bedding.

  “There’s nothing wrong with him?” Karen asked, ignoring her. “Nothing long-term?”

  Katy’s dimples popped up. She just couldn’t help herself. “Walks, talks, feeds himself, everything. Doctors said they’ve never seen anything like it. But I don’t care. All I care about is having my Curt back. What’s the difference how it happened, right?”

  “Exactly,” Karen said. “Congratulations.”

  Katy glanced at the girl in scrubs and took a timid step toward Karen. “Listen,” she said. “I don’t want to be rude or anything, but I think you should stay away now. Even though he woke up, I don’t think his mom would want you around. You seem like a nice person, but I don’t think she’ll understand.”

  “Of course,” Karen said. “I won’t be. I’ll leave you alone now.”

  She turned and walked toward the door, feeling like she was floating above the tile. For the first time in months, she had hope. She stopped at the door and turned around. “Oh, and Katy? Have a wonderful wedding day.”

  The dimples popped out again. The girl’s eyes absolutely sparkled. “Thank you. We will.”

  • • •

  The next morning, Karen was the first one in the office. The hallways were silent, the cubicles abandoned. Mr. Sidwell’s office door was closed and locked. She headed for the basement, which was chilly and dark, and turned on the lights, switched on the copier and the printer, and started a pot of coffee in the break room. She went back into her office and fired up her computer, listening to it gurgle and click as it blinked to life. She’d never noticed how quiet it was when you were down there alone. Her antics with Antoinette were a lot noisier than she’d realized.

  She sat in her chair, leaned back as far as it would go, and closed her eyes. Once again, as she had several times the night before, she felt relief wash over her. Curt MacDonald’s limbo state had been weighing on her heavier than she’d ever guessed.

  But the relief she felt was not relief for Travis, who would now be much easier to get off the hook. Rather, the relief was for Curt MacDonald, who could now have the life that had nearly been taken from him. Relief for his mother, who’d stayed faithfully by his bedside, who would be fighting for him even now that he was out of the woods.

  Relief for herself, for what she was about to do.

  As soon as she began to hear the clack of shoes on the break room floor, she got up from her chair and headed upstairs. Antoinette hadn’t arrived yet, but that was no big surprise. Antoinette was frequently late, and usually with a good story to tell by way of explanation. Karen decided to take Ant to lunch, so she could hear it all.

  Mr. Sidwell was in his office, but still wore his jacket. She knocked lightly on the doorjamb. He turned, a flicker of irritation passing over his face.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. “I won’t take much time.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Let me take my jacket off.” He shrugged out of it and hung it on a hook in the corner, where an assortment of walking sticks and caps and golf clubs transformed the corner into a man jungle. He began sorting through papers on his desk. “What’s up?” he asked, not even bothering to look up from his work.

  “Curt MacDonald is up. Up and walking right back into his normal life,” Karen answered.

  “I see,” Mr. Sidwell said, as if she’d simply told him she’d brushed her teeth that morning. “And I suppose your son has had a change of mind in light of this new development.”

  “Actually,” Karen said, “you’re fired.”

  Mr. Sidwell looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”

  She held her palms out. “Just from working with Travis. He has had a change of mind, but I’m no longer helping him. So you’re fired.”

  “Have you told him about this?” Mr. Sidwell asked, still looking none too pleased.

  “Not yet. But I will. It’s time for him to learn to deal with his own problems. If I keep swooping in and helping him out, we will never get past this cycle he’
s stuck in. He needs to learn a lesson. And if that means he learns it in jail, that’s the choice he’s made.”

  Mr. Sidwell sank into his chair, the mail temporarily forgotten. “This is a pretty big lesson.”

  Karen leaned forward. “With all due respect, Mr. Sidwell, he almost beat an innocent man to death. He needs a big lesson.”

  Mr. Sidwell tented his hands, and pressed his fingers to his chin. He nodded, and finally a smile crept onto his face. “I think you’re doing the right thing, Karen,” he said. “And I suppose in light of what you’re telling me, I don’t mind being fired.”

  “About that,” she said. “I might need some legal counsel on another subject.”

  “Oh, really? And what is that?”

  Karen scooted back in her chair, crossed her legs confidently, and said, “What can you do about grandparents’ rights?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “I have to go home early today,” Melinda said, fussing with the new curtains, trying to get all the pastel balloons to line up. “Is it right?”

  Maddie Routh looked up from the rocking chair where she was sitting, smoothing the pages of a baby journal in her lap. She’d been writing, Melinda could see, but she didn’t know what. She knew only that it was good to see Maddie doing something. Something productive. Something other than simply trying to survive a day.

  “You’ve got a weird wrinkle on the left side,” Maddie said. “But it looks fine.”

  Melinda peered at the curtain and began rearranging. “Anyway, I have to leave in a bit. I’ve got something I need to do. But Karen is coming for dinner, and Joanna should be here in the morning.”

  “You know you don’t have to keep doing that,” Maddie said. And Melinda did know that. Maddie had come a long way. She smiled sometimes now. Laughed at Melinda’s jokes. They’d gone shopping together, twice, and had put together Maddie’s overnight bag for the hospital. They’d even gone to the park and eaten ice-cream cones, and Maddie had talked about being at that same park as a child, about being at that same park with Michael. She was able to talk about him wistfully now. She was able to talk about the baby. She was calm and hopeful.