Providence: Once Upon a Second Chance

by Chris Coppernoll

On the third floor we drew wide-eyed stares from women in sweats while we walked past their open doors. I suppose we did sort of stand out. We were, after all, the only men on the floor … and we were carrying a half gallon of ice cream and an oversize bottle of sparkling grape juice.

  Mitch knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, room 335. Jenny opened the door, and we immediately launched into an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday,” the only preplanned event of the evening. The faces of envious women popped out of doorways all along the corridor, followed by loud applause and unrestrained squeals.

  “Come on in, guys. That was wonderful.”

  Their dorm room was small compared to our apartment. In fact, it was small compared to a Volkswagen. They’d utilized every square inch like sailors sharing quarters on a ship. A birthday banner hung above the dressing mirror, and a bouquet of white and purple balloons sat on a dresser.

  Mitchell greeted Erin with a hug and kiss like they’d known each other for years. Jenny and I said “Hello” and “So we meet again,” and those kinds of things. It wasn’t awkward. Well, maybe it was.

  “Can I get you guys something to drink?” Erin took the heavy juice bottle out of my hands and nearly buckled under its weight. Mitchell came to her aid.

  “Why don’t we make this a little lighter?” he said.

  “I’m surprised you got in here with that.”

  “It’s grape juice,” I said. “It’s only bottled to look like champagne.”

  The girls turned to collect four glasses, and Mitchell and I shared a brief knowing look—we knew we’d scored points, since neither Erin nor Jenny drank wine.

  “Could one of you strong he-men open this thing?” Jenny asked.

  I tore off the fancy foil wrapping and popped the cork like it was New Year’s Eve. We cheered and filled the glasses with effervescent grape juice.

  The four of us got along famously. Maybe it was because every twenty-year-old woman wants her birthday remembered and celebrated. Maybe it was because Mitchell had already told Erin he loved her, and she’d already realized she was falling in love with him. I was just a freshman from Overton who had been in the right place at the right time, landing a leading role in place of someone special not yet in Jenny’s life. She didn’t know me, but she appreciated the kindness, the regard Mitch and I showed her.

  Jenny graciously donned the pointy paper hat we insisted she wear while blowing out her candles. Her expression went from ridiculous to delicate when she closed her eyes to make a wish. With one perfect exhale from two perfect lips, she extinguished the circle of blue candles on the chocolate-frosted cake.

  The four of us talked, dined on cake and ice cream, and toasted with the mock champagne. We shared about our lives and revealed the most outrageous escapades, the kind only lifelong friends tell, confident that the stories wouldn’t escape the safety of our friendship.

  We talked about college, about the classes we were taking, about what Erin and Jenny were going to do after college, a future just a year away. That night my affection for Jenny became hardwired in my brain. It was the way she looked when she talked about her family, the cadence and rhythm in her voice.

  I watched Erin and Mitchell kiss each other good night as we were leaving. This was no high-school fling. I doubted Mitch would confide his feelings for Erin when we walked back to the apartment, but he didn’t need to.

  Jenny and I ended the evening awkwardly, shaking hands as if we’d just finished a job interview. I had feelings for Jenny, but clearly they were unrequited. We made no plans to see each other again.

  Later that night, before I fell asleep, the wind picked up, blowing strong, portending harsher, colder days. The clouds closed our blue-sky Indian summer like heavy red velvet curtains at the end of a play. As I lay in bed before the last tick of conscious thought, I wondered if the time for Jenny and me had also been closed behind those curtains.

  ~ TWELVE ~

  Every day is Christmas, and every night is New Year’s Eve.

  —Sade

  “The Sweetest Taboo”

  Howard and Angela Cameron were already seated when I arrived at the Schneider Haus. I stood motionless inside the doorway, ensconced behind fluted columns and an oversize fern. They looked younger than I’d expected, considering it had been two decades since I’d last laid eyes on them. They were in their early fifties then.

  Excitement and apprehension filled me. And guilt, too, over how I’d treated Jenny. Surely they’d heard how Jack Clayton had broken their daughter’s heart. I shouldn’t have worried; I was certain they would have long since forgiven me. But I did nonetheless. Why did they want to see me? Were they just passing through, their memories rekindled by a best-selling book? Maybe they were doing some creative fund-raising for missions work. I wouldn’t be offended. I’d give whatever they asked.

  When I stepped into the Schneider Haus, I stepped directly into Howard’s gaze. He waved me over to their table, standing to shake my hand.

  “How are you, Jack?” he asked, his grip firm and vigorous.

  Angela rose and hugged me.

  “I’m fine. It’s good to see you two.”

  Howard’s smile beamed. The six-foot-tall jolly man joggled my hand for a second time with warmth and energy as if twenty years ago were yesterday.

  “Jack! It’s good to see you. You’ve hardly changed a bit.”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case,” I said, returning an echo of his enthusiasm.

  Howard’s spirit hadn’t dimmed, but the lines in his face had grown deeper. Angela was still slender, but her once jet black hair had turned white, and she wore it in a stately ponytail, more Audrey Hepburn than Earth Woman. The three of us sat.

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you both.”

  “Staying single all these years has kept you looking thin!” Howard laughed. “We’ve been looking forward to getting together with you, Jack. Angela and I read your book … uh … ”—he looked at Angela—“a year ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “We were in England at the time … So proud of you. Then just the other day, we got back from Christmas shopping with our good friends in Boston—well, Quincy, really—and who’s on the cover of their issue of Time magazine but Jack Clayton. It’s remarkable, Jack, really remarkable what’s happened with you.”

  “Praise God.”

  “Yes, praise God, indeed.” Howard reached across the table and shook the back of my hand. “Until we read that book, we didn’t know what had become of you. Of course, we hoped it was something good!” He laughed again, and I wondered what his secret was. Angela smiled, quiet and demure. Perhaps she had a better memory of the past.

  “Thanks. So … you’re both still serving as missionaries in England? It sounded like it from your messages.”

  “We’ve served in London for twenty-two years. This is our first trip back to the U.S. in three. We spent a week in Boston, and now we’re headed to Indianapolis for good. We’re staying stateside for a while.”

  “Really?” I said, the revelation flying across my mind like a “breaking news” ticker on CNN.

  “Twenty-two years is a long time. We stayed just as long as the Lord wanted us there.”

  “That’s an incredible accomplishment. You should be proud.”

  “Not proud,” Howard said. “Satisfied. The Lord’s given us a fulfilling and wonderful life. We wouldn’t trade it for the world. He blessed us there, and now He’s moving us on to a new phase.” He sipped his ice water.

  “We’re going to be staying with Tessa and Mike over the next few months,” Angela said. “You remember them, don’t you, Jack?”

  I did remember. It was right after I met Jenny, our first Christmas together. I went home to meet her parents; her sister, Tessa; and her brother-in-law, Mike.

  “Of course. How are they doing?”

  The waitress approached. Howard and Angela both ordered sauerbraten, and I asked for a
bowl of chicken-noodle soup.

  Angela removed her eyeglasses and set them on the table. “They’re doing wonderfully. They have three children now—a fifteen-year-old, Virginia; a twelve-year-old son named Thomas; and a seven-year-old girl they adopted from China, Ming Chao. Mike’s made partner at his law firm, and Tessa’s working part-time from home, still in city law.”

  “Give them my best. I’m glad to hear they’re well.”

  Howard put his hand on my shoulder. “Jack, we wanted to tell you how proud we are of you. The Lord has done wonderful things with your life.”

  “Well, He’s been very gracious.” I hoped my words conveyed a contrite spirit.

  “Think of all the people who’ve been blessed by your work, not only here in Providence, but all over the world.” When Angela spoke, she looked remarkably like Jenny. There’d always been a great deal of natural family resemblance, but when she encouraged me with that rapt expression in her eyes, she was Jenny.

  “How is Jenny?” I could avoid the question no longer.

  “Oh, she’s doing fine,” Angela continued. “You know she’s still in London. Two beautiful boys. Andrew is ten, Nate’s seven.”

  “That’s great, really great,” I said. But then I was stumped. I didn’t know what to say next. “How did she and her husband meet?” Maybe not the smoothest segue in the world. But it kept the conversation going.

  “You know about Murphy?” Angela asked.

  “Yes,” I said. I’d been in London too once.

  “They met just weeks after she arrived in London. He put her on such a pedestal, loved to introduce her to his friends. Took her out on the town most every night. It was a good match.”

  “He was working for the Arthur Tidwell Insurance Company when they met,” Howard said, picking up the story.

  “English?”

  “American. Transferred to London when the company expanded their offices. It was a fortunate break. He’d been struggling as a salesman in Connecticut, but over there he thrived. Murphy became one of their top people in the London bureau, and eventually the branch manager.”

  “That’s impressive,” I said. “So … they met in London?”

  “Yes, a charity auction in Regent’s Park,” Angela said. “We’d organized the event; it’s a great way for Christian missionaries to pool their resources and raise funds. There were lots of odds and ends at the auction—furniture, soccer memorabilia—only over there, you know they call it football.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It was so funny.” Angela chuckled. “Jenny was on the organizing committee, and one of her jobs was to take the items to the auctioneer’s block. Well, you know Jenny …”

  I did once …

  “… some of the bigger pieces—like these wooden shelves and this huge steamer trunk—were too heavy, and she couldn’t get them onto the stage. Well, the crowd found this to be quite humorous, watching this petite girl determined to move those heavy objects. Murphy was at the auction, and it wasn’t long before he was pitching in, muscling things around.”

  “So they met at an auction …”

  “That was the start of it all,” she said, satisfied by the memory. “They spent Christmas together, and it wasn’t long after that Murphy proposed. They were married on March 2. Erin was there.”

  “Wow. And they had boys?”

  “Yes. We’re biased, but they’re adorable.”

  “Well, we’re grandparents,” Howard said. “That’s our right!”

  “Would you like to see pictures?” Angela took out her billfold.

  Lord, don’t let it be a family photo. I’m not ready for that … Thank you, Lord. School photos.

  “You’re right, Angela, they’re beautiful.”

  Holding the pictures in my hand, I was happy for Jenny. I really was. And perhaps a bit ashamed of my lingering longing for her. No one wants to hear that someone they love—or perhaps once loved—is unhappy. She was the mother of two glorious sons, the wife of a successful husband, a missionary in London alongside her parents. Hers was a wonderful life.

  “I suspect lunch will be here in a moment,” Angela said. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d better go and freshen up before it arrives.”

  Howard and I stood, and then I saw how frail Angela was. I wondered if health issues had brought them back to the States. Howard helped Angela out of her chair, and she walked slowly toward the restrooms.

  “Is Angela well?” I asked. It was none of my business, but I let concern get the best of me.

  “It’s called old age, Jack. She’s fine. Years have their way of slowing the pace. You may still be in high gear, but we’re downshifting to a lower speed.”

  Through a small window, I could see into the kitchen. The chef had just placed one of the sauerbraten orders on a high counter, which meant the other wasn’t far behind.

  “While Angela’s away, I want to ask you something that’s been on my mind since I first got your message.” The question had been on my mind a whole lot longer than that, but until this moment, there’d been no way to ask it.

  “Howard, I’ve been writing a new book—one that’s got me looking rather closely at the past. And, well, I’m sorry for some of the things I did long ago. Do you know if Jenny ever forgave me for …” I couldn’t find the words.

  Howard picked up the discarded paper from his straw and began fidgeting with it, tying it into knots. My stomach could relate.

  “You hurt her. There’s no way around it, but Murphy healed those wounds, and she’s gotten on with her life. She has an incredibly strong relationship with the Lord, so if you’re worried if she’s got a good life, don’t be. She’s doing fabulously.”

  “I’m happy for her,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse, my words coming out like a confession spoken to a priest. Underneath the table my hands were as cold as a cadaver. It was as if I’d pulled a cork to let out the words, and what poured out with them shivered and stirred me.

  “It means a great deal to know she’s all right. Has she ever said anything about me?” I knew the moment I let out the words, I should have kept them in.

  Howard looked up. “About you? That was a long time ago, Jack.”

  “I’ve just wondered.” Can I sound any more selfish?

  “I’m sure she’s come to terms with your memory. I imagine if she were asked, she would say she hopes you’re well. I’m sure she does. I don’t think there are any ill feelings anymore.”

  Angela returned to the table as the waitress delivered lunch. “Just in time!”

  “I’ll say grace,” Howard said.

  We asked the Lord for His blessing and began eating.

  “Angela, Jack and I were just talking. He was asking if Jenny ever said—”

  “Oh, Jack, that reminds me. Jenny thought your book was extraordinary.”

  I gazed up from my soup bowl. “She did?”

  “She doesn’t have a lot of time to read, so she bought tapes for the car and listened to them whenever she had an errand to run. I think she’d have wanted you to know how much she loved it.”

  I did want to know. I hadn’t heard a word from her in years. Our last rendezvous had taken place in a restaurant far from Providence.

  “She was surprised you’d never married. Always thought you’d wind up with a real looker!” She smiled.

  “No, I never married.” I blushed. So she had thought about me. “Got close once, but the girl was already engaged.”

  Lunch was over before we knew it. The food was delicious, the company superb. I motioned for the waitress to bring the check.

  “Oh no you don’t, Jack. This one’s on me,” Howard said.

  “I think you got the last one twenty years ago, Howard. It’s my turn.”

  The waitress dropped the check in the middle of the table, and Howard scooped it up. “Gotcha!”

  “This has been a wonderful lunch. I’m happy we got together,” Angela placed her hand on mine.

  “So you’ll be st
ateside for a while?” I asked.

  “We’re semiretired,” Howard said, counting money from his wallet. “We’re planning to buy or build around Indianapolis near the kids.”

  “Semiretired … That hardly seems possible.”

  “Time goes by quickly, Jack,” Angela said. “Howard and I have been missionaries for forty-five years.”

  “I guess you could use a break.”

  “We still hope to be involved in some kind of ministry.” Howard dropped bills on the table.

  I loved Howard and Angela, even though they didn’t know it and probably never would. They’d had a tremendous impact on my life.

  “If you need any seed money, just—”

  “Jack, we didn’t come here for a donation.” Howard helped Angela up from the table. “We just wanted to see you.”

  “The offer stands should something come up.”

  I escorted the two of them to their car, a rental parked close to the front door. “You have my number here in Providence. I hope it won’t be another twenty years before we see each other again.” I threw out my hand. Howard took it.

  “It was a pleasure, Jack.” Angela leaned toward me. We embraced, and she kissed my cheek. “Take good care of yourself. Be well.”

  I watched as they pulled away from the curb, stopped for a red light, and turned out of view.

  The past, which surfaced for a few moments into the present, had submerged again. I headed back to my hotel, imagining what might have been. Back at the Hyatt, I concentrated on the flowing black ink coming from the tip of the felt pen. The first week of marathon writing had produced nearly sixty pages. A respectable start.

  Sparked by my lunch with the Camerons, memories were coming hard and fast. I wrote down whatever came to mind, one thought triggering another. A flash of something important, a small fragment dug from the sands of the subconscious. The memories were like broken pottery from an archaeologist’s dig. It was my job to excavate them with care and fit the puzzle back together again.

  ~ THIRTEEN ~

  I hear your name in certain circles,

  And it always makes me smile.