A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “Good. Okay,” his father replied as he laid a pencil on the floor. “Do you believe in His Son, Jesus Christ? That He died for us to atone for our sins?”

  Again, Wes’s father sat patiently while Wes considered the question and his own experience with it when he was ten years old. He remembered studying the sacramental prayers with his family, breaking them down into phrases and discussing the deeper meaning of each. He remembered reading the story of the Last Supper until he could picture the Savior administering the tokens of the sacrament, teaching His disciples about His coming sacrifice. And then Wes remembered how the image of the crucified Christ came to his mind that next Sunday as he took the Sacrament. He recalled the stinging in his eyes as he took the torn bread. How his throat grew tight with emotion as the prayer was read, and how he felt like his hands were Christ’s as he passed the trays down the pew. He remembered another image in that moment, of Christ with outstretched arms, beckoning all who would, to come unto Him. Wes knew Jesus personally in that moment, and in many moments since. He knew Jesus Christ was the Savior of the world.

  His eyes burned as he said, “Yes, Dad. I believe.”

  His father laid another pencil on the floor, parallel to and a few inches above the first. Principle by principle they proceeded until many pencils formed a ladder on the floor.

  “Hold on to all these until you find your answer to the things you don’t yet understand.” And then he gave Wes scripture references and other materials to read until, as his father promised, his answers came.

  * * *

  Emboldened by the memory, Wes squeezed Mark’s shoulder. “I know it probably feels as if your world is falling apart, but hold on to what you believe . . . and to what you want. Those are good goals for any man.”

  “I don’t know what I want or believe anymore.”

  “I think you do. Just listen to your heart, Mark. ”

  Mark arched an eyebrow and smiled. “You sound like a missionary again.”

  “No.” His lips trembled as he said, “I just realized I sound like my Dad.”

  Avery was sitting on the divan reading when the pair entered the kitchen under the pretense of getting another slice of pie. She was still there when they exited the kitchen an hour later. Mark seemed more at peace. He embraced her quickly and then left, leaving Wes in a contemplative mood.

  “Whatever you said appeared to help Mark,” Avery said.

  Wes looked up optimistically. “I hope so. I invited him to come to church with us. He said he’d think about it.” He dropped onto the divan beside his mother. “Loving someone shouldn’t be so complicated, especially when they love you back.”

  Avery held her tongue for a moment, hoping her son would hear her point. “Love isn’t always enough, Wes. Attraction, affection—these are both important elements, but unless you want the same things, have similar goals and share a vision of what you want your family to be like, love alone won’t get you through.”

  Wes remained quiet for a moment. “You’re right. Poor Gina and Mark.”

  Avery sighed as she worried there might soon be two more names she could add to that list.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Baltimore, Maryland, May 8

  Gabriel Carson walked through the condo door carrying his work boots in his hands. His back ached, his arms ached, and his head was pounding from the bright May sunshine that sneaked around his sunglasses and forced him to wince all day. He pondered the day’s work and found himself able to draw some satisfaction from the progress. His crew landscaped a breathtaking knoll, and with the help of the course designer, a golfer who’d placed twice at Augusta, Gabriel laid out a sand trap the devil himself would have loved.

  Gabriel crossed the room to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a quart-sized bottle of V8 juice. Smiling, he recalled Emilia’s playful rendition of the scene from his favorite movie, For the Love of the Game, when a winsome adolescent chides Kevin Costner’s middle-aged character for ordering the same drink, the notorious symbol of the over-thirty generation’s token commitment to health.

  He chugged down half the bottle, counting on the vitamin-enriched beverage to compensate for his poor diet of late. Breakfast had degraded to whatever sweet roll Starbucks featured that day, and lunch came foil-wrapped and delivered by a silver truck that circled the construction site from eleven to one. Gabriel did try to force his curmudgeonly self out of the house for a decent restaurant dinner with a vegetable a few times a week, but he could tell his body would not cooperate this night.

  He opened the freezer to snag a frozen burrito from the box but the box was empty. He went to stuff the carton in the garbage but that, ironically, was full to the brim. He grabbed the plastic handles and yanked the bag from the can, but the straps tore, and as he fought the bag, debris fell onto the floor, leaving traces of ketchup, mayo, and soda on the tiles.

  By the time he had the mess cleaned up, he was angry—so angry that the same old questions crept back in. Why had he come to Maryland? What good was his absence doing his girls, and how were they, anyway? He missed them so much, his loneliness became palpable.

  He plopped the garbage bag down and headed for the computer, hoping to have some electronic happiness awaiting him. His inbox was stuffed with ads and spam, but there was nothing from the girls and, sadly, nothing from Avery, either. He knew he shouldn’t have expected anything, since he hadn’t replied to her last email yet. The truth was, he no longer saw Avery as merely a tenant or business acquaintance. He looked forward to their correspondence, and he didn’t want to risk ending it. So he wrote:

  * * *

  Dear Avery,

  I’m dying to know how dinner with my girls went. Tell me, how are they faring? Are they still furious with me? It kills me to even ask the question. And now your Wes and my Emilia have become good friends, you say? Isn’t he planning on living in Orlando?

  * * *

  Gabriel hoped Wes was still planning on living in Orlando, but he wasn’t proud of his reasons. He slumped into his chair and weighed the complications he was creating by carrying on an email correspondence with Avery. He considered deleting the message, but the connection to this woman was too satisfying to bluntly sever. Instead, he took a brave leap forward and risked further exposing his private woes by offering her a little disclosure.

  * * *

  Work is proceeding well, but I hardly get a chance to take the boat out anymore. That might explain why I’ve been so homesick lately, or perhaps it’s because I finished Hunter’s fourth book, Amethyst. I started it and couldn’t put it down, an odd response to a book that is so profoundly sad much of the way through. Such a tale of love, lost and found again, can only be fully appreciated by someone who has survived sorrow.

  * * *

  He was being more candid than he’d intended, but he was discovering a new truth—the importance of friends. He could see that he’d become too dependent on his girls, and they likewise were too dependent on him. Even so, there were things a parent couldn’t say to his children, and things children didn’t want to face about their parents—that they experience loneliness, they fear growing older, and they have things they need to discuss that fall outside the parent-child comfort zone. He longed for a good friend to talk to, and, in Avery, he hoped to have found such a friend. Still, it was only through discussing Axel’s work that he could ever broach such topics. He was grateful for their common literary bond. Trusting it, he wrote on.

  * * *

  The book raised feelings I had forced into hiding long ago—thoughts of my wife and how it felt to be a partner to another person. It made me miss her and the joy of being in love. I’m sure you, of all people, can understand my reaction to the book, or have you even thought about this volume since Paul died? Grieving takes as long as it takes, Avery. I hope Anna Maria has been your healing place.

  Regarding your literary epiphany, take my reflections with a grain of salt and think them over carefully before altering your writing s
tyle. Besides, did Axel Hunter ever write anything happy? What a morose muse! No wonder you dumped him!

  I’m heading out for Little Italy, per your suggestion. Some pasta with marinara sauce will be a nice change after weeks of eating variations on Chicken of the Sea. I doubt they’ll have key lime pie, though. I hope you ate a bite for me.

  Gabriel

  * * *

  It took courage to hit the send button, but as soon as the confirmation appeared, Gabriel picked up the bag of garbage and book number five, and headed out. As soon as he closed his door he saw Rider in the hall, coming off the elevator. The usual bounce was missing from his step, and his face hung long and forlorn.

  “You look like I feel,” Gabriel said.

  Rider momentarily snapped out of his fog. “I forgot how fun bein’ a bachelor was.” He chuckled sarcastically. “Teddie went south to visit our grandkids for two weeks. I hate to admit how much I miss her.” He shook his head and blew out a rush of air. “What’s your excuse?”

  Gabriel held up his trophy garbage bag and book. “Same as you. Just another bachelor whooping it up.” He took a few steps toward the elevator and turned. “Rider, have you had supper yet?”

  The Texan’s eyes lit up immediately. “Does a stick of jerky and a Snapple count?”

  “Only as an appetizer. Wanna head up to Little Italy for some pasta?”

  Rider spun on his heels. “You won’t have to ask me twice.”

  Halfway through real appetizers and conversation interspersed with laughter, Rider’s cell phone rang. “Mind if I take this?” he asked.

  Gabriel brushed his concern away and started in on another garlic roll.

  “Hello? Well, hi. What’s that? Hmm. Well, I’d love to, but I’m out to dinner with a friend, and I don’t have my car with me.”

  Gabriel noticed the grave look on Rider’s face.

  “The soonest I could be there would be thirty or forty minutes if I go back to get it.”

  Gabriel touched Rider’s arm. “Do you need me to take you somewhere?” Rider’s eyes widened and he swung the phone away from his mouth. “A friend from church has a medical emergency. His wife needs a ride to the hospital.”

  Gabriel nodded and hailed the waiter for the check. In three minutes they were in the car heading into the worst part of the city.

  They passed through sections of decrepit high-rises with graffitied walls and boarded windows, where young people of different ethnicities maintained positions on varying corners.

  “Some ambulances are slow to come down here,” Rider explained. “Salvadore thought I was the fastest way to get Sylvia to the hospital.”

  Rider motioned for Gabriel to slow down. The outside of the building was graffiti scarred, but obvious efforts to scrub it had diminished the offending words, and a beautiful mural covered the majority of the wall space. The entryway was swept and clear, and patches of flowers grew in two beds flanking the sidewalk, where children were casting stones in a game of hopscotch.

  “This is it, Gabriel. Come on up with me.”

  Gabriel frowned dubiously. “Shouldn’t I stay with the car?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” Rider said with confidence as he hailed two Hispanic teens and called out to them in Spanish. Gabriel was impressed by Rider’s nearly perfect dialect and noticed that the two youths regarded him with respect. “Come on. They’ll keep an eye on your car.”

  “Them?” Gabriel asked Rider, while pointing to the bandana-clad posse.

  Rider smiled. “Be glad they look as imposin’ as they do. They protect the street until dark so the children can play safe outside.”

  He strode confidently through the doors with Gabriel close behind, marveling that this tough, take-charge man had also been the fun-loving cowboy in luau garb.

  The lobby was shabby, though someone had tried to clean and make rudimentary repairs to the cracked plaster and damaged doors. “The elevator’s out so we’ll have to take the stairs. You’re about to get quite a workout. It’s five floors up.”

  Again, Gabriel was astounded as Rider bounded up the steps two by two. When the cowboy reached the fifth floor, he yanked the door open and nodded to Gabriel before hurrying down the hall. He was already inside apartment 511 and hugging the head of the family when Gabriel caught up to him.

  “Gabriel, this is my brother in Christ—Salvadore Martinez. Salvadore, this is my good friend and neighbor, Gabriel Carson.”

  “Oh, Brother Carson,” Brother Martinez gushed in a heavy Spanish accent as he drew Gabriel tightly into his thin arms. “Thank you for coming.”

  Gabriel stood stiffly for a moment, taking in the scene. An old woman with a child in her arms was setting bowls on a table while calling to two young children who were crying softly on tattered furniture covered with handmade quilts and crocheted afghans. The wall decor consisted of calendar pages that depicted Jesus with cherubic little ones. Soothing music played in the background. Gabriel immediately thought of Mark.

  “How is Sylvia?” Rider asked Brother Martinez.

  “Not good. I think we must hurry. Our neighbor will stay with the children.” The young husband and father dashed into a back room and came out struggling under the burden of a limp and groaning woman.

  Gabriel saw a place where his size made him of service. “May I?” he asked with outstretched arms.

  Brother Martinez seemed unwilling to relinquish his wife at first, but he nodded and placed her in his arms saying, “Thank you, Brother Carson.”

  Brother Martinez looked somberly at Gabriel, who lifted the woman and carried her to his car, placing her across Brother Martinez’s lap. Rider offered a long, thoughtful prayer on the ride to the closest emergency room. Gabriel saw Salvadore’s bowed head in the rearview mirror, and watched as the man lovingly stroked his ailing wife’s hair.

  Once they arrived at the hospital, Rider thanked Gabriel and suggested that he go home, but he just couldn’t. He somehow felt invested in these people and their trial, so he stayed and ran errands until the diagnosis was pronounced. Acute appendicitis.

  Hours later, Rider nudged a sleepy Gabriel. “We can go now. Everything is under control. Sylvia’s surgery went well, and Brother Martinez wants to spend the night here. Are you awake enough to drive?”

  Gabriel yawned. “Sure.”

  Both men were quiet on the way home. Gabriel replayed the evening’s events in his mind and assumed Rider was doing the same.

  “Do you get calls like this very often?” asked Gabriel as he parked the car.

  Rider leaned his head back against the seat. “Not too often, but comin’ to someone’s aid like this, knowin’ that they trust you in such a moment—it’s a rare honor.”

  Gabriel smiled understandingly. “It is.”

  When the men reached their respective doors, they each turned and shared a knowing look.

  “Shall we try dinner again tomorrow?” Gabriel asked.

  “You bet.” Rider shot Gabriel a gunshot wave. “Good company is hard to find.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Logan, Utah, May 9

  Luke was vaguely aware of the ringing of the phone and a female voice nearby, but neither clue immediately alerted him. Full realization hit him after he heard the click of the house phone snapping back into its cradle.

  “Sonnet? Sonnet? Did you just answer the phone?”

  “Yes,” she said in an overly cheery voice. “It was someone named Jamie. I told her you were still asleep.”

  “You what?” moaned Luke as he bolted upright and brushed a gnarled mound of brown hair out of his pale face. “That was my sister! What are you still doing here, anyway?”

  The twenty-year-old blonde pulled a boot on and smiled at Luke from across the room. “I just woke up too, silly. We fell asleep watching that movie. Is this gonna be a problem?”

  Luke stared at the phone as if expecting it to come alive. “My sister calls at eight in the morning and a girl answers the phone reporting that I’m stil
l asleep,” he snarled. “What do you think?”

  Sonnet strolled across the room, flirting with him at every step, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think chivalry suits you,” she said before kissing him long and deep.

  The sound of the phone ringing brought Luke back to his senses. He quickly peeled Sonnet off and motioned for the door. “Go. Please, just go.”

  Sonnet made a deliberately slow retreat, blowing kisses and smiling all the way out.

  On the third ring, Luke ran his hand through his hair and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Luke?” Jamie didn’t sound happy.

  “Hey, Jamie.” He hoped a cheery beginning would lower her concern.

  “What’s going on, Luke? Why is there a girl in the house at eight in the morning telling me that you’re asleep?”

  “It’s nothing. She’s just a friend.”

  “Luke!” his sister’s voice went up in pitch at the end in a cry of disbelief.

  “We fell asleep watching a movie, that’s all.” He heard her hand clamp over the mouthpiece and the sound of a muffled conversation. Then Brady came on the line. Ordinarily, Luke would have preferred to speak to Brady, but something weird had happened to the future parents since the announcement of Jamie’s pregnancy. Brady discovered he had a spine, and Jamie had finally accepted that he had an IQ. These realizations caused a cosmic shift in the family dynamics.

  “Luke.” Brady’s voice came on the line. “Jamie’s pretty upset. Did that girl spend the night?”

  “It was an accident. We popped a DVD in late last night and fell asleep. End of story.”

  “Was Stephen there too?”