Second Chances

by Nicole Andrews Moore

  “Of course,” she said, brushing off the sadness. They hung up and she let loose a long sigh.

  Christopher had been watching the entire time. “No Girl’s Night?” He asked as Isabella shook her head. “For a moment there, I thought you were going to cry.” It was a simple observation.

  “Nope,” Isabella said. “I don’t cry.”

  “Never?” He sounded skeptical. He hadn’t known a female who didn’t turn on the waterworks on occasion whether genuine or manufactured.

  “Not in a long time,” she assured him as memories of that fateful day overwhelmed her.

  The day her father left had reshaped her future. That was the moment when she became an adult before she even became a teenager. Her grandparents had arrived within minutes of her father’s abrupt departure. From her bedroom, Isabella could hear them comforting her mother, the woman who drove her father away. Then she heard a sound she always dreaded. It was the clicking of her grandmother’s heels in the hall as she headed toward Isabella’s room. They were insistent, demanding attention, but she tried desperately to ignore them.

  Isabella’s grandmother was next to the bed. Reluctantly, Isabella turned to face her. She expected her grandmother to comfort her as she had Angelica and her mother. She longed to be enfolded in those silken arms and be told it would be all right. Isabella lifted her watery eyes to meet her grandmother’s face. To her dismay, the woman wore a severe expression.

  “Listen to me, Isabella,” she commanded. Isabella nodded to show she had heard her. “You have to be the strong one now. You must take care of your mother. She’s too weak to do that just now. And you must take care of dear Angelica. She’s too little.” She stared at Isabella, hands knotted together, waiting for a response.

  “Yes, grandmother,” she mumbled, eyes watering again. Her heart ached and burned all at once as silent tears tumbled down her cheeks. Who will take care of me, her mind screamed. I hurt, too.

  At first her grandmother seemed satisfied; her hands dropped to her sides. She moved as though to walk away, then turned back almost as an afterthought. “Oh, and Isabella...” Fearful, Isabella looked up to meet her eyes once more. “Don’t ever let them see you cry.” At that command, something changed in Isabella forever. Her eyes ceased to water, Isabella dried her tears for one final time, then glided out to the kitchen, grabbed the broom and headed for the family room where the last fight had taken place. She didn’t mind the labor. Cleaning was a mindless task that left her time to think of more pressing issues.

  She wasn’t sure what sort of rubble she would be met with, but she faced her new role with determination. It wasn’t so bad. The picture frame that held her parents’ wedding photo had been slammed face down, shattering the glass. On the floor lay the scattered remnants of their engraved crystal wedding flutes. And somehow, young Isabella knew then that picking up these shattered pieces of her former existence would be as close as she would get to piece her life together for some time. Once again she forced back the few bothersome tears that refused to heel. “Don’t ever let them see you cry, Isabella.” She whispered those words repeatedly until they became her mantra.

  Or was it a curse? From that moment on, Isabella never cried. She couldn’t cry openly, she refused to cry in isolation. Tears of sorrow, anguish, heartache, pain of any kind, failed to escape her tear ducts. She didn’t cry six days later when her first boyfriend, the first boy to ever kiss her, broke up with her. She didn’t cry six weeks later when her beloved cat had to be put to sleep. And she still wasn’t crying six months after that when her father, the one person in the family who truly understood her, died of a broken heart.

  “It was a massive coronary,” her mother would tell friends who called with their condolences. Isabella knew better. The coroner might have some fancy medical speak to explain away her father’s passing, but no matter what he called it, to Isabella the truth was simply that he died of a broken heart.

  Even now, twelve years later, Isabella was well practiced in hiding her sorrow, keeping her emotions in check. Her techniques were simple really. She would empty her mind, tuck away her sadness, inhale deeply a few times, and as a last resort, look skyward and blink away those pesky tears. There, worked like a charm.

  Christopher studied her a moment. “Well, it’s good to know I don’t have to fear emotional blackmail from you.”

  Shrugging, Isabella headed for the door. She had survived far worse than this without losing her composure. Her grandmother had counseled her well. She sighed. She hated to remember that day. Leave it to Christopher to inadvertently dredge up the past. Well, she refused to wallow in it. She shook off the last remnant of sorrow and tried to concentrate on happier thoughts.

  With her day over, one question remained. How would she spend the next few hours of her night? She had nowhere to be since her sitter had taken the kids out for dinner then a movie. Of course, she could surprise Jack. Maybe he would love the chance to sneak away with her for a few moments. They had been so distant lately.

  She pulled into the parking space at the mall a little too quickly and caught her breath as she wondered if the car would stop on the icy pavement before hitting the car in front of her. It did. Life was good. She knew that Brad, one of Jack’s employees at the toy store he managed, was working. Brad would watch the place so she could whisk Jack away to have a quick dinner in the food court before she went home to relieve the babysitter. She had it all planned out.

  The marble floor in the main entrance was slick from all the melting snow people dragged in on their feet. The night before they had one of those freakish late snow falls. God’s little April Fools, the meteorologist had said. Isabella slipped then giggled as she looked around to see if anyone noticed. After finding her footing, she nearly sprinted the distance from the door to the store entrance. Before she even entered, she could see Brad sitting on the stool behind the counter.

  Isabella gave the area a quick once over before she realized that Jack must be in the back room. She barely noticed the alarmed look on Brad’s face as she smiled, waved, and made the ‘shh’ sign over her lips at the young cashier. He seemed temporarily paralyzed, torn between moving or speaking or both, but Isabella paid no attention. She wanted to surprise Jack. She didn’t want her arrival to be announced.

  The black commercial carpeting with the confetti design whispered under her feet as she bounced toward the back room door. She paused before entering. The door was ajar, and she could hear whispering and giggling from within. Any other day Isabella would have been naturally suspicious, but today was different. Today she was determined to be happy and carefree. And that’s why she was blindsided.

  Angelica saw her first. She tried to act nonchalant as she adjusted her blouse and wiped the smeared lipstick from around the edges of her mouth. She nodded at Jack, so he tucked in his shirt and zipped his fly before turning around. Isabella wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t to see his wife standing there. His demeanor was instantly transformed from that of a proud player, to one of stunned silence. His jaw dropped, shoulders drooped, and some indistinguishable moan was emitted from his Cotton Candy Pink clown lips. No one spoke for several seconds. At last he muttered, “I thought you had a late photo shoot.”

  “The client rescheduled,” Isabella stated matter-of-factly. She was standing there trying to exude as much pride as she could muster, while feeling like the biggest fool.

  “And no Girl’s Night?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The roads,” she murmured.

  “Oh,” he replied, equally as nonchalant. He couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands, although having seen Angelica’s blouse in a state of disrepair, Isabella knew that hadn’t been the case moments before. He finally settled on placing them on his hips, probably in an effort to make himself appear in control, though he was obviously holding on by a thread.

  “You know,” Isabella began slowly, “you can’t live with me anymore, right?” The question was
asked quietly, yet assertively.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” He looked down, unable to meet her steady gaze.

  There didn’t seem to be much more to say. “Well, okay then.” Isabella turned to go, then turned back and said, “Oh, hello Angelica. I would never intentionally slight you. You will excuse me, however, if I don’t feel like talking to you right now?”

  Angelica had somehow forgotten she was part of the equation and had been standing there almost comfortably, watching the entire exchange. Now being recognized for the first time, she wasn’t sure how to react. She simply nodded in shock for a moment then smirked. Why shouldn’t she be happy? She was never happier than when she took from Isabella or wounded her in some way. Maybe Angelica and Jack had more in common than Isabella originally imagined. Whatever the case, she was certain Angelica was quite pleased with the way things were working out.

  As she walked through the store, she attempted to avoid Brad’s eyes. Much to her surprise, he was looking down, not at the counter, but almost within himself, as though he somehow felt responsible and couldn’t bear to see Isabella’s pain. Seeing that bothered Isabella more than what she had witnessed in the back room. Head back, inhaling deeply and blinking profusely, somehow she would keep those tears at bay. He’s not worth it, she thought to herself. Don’t ever let him see you cry. Don’t ever let him see you cry.

  Walking briskly through the mall with her eyes averted from passing strangers, she made it to the car intact. She settled her head against the head rest knowing she would never forget this day. And with it, that she would never be able to enjoy this benign holiday the same way ever again. How could she, when she had been made the ultimate April Fool?

  Sighing, Gabriel turned away from his second story bedroom window as he ran a hand through his dirty blond hair. The day had not gone as it should. The lousy weather had messed everything up. The clients he met with earlier had arrived later than anticipated when their flight was delayed. The snow increased travel time on the busy Montreal streets, ensuring that he was late coming back from his class at McGill University and even later for his meeting with the president of the company, his father.

  And the worst part was that he was supposed to be in the States right now. He glanced at his watch. He imagined he would be finishing up his photo shoot right now, making plans for a late dinner, and even going out after. He would stay in the nicest hotel room the small city had to offer before registering for classes and securing a summer apartment from the list the realtor had faxed him. Scowling, he turned his attention to the stacks of paperwork that had piled up on his desk. “Next week will be better,” he said to himself.

  The next few days were a blur to Isabella. Somehow she had to function. Somehow she had to get up every day and take care of the kids and get Kyle to daycare and Rebecca to kindergarten. Somehow she would hold back the tears that were constantly stinging her eyes, their water level so close to the surface. She was afraid of one wrong move, someone saying the wrong word at the wrong moment, causing a fissure in the facade she had fabricated.

  She had once heard divorce compared to a death in the family. Isabella had disagreed then, but disagreed still more vehemently now. Divorce wasn’t a death in the family; it was the death of the family. The perfect little family that Isabella had struggled to create was now dead. And Jack and her sister had killed it. Who could she go to? She had often felt as though Jessie were her only real family, but now even more so. Isabella could never confront Angelica and listen to her mother stick up for her. No, it was better to distance herself from them and work on building a new family and with it, a new life.

  By now, Jack hadn’t been home for days. Isabella wasn’t sure where he was staying, but she was sure that she didn’t care. The more time she had away from him the better. So it was a huge surprise when she arrived home from work, two kids in tow and opened the front door only to discover that Jack had been home and emptied out all of his possessions. She had read the note he had taped to the door for her before even venturing inside.

  Isabella,

  Sorry about everything. I hope you

  know that I will never love anyone like

  I love you.

  We need to get together to distribute

  the movie collection. I wasn’t sure what you

  wanted.

  Love, Jack

  Isabella realized that he must have scrutinized every item he took carefully, cautious to not take anything that Isabella might lay claim to. That’s right, Isabella thought, you’ve taken enough from me already.

  She continued to analyze the brief note. Never love anyone like you love me, Isabella laughed sarcastically to herself. Just as well for your next victim I suppose. Then she walked around the house, did a quick once over. Her favorite chair was gone, the flame stitched club chair his father had purchased at an auction that was one of their first pieces of furniture and happened to fit her perfectly, but it was Jack’s anyway. Some of the cookware was also gone as well as the old dishes and silverware. He had taken the video games, which didn’t faze her in the least. There in the built in bookcase, the movie collection was untouched. The apartment seemed strangely vacant. All of the clutter and mess that she usually complained about was missing.

  There were no stacks of bills and catalogs, no half-done jigsaw puzzles, no partially assembled model cars. There were no remote control vehicles, no Jack toys of any kind. His absence was even more deeply felt in the bedroom, where the closet door exposed a gaping vacant area that his clothes used to occupy. The electric razor that was always plugged in and dangling over the sink, dropping reddish brown whiskers was gone. No deodorant, no toothpaste, no shampoo, not one piece of Jack remained.

  Isabella inhaled deeply. I will not cry. I will not cry. Rebecca and Kyle were watching television in the living room. They could wander upstairs at any time. She would not allow them to see her crying lest they should become frightened. Isabella staggered over to her night stand, put one hand on the bed, lowered herself to the floor, and reached up to grab the phone.

  She had spoken to Jessie only once since what she was referring to as the “mall incident” had occurred. Jessie had been supportive, listening when Isabella needed her to, speaking when it was appropriate. They knew each other so well. Therefore, when Jessie answered the phone and heard only breathing, she knew it wasn’t a crank call.

  “Isabella, what happened?” Jessie’s voice was concerned, stern, demanding a response.

  “He’s…gone…Jessie,” Isabella whispered through controlled breaths. “He’s… really…gone.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right over,” her friend commanded in a hurried voice.

  So Isabella didn’t. Jessie had arrived less than twenty minutes later from the outskirts of town with her toddler, Stephen, on her hip. She left him in the living room with the kids, who mercifully hadn’t gone in search of their one remaining parental unit. What they would have found would probably have frightened them even more than seeing their mother cry.

  Jessie slowly mounted the last flight of stairs and reaching the landing, peeked over tentatively to assess the situation. Isabella was in a crumpled heap next to the bed. She wasn’t crying, but the effort she exerted not to was obviously painful. Her face was red. Her breathing was ragged, her appearance haggard.

  Crossing the room silently, Jessie knelt by her friend and began stroking her frizzing hair. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting those tears out?” Her voice was quiet and serious.

  “I ...can’t...” Isabella struggled to maintain her composure.

  “What your grandmother did to you all those years ago was a terrible thing, Isabella. There are times you have to cry, you must cry. If you don’t cry...” Her voice trailed off. Isabella knew what she was thinking. It was what Isabella herself feared. What if she just lost it?

  “What...if...I...can’t...stop?” Her eyes were frightened.

  She sighed. “All right. Maybe you aren’t ready to cry
yet.” Jessie stood up, walked into the bathroom, and began drawing water into the tub. From where she lay, Isabella could see that she was lighting the candles. The Yankee Candle scents of Hyacinth and Seaside Holiday mingled with Clean Cotton. There was another scent too, ummm Warm Vanilla Sugar bubble bath. Isabella rose slowly, propping herself up on one arm. She was so weak, so physically drained...

  Wordlessly, Jessie walked over, helped her onto the edge of the bed, undressed her, and prodded her toward the bath tub. She steadied Isabella as she slipped beneath the bubbles into the soothing warm depths. Jessie walked over, turned off the lights, and whispered, “I’ll be back up after I feed the kids and clean up, okay?” Jessie pointed to the hook on the back of the door where Isabella’s solitary bathrobe hung limply. “In case you want to get out before I come back.”

  In the distance, Isabella could vaguely hear her children clamoring to help Jessie with dinner. This was just another adventure to them. They were so good, so easy to be with. At some point, Isabella noted that the tension seemed to be slipping away. Her shoulders weren’t as tight. Her leg muscles weren’t aching like they had been, even her back felt less strained. And then, a new seed was planted in Isabella’s head. I’m going to be just fine. That thought really surprised her. She had to try it again, say it aloud to make sure she meant it, and believed it. “I’m going to be just fine.” She was actually excited, on the verge of being happy.