The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three)

by Aubrey Parker

  But I made it through the shift. Tommy and any threeway improprieties, thankfully, haven’t been mentioned. Maybe that photo was just them “saying hi.” I don’t want to know. Some people like knowing they have options, but not me, not now. I want my options closed. I want life proscribed for me. I want someone to tell me where to go and what to do, then force me into compliance.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I could say this is just how I’m wired, and that there’s a broken connection somewhere deep inside me, but it strikes me as an excuse whenever I try to believe that. It gives me a reason to slip because it’s just biology — or perhaps uncontrollable psychology — and the conscious me is helpless. I try and tell myself that I can be normal. I used to be normal, with Grady. Before he left and everything changed.

  Thursday, I wake up and lie in bed for a few extra minutes, staring at the ceiling. As far as I can tell, Mackenzie is still asleep because with today being a faculty day without any school, and no available daycare, she has nothing on the docket that isn’t already in my plans. I don’t know what time it is and don’t want to look; I know only that the sun is out, and it’s time to get up.

  I don’t have to work today. That’s good. I might get texts inviting me to things I shouldn’t do, but there’s no chance that hot, six-pack temptation will walk through the door and stand in front of me, undressing me with his eyes. As rough as things have been, I’ve felt like an addict working in a cocaine factory.

  I wonder if I need help.

  It’s one of a thousand things I don’t have time or money to address.

  There are moments — and here, now, on my back, I experience one in relative safety — where I wonder why I resist. Why am I fighting who I am? Religion and shame made me feel sex was bad, so does it really make sense to fight it now?

  This is different.

  But there’s more to the question. Normally, I resist for Mackenzie or for some distorted sense of my own inherent value, but over the past few days, I’m afraid I’ve been resisting for another reason.

  Maybe I’ve been resisting because I think there’s a possible future with Grady.

  That would be a stupid thing to think. Now that Grady’s family is all but gone, there might be no one in the world who knows him better than me. I of all people know how he doesn’t like to feel cornered or obligated. He’s the free bird that won’t be caged. He’s strangely loyal, but he won’t be tethered no matter what. As kids, when we were in love, we always wanted to run away together. The only difference, really, is that he went without me.

  I still can’t leave. Not the way things are now. It’s naive to think Grady will stay. It’s even naive to think he wants to be with me at all, or become a part of Mackenzie’s life. Believing differently is just me trying to ignore a leopard’s spots, and if I’m fool enough to think those dumb things, it’s my own fault when I’m bitten.

  So why am I resisting Chadd for Grady’s sake? There’s nothing there. Given our history, I ironically don’t even think I’d want a one-nighter. I’d probably turn it down. If Grady and I have any physical contact, it’ll be because I’m dumb enough to believe there’s a future, and that he loves me and hasn’t ever stopped.

  I won’t be an idiot. I won’t be a fool.

  I won’t be an object. I won’t be a pawn.

  I wake Mackenzie, more to have noise in the house than anything else. As little as this place is, even the sounds of Mac playing with her dolls echo into the home’s every corner. I don’t want to think about this park date, even as much as I thought I’d been looking forward to it.

  I feel now like I did when I proposed it: that I’m simply insistent on slitting my own throat. I’ve already proved, day after day, that I want to sabotage myself, that I hate myself, that I feel worthless deep down.

  This must be an attempt to force Grady into admitting that he made the right choice all those years ago. Why would I thrust him in with Mackenzie right away, if at all? Maybe to bring our conflict to the fore. To force Grady, who will have no alternative, to reject us all over again.

  Because I must deserve it.

  The thought is so depressing, I tear up while I’m making Mackenzie’s pancakes. It’s such a dead end, deep hole of a thought. There’s no way to escape my downward spiral if the deepest parts of me only want to drag me down faster. If I’m not on my side, there’s no hope.

  But it’s the only option. Because if this isn’t about me trying to get hurt, then it can only be because I honestly believe there’s a future for me — for us — with Grady Dade. And how ridiculous is that to consider?

  Mackenzie is sitting at our chipped kitchen table when she looks up at me with her big blue eyes and asks, “Where are we going today, Mommy?”

  “What makes you think we’re going somewhere?”

  “You made breakfast.”

  “I always make you breakfast, Sweetheart.”

  “I mean, you made breakfast. Pancakes, not just cereal.”

  “Why does that mean we’re going out?”

  “Are we going out?”

  I give her a small smile, not sure if this is good or bad news. “Yes. We are.”

  “Where?”

  “Dalton Park?”

  She actually claps. It breaks my heart.

  “I knew it! You took a shower, and you’re wearing your nice sandals.”

  I look down at my feet, in the cute little strappy things with fake gems. She’s so insightful, it’s spooky. There’s a terrifying handful of seconds wherein I’m sure I’ve been fooling myself, believing Mackenzie doesn’t know things she shouldn’t. I didn’t even realize I was gussying up for Grady and giving us a solid start to the day, so how can she not know the things I do, and try so hard to hide? Even when Mackenzie was smaller, the few times she saw me heading out on “dates” before I made sure to keep them away from her, she asked who they were, and I said they were friends. Even then, she seemed to see right through my bullshit.

  “When are we going?”

  “Noon.”

  Her eyebrow goes up. Just like her dad.

  “Exactly noon?”

  “Well … ” Dammit. Of course that didn’t slip by her. I said it like we had an appointment, which isn’t usually the way we go to the park.

  “Is someone else going, too? Ooh! Is it for Brownies?”

  “No, Sweetie. It’s not for Brownies.” I stuff down a surge of guilt because I still haven’t responded. She’ll miss signup, I’m sure, and I’ll have to casually admit later that it never worked out.

  “Who then?”

  “How do you know it’s anyone?”

  “Moooom,” she says, dragging the word out. Another strain of annoyed disbelief I suspect is in her genes, and not from my half of the equation.

  “Okay. It’s a friend. An old friend of mine.”

  “Does she have any kids my age?”

  “No. And it’s not a girl. It’s a man. His name is Grady.”

  “Oh.” Her features become a bit cloudy, and again that sense of being watched charges across my heart. When has she seen me meet men in the past? Is her “Oh” now born of resignation, as if she expects us to run behind a hedge while she feeds the ducks?

  Of course not. She’s only nine. She’s not thinking that way. But still I feel the need to rush on and explain.

  “He’s someone I went to school with, Baby. We kind of grew up together.”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll have fun. Maybe we can get one of the paddleboats or something, if you’re allowed to have three people in them.”

  But as soon as I make the suggestion, I wish I hadn’t. Because Mackenzie clearly loves the idea, and she’s never been strong or had legs long enough to co-paddle with me — and also because it’s clearly the kind of thing that families do together. Paddling together on the lake? Grady and I may as well send Mackenzie off to the prom.

  “Can we really?”

  Shit.

  “Well, if you can have thr
ee people in them. Which I don’t know if you can.”

  “You can! I’ve seen it. So we can get one, Mommy? We can ride a paddleboat with your friend?”

  “Sure. Sure, Honey.”

  “What else can we do? Can we get ice cream?”

  “I guess.”

  “Can we feed the ducks?”

  “Um … maybe.”

  I have to stop this. Soon, she’ll be asking if this unknown wonder-male can take her fishing, buy her a pretty dress, or join us at the family picnic. I have to keep repeating a mantra: This is only for today. I expect nothing because there won’t be anything.

  I shouldn’t have included Mackenzie in our plans. And Grady, damn him, should have protested. He must not have felt comfortable telling me Mac wasn’t invited, considering, but I wish he had. Because this is setting all of us up — me, Mac, even Grady.

  I shouldn’t have arranged this, I think, watching Mackenzie smile while she rushes to finish her pancakes.

  It was a mistake. It was stupid.

  It’s a gun to our heads, and we’re pretending it’s not even there.

  CHAPTER 20

  Maya

  I can’t keep talking about Grady with Mackenzie, but she’s so curious already. It’s as if the paddleboat revelation has uncorked something inside her, and now she’s decided that this is a party. She knows nothing about Grady other than the unnamed, unspecified basics that have come through my responses to questions I don’t want to answer, and she certainly doesn’t know what he once meant to me, what he means (or could mean) to us both. To Mackenzie, Grady is a man we’re going to play with this afternoon. I won’t give him more importance in this conversation than she demands, mainly because I don’t know how strong I am.

  I tell Mackenzie I need to go to the bathroom. Then I sit on the toilet, fully clothed, with the lid closed, and hang my head. I admit to myself that I may still love him, no matter what I claim. I admit that my gut reaction when I heard he was on his way back was affection, not anger. I admit that during that first meeting the other day, I was searching for signs that he still cares because I’ve never stopped. And I admit that I set today’s date as sabotage. Because something in me believes it’ll all still work out, that he’ll want to be with me again, with us. That he’s my white knight, come to save me.

  But that’s stupid. That’s wrong. So after hanging my head, I splash water on my face and carefully reapply my makeup — more than what’s required for a sensible single mother going to a playdate in the park. Then I go back and pretend the expectations are set but that the rest of the discussion never happened.

  She’ll meet him when she meets him. I have to be bold enough for that because he should meet her. But I’ll keep things brief, and I’ll make sure that Grady stays at arm’s length. I don’t want to discuss him. It’s best for us all to understand what this is, and what it most definitely isn’t.

  Still, I can sense Mackenzie’s curiosity. I shift to asking about school.

  But she shuts me down. Just like that, she doesn’t want to chat. If I won’t discuss what she wants to, she won’t meet me halfway. And that is all me. Stubbornness and spite come from her redhead mother — lock, stock, and smoking barrel.

  We find Grady at the grandstand. He’s just standing there, in khaki shorts, some band’s gray tour shirt up top. He’s facing away from us, and although I’m sure I’m being ridiculous, it occurs to me that he’s set up this way so I’ll be forced to speak first. We’re preparing to circle around and meet on equal footing when Mackenzie breaks from my grip and runs forward, small feet clunking across the wood, shouting.

  “Mr. Grady! Hi!”

  Grady turns. His expression is momentarily tormented, but it clears almost immediately. Mackenzie’s enthusiasm is a secret weapon. She has a way of unlocking even the most dour personalities and solving the surfaces of what feel like the most pressing problems. In an instant, Grady has squatted to meet her, as if they have a history, as if they’re old friends rather than new acquaintances.

  Grady looks up at me when Mackenzie gives him a second. I expected to see conflict on his face while looking at me, too, but he’s one giant smile. Grady always had the most charming expression. He doesn’t have a networking smile — it wouldn’t help him climb any corporate ladders — but it’s definitely genuine, open and vulnerable. When Grady smiles, his eyes wrinkle, and you can see his true spirit. He can’t lie when he’s like this. The man’s an open book when he’s happy.

  Mackenzie did this to him. In a split second, she cracked all that’s gone wrong between us.

  “Mom says we can get a paddleboat. Can we get a paddleboat?”

  “I don’t know?” Grady looks up at me. “I guess that’s up to your mom.”

  “She said we could!”

  I reluctantly nod. Grady turns back to Mackenzie. “Well then, I guess so.”

  “Yay! I’m going to go watch them, okay?” Then she’s gone without waiting for an answer. I yell after her to stay close, but the grandstand is right by the water, and she stops at the railing less than fifty feet away, her attention fixed on the enchanting yellow boats making their way around in long arcs.

  Grady stands.

  “I guess we’re paddleboating,” he says.

  “If you’d rather not, no big deal.”

  “No, no!” He smiles broader, moving the wrinkles to the corners of his mouth. I remember this look, too; it’s the way he is in my locket photo. It’s also one of the reasons I fell for him all those years ago. “I like the idea. I just didn’t know what you had in mind. This seems … nice.”

  “Believe me, it’s not what I had in mind. Mackenzie got it into her head.”

  “What were you thinking of doing?”

  That’s an excellent question. The truth is I had nothing in mind. I shot first and planned to ask questions later.

  “No clue.”

  “Well, then. I guess paddleboats are as good as anything.”

  The smile stays on his face, but neither of us knows what to do with our bodies. I merely walked up; he stooped to greet Mackenzie then stood to face me. We haven’t moved to make any contact, though some feels warranted, and its absence is conspicuous, as if we’re more awkward through not greeting properly than any clumsy salutation could be.

  Grady moves first. Once he comes closer, it’s easier to accept his hug and all the mixed feelings that come with it.

  His arms feel good around me. Not just good; they feel right, as if this is where I belong.

  I feel wanted and protected, despite all that happened.

  And deep down, I feel hesitant and wary because this could end at any time. Regardless of the way this all began, part of me is still sure he never meant to come see me and might already regret it. I didn’t even let him see me first. No. I hit him with Mac right away, no hesitation.

  His eyes flick to the little girl now hanging halfway over the railing — far enough that I’m sure she’ll fall in even though I know full well she won’t, the way I’m always afraid that terrible things will happen to her.

  “She seems wonderful, Maya.”

  My lips firm. There’s a moment where I consider twisting screws on Grady, but this isn’t the time. The sun is out, and my daughter is happy. Right or wrong, Grady and I are here together. There will be plenty of time for ruining later.

  “She is.”

  “Looks like you did a great job raising her.”

  “I do my best. It’s not always easy, doing it alone.”

  Traitorous lips. I didn’t mean to say that, but it’s been at the surface so long.

  Grady looks uncomfortable, so I move to smother it. We have a date ahead of us. Unless I plan to explain to Mackenzie why my old friend left so quickly and that the paddleboat errand is a bust, I need to be the bigger person. We both know who committed the wrongs in our past, but reminders now will only hurt.

  “She’s independent,” I say, rushing on, trying to pretend that my last statement was a by-th
e-way mention that meant nothing. “You know me. I’ve always been stubborn. Stubborn comes with independence, or vice-versa.”

  “You were stubborn. Do you remember how long you insisted that Arnold Schwarzenegger was in Rambo?”

  “I did not.”

  “You wouldn’t even let me look it up. And when I did, you told me that IMDB had it wrong.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” I laugh. But I do remember. There was also a day I yelled at Grady because he was basing an estimate of something on twelve months in a year, whereas everybody knows there are only ten. I realized my mistake right away but had snapped so hard there was no way to admit he was right without looking like an idiot who’d never learned about November and December. If I remember right, I left the room, and the problem solved itself without me ever having to say I was sorry. I don’t always argue like a girl. I argue more like a man. Or, according to Grady, like a redhead.

  “I think I see some red in that hair,” Grady says, looking at her.

  “Maybe. Mine was bright red from the start, but Mom says it could always turn.”

  “How is she? Your mom?”

  “She’s good. She makes crap to sell on Etsy now. The Internet didn’t do this family any favors. Dad had almost squashed Mom’s love of making horrible things, but Etsy told her it was cool. Now everything has a cozy. In their bathroom, on top of the toilet, there’s this little crocheted woman with an extra TP roll under her dress, so it’s like she’s wearing a big hoop skirt. Mom added a little tag that says, ‘If you need an extra sheet, lift my skirt and take a peek.’”

  “Wow. How salacious, from a crocheting standpoint.”

  “Dad hates it. He can’t put a glass down anywhere without mom putting something under it. But not like a normal coaster. They’re little yarn things. You try setting a tall glass of liquid on a loose yarn coaster. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “I talked to your dad,” Grady says, taking a few steps closer to Mackenzie. We move out from the grandstand’s shade into the sun, and a million summertime memories circle me like seraphim.