The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three)

by Aubrey Parker

If I stick around.

  I keep going back and forth on that. Sorting my own motivations is as tricky as sorting someone else’s. I think when I stroll. This whole morning, I’ve been mulling what Joe said against what I want to do against what’s true against the bullshit I keep telling myself because it’s comfortable, and I’m used to it.

  What’s truly between me and Maya? Joe’s argument seemed to hinge on an assumption that may not be true. He’s assumed that Maya wants me around, that she’d appreciate having a father figure in Mackenzie’s life far more than she’d ever want the actual father. She might not feel that way. And, I think selfishly, Joe’s argument also bundled in an obligation that might not be mine. Even if Maya wants help, who says I have to provide it? It wasn’t kind to leave Maya when she needed me, but it was certainly within my rights. I’d always wanted to get out of this town, and the state putting me in Ernie’s custody (when I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself) provided an excellent excuse.

  And it’s not like I was happy with Maya at the time. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant until we were back together for a month, so in addition to feeling betrayed, I also had the repugnant sense of trodding behind Tommy Finch, picking up his leftovers. I’m sure that wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t fair, either. Maya tried to write it off as an impulsive, one-time thing that happened while we were broken up, but she’d always liked him.

  I want to take Vince up on his offer and hit Alaska — a place I’ve always wanted to see. But now I wonder if I’m making excuses, and if this is just another form of running away.

  I’ll stay for a while.

  Unless I’m being stupid. Unless there’s no reason to stay because Maya doesn’t care, doesn’t have any renewed interest in me at all, and is doing fine. And also, I don’t want to stay because then I’ll be tied down.

  But maybe I don’t want to be tied down because I’m afraid.

  Or maybe, if I belong in Alaska, it’s nobody’s damned business whether I’m afraid or not.

  I decide on impulse to wait on a proper lunch, feeling the need to stretch my errands if I’m going to be homeless all day with hours to fill. I could get a room now, but the truck is parked and the weather is nice and I know there are some good motels out toward Maya’s parents’ place, so I can leave early and grab one on my way.

  I grab fries from a stand, but no burger to go with them. I walk. My route takes me past Carl again, so I give him one of my fries. Turns out, cats like French fries. Who knew?

  It’s noon.

  It’s 12:15.

  There’s a bookstore not far from the Nosh Pit. I’m not ready to see Maya and don’t know if she’s working before our dinner plans, so I cut wide and only cross the street for the bookstore once I’m past. It’s a little used shop, but several volumes jump out with titles I recognize and have wanted to read. I read a lot, but I’ve stalled in the past week. I miss it. I don’t usually hang onto physical books because they’re heavy and I travel light, but I left my reader back at Ernie’s and don’t feel like squinting down at my phone’s tiny screen. So, screw it. I’ll buy one book to help pass the day then sell it back. Or better: donate it to the library.

  The shop has a bunch of magazines, so I grab one on my trip to the register. It’s one of those single-subject volumes, and I swear someone put it there to tempt me. It’s called Alaska Traveler. The only thing missing from the cover is a headline reading, HEY GRADY. HINT, HINT.

  With book and magazine in hand, I head to the small green area with the pavilion in its center, figuring I’ll kick back on a bench and kill some hours reading. I manage to get through a few chapters, but there are kids playing some sort of a game where they hit a baton back and forth with two other batons, and they’re so enthralled by the ups and downs that they won’t shut up.

  I look at my phone: 1:34. Even allowing for motel check-in on the way, I still have around two and a half hours to burn. It’s time for a proper lunch.

  I take my time getting back to the Tomato Shack, a pizza shop I’d meant to visit after seeing it earlier. There are tables outside in the shade, so I order a big slice and sit in one. The terrace is quiet, unlike the park, but there are people milling past for the perfect Sunday-in-a-small-town vibe. Only one of the other tables is occupied, by two men, one younger and the other older, quietly talking. I’m not positive, but I think the older man might Mason James, Brandon’s new father-in-law. Looks like him, anyway.

  After a few minutes of eating and glancing around, I start getting uncomfortable. Because there’s just me and the other table, it’s like we’re in this together. And there’s something personal unfolding between the two men. Something I have no business intruding on.

  I know I won’t be able to make the book lie flat, but I can look at my magazine while eating. So I set it on the wrought iron table and flip the pages, taking in vistas of the distant land I’m still not sure if I’ll visit … or if I’ll stay here, with Maya, pretending to play house.

  Eventually, I realize that conversation at the other table has stopped. From the corner of my eye, I can see that the man who may have been Mason James has left, but that the other is practically standing over me. I look up, about to either greet him or ask him what he’s staring at depending on his bearing, but something in his face stops me. He looks sad, bone-deep. Crestfallen. Like he’s lost and has no idea where to go.

  “Alaska,” he says, as if my business is his. “It’s an amazing place. You ever been?”

  I meet the man’s eyes. He has an interesting but intense look under whatever is bothering him. His eyes are introspective; his brows are bushy without being out of control. I don’t know why, but my gut reaction is to open up, to answer this strange intruder honestly.

  “Not yet,” I say. “I’m trying to decide.”

  “You should go. You won’t regret it.”

  But he doesn’t know my story. He doesn’t know Joe, probably, so he doesn’t know the reasons Joe would disagree. It’s also none of his business, and I didn’t come here for a conversation with strangers.

  But there’s something in this man’s face that makes me trust him. Something that seems familiar, as if he has insights that I need to hear.

  It’s not even two o’clock. I’ve got nothing but time.

  So I ask him if he’d like to sit.

  And I tell him my story.

  CHAPTER 26

  Grady

  My lunch companion’s name is Ebon Shale. He’s an agent, and he’s in town doing something I’d heard rumors of but didn’t entirely believe: trying to coax Jimmy Cannon out of retirement. Apparently, it’s an errand he’s been on for years, with little luck. “But the casting directors won’t stop demanding that I try,” he tells me with a wan smile.

  Everything Ebon says is sharp but laced with melancholy. It’s like he’s wearing a cloak, but it’s a sinister cloak that’s slowly killing him. I don’t have the guts to ask this man I’ve just met what’s wrong, but I’m sure he’s covered it all with Mason — so if I’m supercurious, maybe Brandon can tell me.

  If it matters. Which, in the big picture, it doesn’t.

  Ebon listens to everything I say. He’s so quiet that I almost think I’m boring him, but his serious eyes are intense, seeming to take it all in. Several times, I wonder why I’m doing any of this. But there’s something about Mr. Ebon Shale. I can tell he’s a man who makes connections, a man people trust. I can tell he’s someone who keeps his mouth shut. Who keeps secrets, when secrets need keeping.

  When I’m finished, Ebon touches the open magazine on the table.

  “So you can go then. To Alaska, I mean.”

  I nod. “Almost immediately.”

  “But you don’t know if you should.”

  “It’s my choice. But I don’t want to be an asshole, and am no longer sure I’m not one.”

  “You don’t strike me as an asshole, Grady.”

  I don’t know why, but this pleases me. I just met Ebon. And yet his appr
oval seems to matter.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m good at my job because I’m good at reading people, so you should believe me on this.” I get a small smile. But then it retreats, as if the statement bothers him. “Usually, anyway,” he adds. Then he blinks up, that troubling aside banished, and says, “Can I be presumptuous?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you want to know what you should do, just ask yourself a question: What do you think about more often than anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you were away, what did you think about?” He waves his hands as if erasing the board to start fresh. “What kept coming back to you, like a song that wouldn’t stop rattling around in your brain? What thoughts haunted you?”

  “I guess this place did. But before I left, I just wanted to get away.”

  “But now you’re back. Do the same things keep popping into your head, about this place?”

  “Maybe.”

  I think he’ll ask me for more, given that I haven’t actually answered, but instead he leans back. Some of the sadness leaves his tired eyes, and his face changes to something like pleasant recollection.

  “Let me tell you something I learned the hard way. Nobody really appreciates the things they have when they have them. It’s something hardwired into our brains. We’re driven by desire, and the only way you can ‘desire’ something is if you don’t actually have it. We chase, and then we get. And once we get, we no longer want.”

  I nod, wondering where this is going.

  “I think there’s only one real exception, but it’s an important one. For a few, select places and people in our lives, we’ll want them forever … then want them more once they’re close enough to touch. Those are the things your compass is telling you to chase: the things that don’t run when you approach them.”

  “Like reclusive actors who won’t come out of retirement?” It’s a stupid joke to break Ebon’s intensity, but I backtrack when I realize it’s my own bullshit behind the words. The truth bothers me enough that I want to run.

  Ebon spares me the indignity of acknowledging my interruption and simply continues.

  “When I was a kid, I spent a few summers on an island. A place called Aaron, off the Atlantic coast. Ever heard of it?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s a tiny place; I’m not at all surprised. Nothing really remarkable about it for most people, either — just cottages, shops, dirt roads, and this big carnival on a pier. And yet there’s something about those old, pedestrian memories that I can’t seem to shake. It never made sense to go back as an adult because I’d made a life in the city. And, in fact, there was at least one good reason to never go back. But I still thought of Aaron all the time. I have a fantastic memory, Grady. Practically photographic; it’s why I’m so good with clients, because I remember every little thing about them. But my memories of Aaron are on another level. They’re like movies. I think of those summers at the strangest times. They practically assault me. Maybe like memories of Inferno Falls assaulted you, and brought you home.”

  “My uncle’s death brought me back.”

  Ebon gives me a smile that says he doesn’t believe me any more than Joe did.

  “Now that you’re here, though, you’re thinking about Alaska.” He taps my magazine. “So the big question is, are you still thinking about Inferno Falls?”

  I look up. I’m not sure if this is a question I’m supposed to answer, but I’m interrupted by my chirping phone. It’s a new email notification, but when I glance at the screen I see that nearly three hours have passed. I’m so shocked, I find myself gaping at Ebon as if this is an elaborate joke. There’s no way it’s been that long. I talked about Inferno and Maya. That was it.

  But on the other hand, if I spilled to a stranger for that long without realizing it, I have every answer I’ll ever need. What compels me? What thoughts constantly orbit my head, giving a clear direction to my desire’s compass? There’s really no question, now that I think about it.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry to bolt like this, but I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten. I have to go.”

  “Going anywhere interesting?”

  Finally, something tips inside me, and I find myself giving the answer I failed to give earlier. “Something I can’t stop thinking about.”

  Ebon stands to match me. I’m taller, but Ebon’s one of those people who seems larger through force of presence. He extends a hand. “It was nice to meet you then, Grady Dade. Good luck with your decisions.”

  “And good luck with Jimmy. I hope you can get him to do what you want, with the movies and whatever.”

  “I’m sure I will. Or whatever.” He smiles then looks down, the fingers of his right hand fiddling with his wedding band. When he meets my eyes again, a quiet smile adds an appendix: But if that doesn’t work out, I don’t really care anymore.

  I suddenly feel charitable for providing our afternoon’s chat, certain that as much as I needed to unload, Ebon was much happier to stop thinking about whatever’s been haunting him.

  I head for the patio gate. But then I turn around halfway.

  Thanks to this man, I know what I need to do today. I know that I have to try, and be unafraid. I need to find out how Maya feels — and if she wants me to, I need to stay here, with her. I need to stop running.

  It only seems polite to ask Ebon a question of my own, to see if I can help him in some small way.

  “If you were to go back to your island,” I ask, “do you think it would stop haunting your thoughts, and you’d find you wanted to stay?”

  Again Ebon reaches down and fidgets with his wedding band.

  “I guess I’ll find out,” he says.

  CHAPTER 27

  Maya

  I hate Tommy Finch enough to want him dead.

  For the short remaining time on my shift, I try to square my job (which is to be nice and polite and do as people ask) with the hatred inside me. With the bubbling turmoil, and all the conflict within it.

  It isn’t easy. I nearly break a plate because I set it down too hard in the kitchen. Bustling, I almost clock Jen hard enough to lay her flat. Roxanne makes a bitchy quip about my sour expression, and I tell her to go fuck herself. I’m not usually timid with Roxanne; most of her authority is imagined and she only bosses us around because we allow it and because Ed, delusional as he is, thinks he has a chance with her. But today, I’ve had it. And I must be convincing because she thinks about snapping back but doesn’t bother. There’s a long second where I’m looking so hard into her eyes, it’s like my fist is gripping her brain stem. And she must know how badly I want to do the same thing for real — if not Tommy, anyone will do.

  But anger is hard to maintain, and by the time I’m watching my final half hour tick away, I realize it’s just the stronger face I’ve put over so many other weaker emotions.

  I’m angry because I’m scared and because, deep down, I know I’m hurt. Because the way Tommy treated me before, after, and even during our one encounter makes it clear that I’m just another thing for him to use. Because I wanted him then, knowing what I was in for. And because I know I’m trapped with Tommy: He should honor his obligations, but him in my life in any way is something I want to avoid at all costs. I can whine, but want nothing changed.

  And now, he’s threatening to change everything.

  Grady always hated Tommy. Even back then, I knew that my teasing was playing with fire. Those jokes were rooted in reality. Because I was into Tommy when goading Grady that I was. I didn’t just defend other girls who thought he was cute; I thought he was cute, too. Those feelings were more than a shameful crush. But when Grady and I broke up, it didn’t take long for me to act … after Tommy lowered himself to consider me.

  If Grady knew Tommy came into the Pit today, he’d blow his top. Whatever fragile thing might be brewing between us, it’d be over.

  But that’s just one of twenty items on my list. One of twenty things I
’m terrified to consider.

  What if Tommy does want to be involved with Mackenzie? I don’t buy it, not for a minute, but those were the words from his mouth. Coming from Tommy, willingness to do the right thing sounds more like a threat.

  Let me see her, or I’ll tell everyone in town how you really are.

  Let me in, or everyone finds out what you did with Chadd in the bathroom.

  Do what I say, or I’ll keep coming back to see you.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  One of these days, you’ll lose your bitchy, haughty attitude, and we’ll do the same thing you do with everyone. The same thing you did with me, once upon a time. Eventually, we’ll fuck again, and you’ll do it knowing I’ll tell all my buddies.

  There’s no way to win. There’s no upside here, no way out. And it’s not fair, either. I spent all this time barely seeing or even hearing about Tommy Finch. That’s not easy in a town this small, but our circles rarely overlap. All this time, I’ve made it on my own. I delivered Mackenzie without a father. I raised her all by myself, with help but not money from my parents. She’s halfway through the time kids spend living at home, and I made it this far without having to face the man who helped me make her. I don’t want him around now, no matter what he claims his intentions might be.

  Is he horny? Is that what this is — sexual blackmail with a girl who’s supposed to be easy, sparked by a hot story told by one of my more recent conquests? Or is it something worse? Is he just vindictive? Is he feeling somehow resentful, as if he’s always wanted his daughter but I’ve kept him away?

  Whatever his reasons, is there any chance — any way in hell — that he could make a bid to take her away?

  Despite my churning gut, I don’t think that’s possible. Even if I’m the world’s worst mother, he’s still the absentee sperm donor who spent a decade ignoring us. I have witnesses that Tommy knows he’s the father; he couldn’t claim I never told him. But even if he couldn’t win custody, surely doesn’t want it, and would be an idiot to try, that doesn’t mean he can’t make things very unpleasant for us both if he decides to try, no matter his reasons.