Second Chances: A Magical Holiday Romance

by T. M. Franklin

  Woodlawn.

  Woodlawn, Washington. His hometown . . . a town he hadn’t been back to but a handful of times since he’d left for New York.

  Carter could only assume that seeing Kenzie the night before had sparked the rather strange dream he was having. He found himself unwilling to wake up, however. At least, not until he’d seen Kenzie.

  He concentrated, wondering if he could make it that far. Usually, it wasn’t long after you realized you were dreaming that you were already half-awake. Studying the address on his driver’s license, he decided he might as well try.

  He started the little car, or at least tried to. It took three attempts before the engine finally caught and he pulled out of the driveway. Once he made it to the main road, things started to look familiar. He realized that Noah had built his house on a piece of land they all used to hang out on when they were in high school. If Carter recalled correctly, there was a swimming hole about a hundred feet beyond Noah’s house. They’d had a lot of fun at that pond over the years.

  It had been fun growing up in Woodlawn. Established as a logging town, Woodlawn had prospered until the early nineties when the endangered Spotted Owl forced the end of logging in old growth forests in the northwest. Some said it was only a matter of time, anyway—the loss of those forests would have come sooner or later—but it was a blow to the little town. The mills shut down, jobs were lost, families moved away. But those that stayed became a tight-knit group. And Woodlawn had survived, transforming into a tourist stop for those heading to the Washington coast with its cafes, antique shops, and quaint bed and breakfasts.

  Carter found himself smiling as he made his way through town. It hadn’t changed much, not that he’d expected it would. It made sense that it would look as he remembered it. He turned down Calawah Way, past the mobile home park, then up Trillium Avenue and onto Mayberry Street, searching the houses for the right number.

  He pulled up in front of a white two-story house, with blue trim and a black door. A Big Wheel lay overturned in the driveway next to a gray mini-van, and the front lawn was thick, evidencing the weeks of rainy weather. Carter climbed out of the car, surprised to find his stomach in knots.

  It’s only a dream. He said it to himself over and over, like a mantra. Still, he was inexplicably nervous.

  He fiddled with the keys in his hand, wondering if he should knock or just walk in. He ended up not having to decide, however, because just as he stepped up onto the front porch, the door was thrown open and he was hit in the chest with a heavy duffle bag.

  Carter staggered slightly, catching the bag before it landed on the wet ground. Before he could fully recover, another smaller bag hit him in the head.

  “What the—” He stumbled back off the porch and lost his balance, landing on his butt with a grunt as another bag slammed into his stomach. He looked up into a familiar face glaring down at him like an avenging angel.

  “Violet?” Carter’s voice cracked in surprise at the appearance of Noah’s younger sister. “What the hell is going on?”

  “What’s going on?” she hissed. “Seriously, Carter, do you even have to ask? Kenzie called me last night in tears after what you pulled and you expected to come back here and all would be forgiven? Not this time. No way!”

  Carter managed to get to his feet. “Where’s Kenzie?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a strand of black hair away from her cheek. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  A chill ran over his skin at the thought. “Violet. I want to talk to her.”

  “Too bad,” she retorted. “She had a feeling you’d stop by and I was more than happy to stick around to make sure you got your stuff.” She waved a hand at the bags. “Feel free to take it over to Noah’s or wherever you’re staying, because she doesn’t want you here.”

  “Vi, it’s Christmas.” It was lame, but the only argument he could think of. He really had no idea what was going on, after all . . . and, dream or no dream, he wanted to see Kenzie.

  Violet Collins was not one to succumb to pity, however. “You should have thought of that before you took off—on Christmas Eve, Carter—and acted like a drunken moron. You know it’s not just about last night. She’s tired of it all, Carter. She’s tired of you.”

  With that, Violet walked back into the house and slammed the door, leaving Carter standing stunned at the bottom of the porch stairs.

  A sickening feeling twisted in his stomach as he realized a few things. First, he hurt. His butt was sore and his hand was bleeding where he scraped it on the walkway trying to catch his fall. Second, the rain was falling harder and he was starting to shiver, his clothes cold and wet and his hair dripping into his eyes.

  Which led him to a conclusion that was illogical . . . impossible . . . but twitching at the edge of his consciousness. One he didn’t even want to consider.

  Carter closed his eyes, willing himself to awaken. He’d done it hundreds of times in the past when a nightmare got too frightening. All he had to do was concentrate and he’d open his eyes and be back in his own bed, this bizarre experience melting away into barely recognizable glimpses.

  Just a few more minutes.

  He waited.

  The rain fell harder, thunder clapped, and he saw lightning flash through his closed eyelids.

  Little while longer.

  Any time now.

  “Carter?” A quiet voice forced his eyes open. He inhaled sharply as her face came into view.

  Kenzie. Her dark hair and warm, brown eyes. Her turned up nose and soft, pink lips. Lips turned down a little at the edges, tight with tension.

  “Why are you standing in the rain?” she asked, her arms clutched across her stomach defensively as she stood in the open doorway. “I thought you left.”

  Carter stared at her in silence for a moment, unable to find words. She was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and t-shirt under a red plaid flannel shirt with the arms rolled up. He wondered if it was one of his.

  He found he liked that idea.

  She took in the wet bags lying on the ground and Carter’s soaked clothes and sighed. “I’m sorry about Vi,” she said finally. “You know how protective she is, and after last night . . .” Her voice drifted off as she looked away, brushing at her cheeks. Carter’s heart sank as he realized she was crying.

  “Kenzie . . . I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged, looking into the distance again. “I know, Carter. You’re always sorry. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She stepped back from the door. “You might as well come in and get dried off. We can talk about this later. I know the kids would love to see you.”

  Carter’s step faltered as he moved forward.

  Wait a second. What?

  Kids?

  Carter swallowed thickly as he scooped up the bags and walked into the house. He noticed that Kenzie stepped back as he approached, obviously not wanting to touch him. Carter hesitated in the entryway, unsure of where to go.

  “Go upstairs and get a shower,” Kenzie told him quietly. “The kids fell asleep in the other room, so you have a little time.” She looked at him sadly for a moment, before walking away and into what he could see was a kitchen in the back of the house. Violet was leaning against the counter glaring at him, and he turned away quickly to climb the stairs.

  He walked down the hallway, peeking into each room as he passed it. The first one was painted pale blue with clouds across the ceiling and a low bed with a dark blue quilt in the corner. A few toy cars were scattered across a colorful rug in the middle of the floor and a huge stuffed panda huddled under a window on the other side of the room. The next was obviously a little girl’s room, featuring pale pink and yellow-striped walls and a white bed with a mound of stuffed animals covering the pillows. A small Jack-and-Jill bathroom stood between the two rooms, painted a brighter yellow, with multicolored towels and tropical fish accents.

  Across the hall he found the master bedroom, decorated in pale sand and dark brown, with accents
of deep red. Carter slipped off his shoes and padded quietly into the room, taking in the homey feel. The furniture was aged wood, gleaming and obviously polished regularly. He reached out to touch the huge pile of pillows on the bed, his fingers trailing over the country-style quilt in shades of red and brown. It wasn’t his taste, typically, but something about the room, and the bed, made him feel comfortable. He smiled at a picture of him and Kenzie on one of the bedside tables, Kenzie laughing as he nuzzled her neck. The obvious joy in the photograph filled him with a pang of longing. Next to it was a picture of two small children—a little boy holding a baby girl in his arms and grinning widely. Carter found himself grinning in response, the boy’s warm brown eyes and toothy smile a mirror image of Kenzie’s.

  Carter shivered, and decided he needed to get out of his wet clothes. He was cold.

  He was cold. The impossible thought he’d been trying not to think reared its ugly head yet again. How could he be cold?

  Shaking it off, Carter stripped off his wet clothes and winced as the fabric brushed against his scraped hand. He gathered up the soggy mess, took it into the bathroom, and set it on the counter as he started the shower. Ducking his head under the hot water, he let the warmth seep into his chilled bones and tried to relax, again willing himself to wake up. There was no sense sticking around in the dream if Kenzie was so angry at him, after all. Carter breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the coconut body wash and shampoo he’d found in the shower. He thought about shaving off the unfamiliar beard, then decided against it, not wanting to take the time.

  When the water ran cold, he gave up on waking up, the sense of foreboding inching through his now warm body. He dried off, and dug in the bags for some dry clothes, settling on another flannel shirt and jeans. Running a hand through his still-damp hair, he emerged from the bedroom and walked tentatively down the steps in search of Kenzie.

  He found her curled up on a worn brown couch next to a brightly-lit Christmas tree and the remnants of a wild Christmas morning. Fortunately, Violet the guard dog was nowhere to be found. Toys and shredded gift wrap littered the floor and Carter stood in the doorway, nervously tucking his hands in his jean pockets. Kenzie’s sad eyes turned toward him just as a pile of paper on the floor shot up in all directions.

  “Daddy!” a little boy plowed through the mess and wrapped himself around Carter’s leg. “Where were you? You missed Christmas!” A gap in the boy’s front teeth colored his words with a slight lisp, so it took Carter a moment to interpret what he’d said. He patted the boy awkwardly on the back.

  “Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I, uh, had to go see . . . Aunt Lydia?” Carter glommed on to the first excuse he could think of.

  “Auntie Lyd?” the boy repeated. An excited grin split his face, then just as quickly morphed into a pout. “How come you didn’t take me?” He released Carter’s leg, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

  “Uh . . .” Carter’s eyes flew to Kenzie, but she only raised an eyebrow in response. Carter lowered to a knee and reached tentatively toward the little boy. “I’m sorry . . . buddy. But you had to be here to see what Santa brought, right?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “I got a fire truck!” he exclaimed, his irritation instantly forgotten. “And a new bike!” He swept through the crumpled paper to where a shiny two-wheeler stood beneath the tree. “Mommy said I had to wait until it stopped raining to ride it, though. Is it still raining?” He rushed to the window and peered out. “It’s just a little.” He turned to Kenzie. “It’s just a little raining, Mommy. Can I ride my bike now?”

  Kenzie’s lips quirked. “You have to get dressed first,” she pointed out, “and wear your helmet.”

  The boy crossed his arms again in what Carter was quickly learning was a familiar gesture. “I don’t wanna wear my helmet!”

  “Brady, we’ve talked about this,” Kenzie said in that warning voice common to moms around the world.

  “Mo—omm! It makes my head itch!” he whined.

  At that moment, a muffled whine came from the other corner of the room. Carter turned and saw a little pile of pillows and blankets near the end of the couch.

  “Carter, could you help me out here, please?” Kenzie moved past him to the blanket pile, and lifted a little blond-haired girl to her shoulder, patting her back gently. Carter turned to face Brady, whose temper tantrum was escalating to epic proportions. His red face scrunched up as he inhaled deeply and Carter was sure he was about to let out a piercing scream.

  At that moment, the little girl Kenzie was holding began to whimper a little, awakening to the tension around her. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  Kenzie murmured to her before turning back to her son. “Brady. No helmet. No bike,” she said firmly, and the scream Carter dreaded filled the room.

  “Carter?” Kenzie turned to him in annoyance.

  “Daaadddyyy!” Brady cried, collapsing on the floor in heaving sobs.

  “I’m hungry!” The little girl started to kick her feet, her whines gaining volume as Carter’s stunned gaze took in the scene around him. The faces turned to him in expectation, waiting for him to deal with the situation . . . for him to be Dad.

  It was too much. Carter felt his heart rate accelerate as his palms grew sweaty and his head swam. He began to back out of the room, away from the insanity.

  It wasn’t real.

  It wasn’t real.

  But somehow, way deep down inside, Carter knew he was wrong. Somehow . . . somehow it was real. And with that thought, he panicked and did the only thing he could think of.

  He ran.

  He headed for the front door, but remembered something that Henry had said to him the night before. He couldn’t get past the feeling that the strange man had something to do with all of this, and if he was right, and this was real, Henry was the only one who could help him. He turned and ran up the stairs to the master bedroom, the cries and screams in the other room fading slightly as he made it to the second floor.

  Carter stumbled into the bathroom, grabbing his pile of wet clothes and searching the pockets.

  “Where is it?” he mumbled to himself, just before his hands closed on the little metal bell. He pulled it out of his pocket gingerly, his eyes narrowed on it in suspicion. It looked like a normal jingle bell—the kind you’d see everywhere at this time of year. Carefully, he grasped it by the tiny loop on the top and shook it, the tinkle echoing off the shower tiles. Without realizing it, he’d clenched his eyes shut as he rang the bell, and he slowly opened them, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen.

  Nothing.

  Carter stood and threw the bell onto the counter. “Figures,” he mumbled as he stomped back into the bedroom. He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Henry standing next to the bed.

  “Hello, Carter.”

  “You!” Carter growled, taking a step toward him and tightening his fists in an effort to control himself. “What have you done to me?”

  “Only what you asked for,” Henry said brightly as he plopped onto the edge of the bed and hugged a pillow to his chest.

  “What . . . did you drug me or something?” Carter asked. “Hypnotize me?” He thought for a moment. “You put something in my drink last night, didn’t you?”

  Henry laughed and stretched out on his side, propping his head on his hand. “No, Carter. Nothing like that. You asked for this. Don’t you remember? The one thing in your past you’d change if you could—you wouldn’t have chickened out ten years ago and you would have asked Kenzie to marry you.”

  “I—” He blinked in confusion. “I never told you that. How did you know that?”

  Henry smiled. “I have an unusual . . . insight into people,” he said, waving his hand with a flourish. “Well, Carter, you got your wish. You proposed on Christmas Eve and you got married six months later. You have two children, a house, two cars . . . the American dream.”

  Carter glared at him. “This isn’t real.”

  “It’s as real
as you want it to be.”

  “It’s a dream.”

  “You know it’s not, Carter.”

  Carter was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “Kenzie hates me.”

  Henry shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “I don’t want this. I mean . . . I want Kenzie, but not like this. We’re supposed to be happy.”

  Henry got up off the bed. “It was one choice . . . one change . . . and this is the result,” he said. “You wanted to correct the mistake of not asking Kenzie to marry you ten years ago and you have. What you do now is up to you.” Henry tilted his head as if listening to something. “I’ve gotta run,” he said.

  “No, wait,” Carter exclaimed. “You have to get me out of here.”

  “No can do, Carter,” Henry said with a grin, straightening his pristine white sweater. “You asked for this, now you’ve got to see it through.” He moved toward the window.

  “You mean I’m stuck here forever?” Carter exclaimed as panicked frustration swept through him. “What about my job? I’m supposed to start my new segment next week! And what the hell are we doing in Woodlawn? What about Kenzie’s books?”

  “Keep track of the bell, Carter. Only use it for emergencies. You only have two left,” Henry warned.

  A little voice drew Carter’s attention to the doorway. “Daddy?” Brady hiccupped slightly, his face still red with the remnants of his tantrum. “Who are you talking to?”

  Carter turned back to the window, but Henry was gone. “What the—” he murmured, hurrying to the window and pushing it open. He stuck his head out, but there was no sign that anyone had been there.

  “Daddy?” Brady walked toward him, the feet of his pajamas flopping on the carpet. “I’m sorry I made you mad.” His downcast eyes tore at Carter’s heart and he found himself falling to his knees in front of the little boy.

  “It’s okay, Brady,” he said gently, lifting a hand to rub his son’s head. “I’m not mad at you. I just . . . got a little scared, you know?”