Second Chances

by Abbie Williams

  “You can tell me,” I teased her.

  Jilly continued as though I hadn’t spoken, her eyes a brilliant flame-blue. “When he kisses me it’s like I’ve never been kissed before. I crave him. I can’t get enough of him and it’s the same for him. It almost scares me.”

  I reached and slipped my hand into hers. “He loves you too, you know it. It’s as plain as day all over his face every time he looks at you. What have you got to lose?”

  She snatched her hand away. “God, bite your tongue, knock on wood. Jesus, you know I hate those kinds of questions!”

  “Jills, the curse on our family isn’t real,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

  “So where are all the men then?” she asked point-blank.

  “Justin’s here,” I said, determined not to squirm under her gaze. “And Bly will be.”

  “Look at Mom, Ellen, Gran…shit, even Camille.”

  I winced at that, and Jilly added quickly, “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me.”

  “No, I’m not fooling myself with that one,” I said, softly. “At least Jackson stuck by me for a long time.”

  Jilly’s expression changed then. I could tell she was debating whether to tell me something, though she was usually free with her opinions. Finally I asked, “What?”

  “I’m worried about Jackie,” she said then.

  My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Worried?”

  Jilly waved her hands, palms facing me, and shook her head in the manner of someone who has just confused the shit out of you and is attempting to reverse it. She said, “No, no. I mean, I’m worried about how he’s acting, not for him. He’s questioning the divorce. He’s said as much to Justin.”

  “No,” I said immediately. “He’s just jealous because of Blythe. It’ll blow over. He’s jealous that I dared to find someone new.”

  “And that the ‘someone new’ is smokin’ hot and managed to beat the teeth from Jackson’s mouth, which doesn’t help much,” Jilly said wryly, waggling the tip of her tongue at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “Dammit, that isn’t funny.”

  “It was satisfying though, admit it!”

  “Okay, yeah, maybe a little. But it was part of what landed Bly back in jail for 30 days.”

  “Aw, Jo, don’t go getting all sad on me right now,” my sister ordered. “He’ll be out soon. But I’m just warning you about Jackson. He’s been getting more determined every day.”

  I shrugged, my thoughts centered on Blythe. I said, “I talked to Blythe tonight, and it was so good to hear his voice. Fuck, I miss him.”

  “I forgot he called. He’s doing all right?”

  I nodded, my throat tight.

  “Jo, he’s not in danger. Wipe that expression off your face,” Jilly said, though not unkindly. “Write him another letter tomorrow and you’ll feel better.”

  “Mom!” Tish called from the living room. “Can you bring us more lemonade?”

  “Sure,” I called back. And then to Jilly, “He said he carries my letter with him and sleeps with it at night.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said. “And that big stud will be here before you know it.”

  I rose and poured two lemonades for the girls, picking up the thread of our conversation, saying over my shoulder in a stage whisper, “And what about Lanny? What in the hell? Jackie told me he’s going to marry her. He brought fucking divorce papers up here, for Christ’s sake!” And then I swallowed the bitter edge in my tone and called, “Tish, come get these!”

  After she did I sat back with Jilly and she replied, “I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I don’t like it.”

  “Me, neither,” I told her. “What else do you have to eat in here?”

  “I don’t know, look,” she said, brandishing her beer-ita at the fridge and cupboards in general.

  “I’m hungry for Italian food,” I said and for just an instant missed the take-out convenience of Chicago. “Or Greek. I haven’t had any of that all summer.”

  “We could drive into Bemidji tomorrow,” Jillian suggested. “Just me and you.”Her phone on the counter chirped suddenly and Jilly snagged it, read the text message and then giggled.

  “Look,” she said, angling the screen so I could see. “It’s from Justin.”

  What are you wearing? it read, with a little smiling-devil emoticon.

  “Wow, that’s original. Text back ‘a big old quilted robe that covers every inch of skin,’” I teased. “And oversized carpet slippers.”

  Jilly giggled, her thumbs flying as she replied to his message. “As if that would deter him. The man has a sex drive that knows no boundaries. And I’m happy to help him with that.”

  “Well good. It’s probably been a while for both of you.”

  She sent the message and then sighed, running a hand through her short blond hair. “You can say that again. It’s funny how you don’t realize how much you missed making love until you have it again. I think it must be a survival thing.”

  Her phone chirped almost instantly, and she snorted and then actually flushed. I grabbed for it, but she dodged to her feet to evade me and yelped, “No way, you can’t see this one!”

  She turned to get away but I caught her around the waist, laughing as we tumbled into the living room. The girls looked over in surprise. Jilly tossed the phone towards Tish, then realized what she’d done and cried desperately, “Wait! Give that back, Tisha!”

  “No, throw it here!” I ordered, laughing as Jilly tried to block me.

  Camille opened one eye and groaned, “I’m trying to sleep.”

  There was a sudden pounding on the door and someone called in a gravely, serial-killer kind of voice, “We know you’re in there!”

  Ruthann and Tish shrieked.

  “We know you have food!” another voice said.

  “Tish, phone!” Jilly demanded.

  Tish slid the phone across the carpet at her aunt before racing around the corner to stop Clint and Liam from making off with the rest of the food in the house. I grabbed for it, but Jilly was faster. Breathlessly she stuffed the phone into her PJ shorts and shouted, “Ha!”

  “Justin’s the only one who can go after it there,” I teased her.

  “Mom, we’re gonna go sit around the fire for a while!” Tish said, disappearing out the door. Ruthie grabbed a bag of marshmallows and ran after them.

  “Me too, I think,” Jilly said, slipping her feet into a pair of red flip-flops and grabbing her hoodie from the hook by the door.

  “Jilly,” I complained, wanting to keep talking in private. “Darn that Justin. What in the hell did he text?”

  Her answering grin made me roll my eyes as she disappeared out the door, calling back, “You coming or what?”

  “Sure, why not? Camille, you coming?” I turned to ask her.

  “No, I’ll go to sleep again now that you guys are leaving,” she grumbled, rolling to her other side. I moved to cover her to the hips with the afghan from the back of the couch and she muttered, “Thanks, Mom,” before her eyelids drifted shut.

  Outside under the midnight sky Jillian and I linked arms and made our way over the lake path, sharing a quick smoke on the walk. The lawn chairs around the fire were occupied by Dodge, Aunt Ellen, Justin, Clint, Liam and the girls. I was relieved to see that Jackson was nowhere in sight. Dodge was telling some story that had Ellen laughing; both of them were clutching tall mugs of beer. Ruthie was passing out marshmallows. Clint and Liam were sword fighting with their marshmallow roaster sticks, and Justin, directly opposite us, caught sight of Jillian, pinned her with his dark eyes and gave her such a knowing, lazy, lascivious grin that she flushed again. I could tell even in the darkness. Her whole body had probably turned red. I was happy for them, but damn. Their flirting just made my ache for Blythe intensify. I snagged a seat near Ruthie and accepted a stick from her, then skewered two marshmallows. If I couldn’t have my man right now, I could have some empty calories at least.

  Sunday morning dawned gray and
cheerless, much like my mood. I was so grateful to have talked to Bly yesterday, but the week stretched ahead much like an expanse of desert; I would have to wade through all that featureless dryness until next Saturday to hear his voice again.

  Joelle, I reminded myself. I ground my knuckles against my eyes and sat up to see the window streaked with long silvery trails of rain. Better to get up and face it than stay in bed and be depressed. And so I did.

  Late in the day, after lunch, the rain had ceased, the clouds slowly shredding apart like pieces of torn cotton candy. I was walking back from the house, my chin tipped down, and when I got to the parking lot I saw that Jackson was just getting out of his car. He caught sight of me and waved.

  “You have a second now?” he called as I reluctantly drew near.

  “Yeah,” I half-sighed. “Come on.” And I indicated the café with a tilt of my head.

  “Do you mind if we walk instead?”

  A beam of sunlight struck the ground just behind him, flooding that part of the blacktop with golden light, angelically backlighting his curls. Suddenly I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, but if I kept avoiding him he would surely grow all the more determined. Typical Jackson.

  “Sure,” I said, looking over at Shore Leave’s front windows, reflecting the sky as it brightened blue again, hiding the curious faces that were most certainly observing as Jackson and I turned to the lake path that wound back to Landon. At first there was enough distance between us for a car to drive through, but as we walked he came closer, casually. I was stubbornly silent until we reached the spot on the road where I had first climbed into Blythe’s truck, back in June. The night he’d kissed me for the first time. My throat felt tight remembering.

  “Listen, Joelle,” Jackson was saying, on my left.

  “Jackson, do I need a lawyer?” I asked him then, ready to speed up this whole process. “In your professional opinion?”

  He seemed caught off guard, pausing to turn and look at me. The clouds were playing cat and mouse with the sun, casting shadows and throwing light at random moments, as though we were facing off beneath a natural disco ball. We’d left the café behind; only the birds were witness to our words now. He repeated, “A lawyer?”

  “Well I don’t know. What about the papers you brought? Should I have someone look them over?” I really wanted to know. “What about the townhouse? And I know Lanny’s living there, so don’t bullshit me, seriously. When I called there last week she answered, even though you were on your way to Minnesota.”

  Again his eyes narrowed at my mention of his lover/fiancée. For the first time, I noticed a few silver threads in the thick hair around his temples. Apparently I hadn’t looked at him, really looked at him, for a long time either. Finally he sighed and said, “She does have her own place, but she’s there most of the time, yes.”

  “So will the two of you live there?”

  Jackson frowned at me again, his dark eyebrows drawing together. He said, “So you’re really set on staying up here? Putting the girls in school at the senior high? I thought you’d get over this, Joelle. Move them back home at least. All of their friends are there, their schools. Why stay in Landon?”

  “Why not?” I asked him, folding my arms defensively. “I love it here. My family is here. And the girls love it, too, just ask them.”

  “What about everything you left behind in the house?”

  “I’ll have to come and get it eventually, I guess. Or you could ship it to me when you get home. Are you and Lanny going to live there or sell it?”

  He kicked at a pebble and studied the ground for a moment, at last admitting, “She loves the townhouse. We would buy your half.”

  “What about child support?”

  “It’s all in the agreement, if you agree, that is,” he said then. “Exact percentages according to Illinois state law. Jesus, as though I wouldn’t be fair about it, Joelle.”

  “I never said that,” I told him honestly. “I trust that if you prepared it, it’s fair. Did you bring it to sign? Is it in the car?” I had no idea how this worked. I looked at him searchingly. “Do we need a notary to witness?”

  Jackson was studying me wordlessly.

  “I’ll sign it so you can go,” I insisted, feeling impatient and jittery, as though I’d binged on coffee. “The girls can come and visit over Thanksgiving break.”

  He suddenly asked, “Why is he in jail?”

  Now it was my turn to stare silently at him.

  He insisted, “Tell me, Joelle. What are you doing with him besides fucking around?”

  Anger rose upwards in my body, but with effort I kept my voice even, replying, “You don’t know anything.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Jackson snapped, sounding insulted. “You’re getting back at me with a fucking criminal, Joelle. What does that say to our children?”

  “What does that say?” I repeated breathlessly, the redness of fury infusing my face. “What does it say to them that their father chose to step outside of his marriage for the last five years?!”

  “They didn’t know!” he yelped at me.

  “Well they know now!”

  “And they know that their mother is busy getting laid by a criminal with a ponytail. That’s fucking great, Joelle!”

  I had never been prone to violence but before I knew what I’d done, I shoved him hard in the chest with both hands. He quick-stepped back, then lunged forward and caught me by the upper arms. He was breathing hard and I expected him to shake me, or maybe shove me back, but he did neither. Instead he leaned in and kissed me, roughly. For just a moment I kissed him back, bowled over by the suddenness and familiarity of his lips.

  But then I made a sound of enraged protest, struggling against him, and he ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun it, freeing my arms and blinking at me in what appeared to be stun, as though he couldn’t believe he’d just acted that way either.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” I ordered through my teeth, low and dead-serious. I imagined for a moment what Blythe would do if he were here, and the thought strengthened me.

  “Dammit, Joelle,” Jackie said, and he sounded shaken. His voice trembled ever so slightly.

  I turned to walk away but despite what I’d just said, he grabbed my upper arm and halted my retreat.

  “Joelle, I’m so confused,” he said then. His grip was firm but not painful, though when I shrugged out of it he didn’t stop me. Again I crossed my arms but remained where I was, my mouth somber as I regarded his face. To be fair, he did look incredibly agonized.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” I asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know,” he said. He plunged both hands through his hair and then braced eight fingers on his forehead. “It’s this place. I have so many memories of us here. All the things we used to do, how we used to make love. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  I understood what he meant; it was how I’d felt when the girls and I had first arrived back in May.

  “Jackie…” I said tentatively, but he dropped his hands from his face and glared at me, as though to blame me for everything. And without another word he spun and walked briskly towards Shore Leave.

  “I’ll leave the papers for you,” he said without looking back.

  I stood there a moment, watching as he retreated. I waited until he was out of sight, then drew a deep breath and headed in the same direction.

  In Jilly’s kitchen that night, this time with no kids around, I told her the whole story.

  “I knew he’d make a move,” Jilly said. “He actually kissed you?”

  “With tongue and everything,” I said, anger again seeping into my belly. With grim satisfaction I added, “Blythe would kill him. But he’ll never know. I’m not risking that.”

  “I knew Jackie was wavering,” she said. “I knew he was reconsidering. Well, don’t buy it.”

  “Please,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “Do you really think—” “No
,” she assured me, and then indicated the gray folder on the table, emblazoned with the words Rockford, Gordon & Bunnickle, Associates at Law. When Jackie had first been made partner, I’d been so thrilled to see our name on the building. It seemed so permanent, giving our family so much security. Now I could hardly wait to shed it, detach it from my first name. I had to admit that in my notebook I’d been doodling ‘Joelle Anne Tilson’ with regularity, then surrounding those curlicue words with interlocking hearts. Jilly continued, “Have you read through everything?”

  “Not all of it,” I admitted. “I trust that Jackson won’t try anything sneaky when it comes to this.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. I don’t think he would either,” she added. “Anyway, who cares if he and his home-wrecking whore get the townhouse? I remember it being big and echo-y and cold. Besides, you get Blythe.”

  I grinned at her, feeling a welcome rush of gratitude. “That’s a damn good trade,” I agreed. “And thank God that Lanny wrecked our home. I would never have known, Jilly. I would never have come back here.”

  “Yeah, let’s call her and tell her thanks,” Jilly teased, and lifted her glass of beer-ita to toast mine.

  Chapter Ten

  On Tuesday the 12th, Jilly and I were joined by Liz Worden, Justin’s little sister who also worked as a realtor. She’d called to say that she had found a place that I might like, just a few streets off of Fisherman’s, and came to pick us up in the late afternoon.

  “And it’s fine for Ruthie to sleep over tonight?” Liz asked as she drove around the lake road and turned back into town.

  “For sure,” I told her. “Thanks for the invite. She’s excited.”

  “Jills,” Liz said, catching my sister’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I just want you to know how happy my brother is every time I see him. I’m so glad you guys are dating.”

  Jillian leaned forward. “I’m glad, too. I really like the shithead.”

  Liz and I laughed, and Liz shook her head. She looked exactly the same as she had as a child, coming out to Shore Leave with Dodge. I knew that she understood Jilly was downplaying her feelings, as she always did. “Well, good deal,” she teased back. And then asked, “You girls having a big birthday bash this month?”