A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “And then I came by and made my plea to Emilia. They probably felt like we ganged up on them.”

  “Yep.”

  “And boom.” Wes’s hands simulated a bomb detonating.

  “Exactly.”

  The two men groaned as they walked to the curb. “The day doesn’t have to be a total loss. Mom made dinner. George is going to be there.”

  Mark offered a morose laugh. “How sad is it that dinner’s the best offer I’ve had today?”

  “That either of us have had today.”

  Avery was icing a beautiful cake, and George was making gravy when the two deflated beaus walked in. She knew not to ask, and Wes didn’t offer any information. She gave a thousand thanks for George and his endless inventory of stories for preventing the meal from proceeding like a banquet for mimes. After dinner, and as soon as courtesy allowed, the two young men headed for the deck, and George helped Avery clear the table.

  “Thanks for being here, George. Did I tell you how handsome you look today?”

  George tugged on his new white shirt and tie. “These old duds?” He chuckled. “Yes, you did, Avery. Several times, and I still thank you. Sophie always made all my clothes, or we’d get them at Goodwill, but they were looking a tad threadbare. Since I’m getting so many fancy dinner invitations I figured I ought to dapper up a bit. Besides, I suppose a man my age should wear his new store-bought shirt and tie once or twice before they bury him in it, eh?”

  “I agree, George, but I still think you’re going to need another shirt and tie to get buried in, because that’s not going to happen for a long, long time.”

  “Don’t think so, eh?”

  “Nope. There’s too much life left in you.”

  George helped with the dishes and then left. Avery took advantage of the peace and quiet by settling on the sofa to rest her aching feet while she scrolled through her emails. She felt that familiar delight when she found one waiting for her from Gabriel that read:

  * * *

  Dear Avery,

  Mark this day on your calendar! It’s three a.m. on Wednesday, June 26, and I’ve just finished the last Axel Hunter novel! I’m exhausted. I fell asleep three times during chapter thirteen of Clear Skies—book number eight—but I caught my second wind and read clear through to the end. I can see the whole picture, Avery.

  I know this author now and the journey these writings were intended to lead me along. They’ve made me feel more lonely and more hopeful than I could have imagined. I feel inspired, believing again that all things are possible, and at the same time I feel small, seeing that I am but a speck in the universe. How can we feel both grand and small at the same time, Avery?

  I believe these books really were chronicles of Axel’s own spiritual awakening. I understand Axel, and because of that I understand a few new things about myself. I want to thank this person face to face. Can you arrange such a meeting? Would you?

  Gabriel

  * * *

  P.S. Have you seen the girls lately? I haven’t been able to catch either one by phone or email. Is everything all right back there?

  * * *

  “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed as the phone slipped from her hands to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Logan, Utah, June 26

  Luke heard Sonnet before he saw her arrive to pick him up after work.

  “Hey, handsome, ready to leave?” she shouted out the car’s window.

  He noticed that a dull dread diminished his pleasure over her arrival.

  “The party’s down by the river around seven. Can we raid your pantry before we head out? I promised Stephen we’d bring some food to share.”

  Luke shrugged uneasily. “I guess so.” He noticed Sonnet’s eyes working on him, and he caved. “Sure. My mom stocked the place with food before she abandoned me.”

  Sonnet took her eyes from the road and planted a big alcohol-scented kiss on his lips.

  “Whoa!” Luke grabbed the wheel and corrected their path. “Eyes on the road!” he instructed with irritation. “Have you been drinking?”

  “What? Are you my father now?” He stared her down until her hackles lowered. “Okay, I may have had one shot. Some company you’re going to be tonight.”

  Her disappointment cut him. His list of comfortable allies was short enough. He couldn’t lose Sonnet. “So, Stephen’s throwing tonight’s soiree?”

  “Where have you been? It’s like plastered on every telephone pole in town! Stephen arranged it so some musician friend can have a venue to showcase a new CD he’s putting out. He’s going to perform live between CDs tonight. And guess what? Your roomie’s friend is bringing his massive stereo system and a generator, and Stephen is hauling those trash-kicking speakers of his down to the dam!”

  Luke’s brow furrowed. “And how is he hauling the speakers? Is that why you two arranged my transportation today? Did you loan him my truck without even asking me?”

  Sonnet turned her head to answer him, but Luke thrust his hand toward the windshield in aggravation, and she faced forward again. “You need to relax, Thompson, before you have a coronary. Nothing happened to your truck, and when we’re listening to music under the stars tonight, you’ll think I was brilliant.”

  Luke shook his head and softened. “You can’t keep railroading me to get what you want, Sonnet. I need to be able to trust you.”

  “Ohhh,” she sighed as she started up his winding lane. “You can trust me, Luke. I’ve got eyes for nobody but you.”

  Luke tried to be firm, but she had a way of getting to him, and soon the iron-stern set of his jaw melted. “That’s not what I meant,” he said as the car careened up his driveway.

  A sense of foreboding hit him as he entered the door. No voice of welcome greeted him, and the combined vacuum caused by his father’s loss and his mother’s absence sucked away at what little optimism remained within him.

  Minutes after entering, he admitted the loss of that feeling of home was due in part to the chaos evident in the house, and, by extension, in his life, since his mother’s departure for Florida. Empty food containers, wrappers, and soda cans littered every flat surface and much of the floor. Kicked-off shoes, discarded socks, and sweaty shirts, added to the litter.

  He had no will to clean. No will to do much of anything anymore. His employer rode him hard, noticing an unwelcome change in his once-praiseworthy work ethic. Sonnet walked all over him, and he offered little resistance because he just didn’t care enough to mount an offense. In truth, he knew he didn’t care enough about much of anything anymore.

  The malaise began before his father’s passing, as anticipated personal milestones in his life, celebrated with memorable fanfare in Wes’s and Jaime’s lives, were upstaged by the pall of his father’s waning health. He assuaged his anxious mother’s sorrow by assuring her he didn’t care about the cancellation of the annual father/son campout, the senior trip to Las Vegas for golf and the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, or the family vacations to the Baltimore condo. The loss of the trips weren’t what mattered. These cancellations were part of what he saw as a pattern of erasure. All that had been solid and steady was dissolving. His father. His mother, in bits. And now Luke felt he too was fading away.

  His head pounded. He realized the dull throbbing had been there for hours, perhaps for days. He’d ignored it as he ignored everything lately. Sonnet disappeared into the kitchen, most likely to make good on her plans to raid the pantry and breach every cupboard and door not previously violated. He shook his head and dragged his weary body up the stairs to his room.

  He hadn’t placed any clean towels in his bathroom, so he entered his mother’s. The blank expression that stared back from the mirror alarmed him. He looked old. He felt old. No, he felt sick. Heartsick.

  “Maybe some ibuprofen,” he told himself as he opened the medicine cabinet. What greeted him was a tidy row of his father’s prescription medications his mother hadn’t been able to toss out. Luke picked up a bottle and touched
his finger to his father’s name—Paul Thompson—and suddenly the bottle was sacred. His eyes stung as memories flashed through his mind, memories of summer water balloon battles, of tossing a football in the park, of skiing at Park City with his father’s praise following him down the slope. He leaned over the sink and cried out the pain the memories summoned. He’d had the least time with his father. Fewer memories. Fewer father/son talks. Fewer opportunities for his father to help him chart his course, with a withering mother, who he feared was as adrift as he was.

  Sonnet’s hail about the time pulled him back. Fifteen minutes later, Luke emerged from the shower somewhat refreshed. His glance returned to his father’s pill bottle as he dressed. He picked it up, relishing the feel of something his father had held. A shiver passed over him as he slid the container into his pocket, needing a token to keep his patriarch close as he headed downstairs and to the waiting car.

  “I hit up your pantry,” teased Sonnet, who had undergone a transformation of her own. She stood by the passenger door wearing clothes with the coverage of a bathing suit, twirling a strand of long, blonde hair. “Jump in,” she said with a smile.

  Luke hung back and raised a wary eyebrow. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  Luke had never met a girl as free and unbridled as Sonnet. Most of the girls he’d grown up with were more like sisters than potential dates. Even Jillie, his one actual high school girlfriend, made it clear where she drew the line of physical affection. It was the same line he had vowed to keep, but Jillie was the strength in the relationship, on that point and many others. Jillie had been his comfort and strength after his father died, when the fear and insecurity of a fatherless future made him fragile and when anger made him destructive. And then, at a party his first week home from the University of Utah, Stephen introduced him to Sonnet.

  At times he felt she derived as much pleasure from breaking down his values as she did from being with him. He knew dating her was a risky proposition going in—to become attached to someone who could offer him no spiritual support at a time when he felt so vulnerable. But she brought a certain danger to his world, a danger that dulled one pain while creating others—guilt, incongruity, loss of self, and loss of peace.

  Unease gripped Luke when they arrived at the party spot. He’d been there before for Boy Scout bonfires and church picnics, but this party was not going to be a nice little church activity. He noted the arrival of a problematic bunch known for getting plastered and ripping through Logan in their trucks. Elsewhere, guys and girls were already reclining on blankets together watching kids stack wood for a fire to be lit later. Luke heard Stephen call his name.

  “Luke! Come help us unload this equipment!” yelled the curly-headed truck-filcher.

  Luke raised his arms in disbelief. “You mean from off my truck?”

  Stephen’s hands went up to high-five his temporary roommate. “Yeah, sorry about that. Sonnet said it would be okay. But what a crowd, huh?”

  Luke stared his friend down. “Next time, ask me about borrowing my truck. Not Sonnet, all right?”

  Luke spent an hour or so helping three other guys place the equipment, hook up the generator, and run the wires. It was dusk, and the fire was already blazing when the first song finally played, but he had to admit that he felt a delicious rush of pleasure at the engineering feat they’d pulled off. He turned around and walked straight into Jillie.

  “Luke?” Jillie said in surprise.

  “Jillie?” Luke snapped, dismayed by his survey of the raucous scene that had grown more so over the last hour. “What are you doing here? I mean, this isn’t your kind of party.”

  Jillie turned to the young woman beside her. “So, I see. Luke, this is Danette. She and I roomed together this spring. Her cousin is performing tonight. She wanted to support him, and she asked me to come along, but I don’t think we’ll be staying too long.”

  A piece of ash from the fire landed in the auburn waves of Jillie’s hair. Luke reached out to brush it away and found himself looking into her green eyes, where the familiar sweetness still shone. His heart stung. “Go now, Jillie,” he whispered. “I don’t think you should be here.”

  “Then neither should you, Luke. You don’t look any more comfortable here than I feel.”

  Her observation pleased him somehow, and just as he was about to follow that lead, he saw the flash of a camera and heard Sonnet’s voice as she nestled against him from behind, sliding her arm around his waist.

  “Aha! Tonight’s roving photographer just took a cute one of you two.” She turned to Luke. “Introduce us.”

  Luke looked from Sonnet to Jillie and back again as he stammered, “Uh, Sonnet, this is Jillie, my old . . . an old . . .”

  “You’re the ex, aren’t you?” Sonnet said with a gregarious smile. “Well, I’m the current.”

  Luke watched Jillie struggle to remain composed as her eyes moved from Sonnet’s confident face to his nervous one.

  “Very nice to meet you,” Jillie replied.

  There was an uncomfortable pause for several seconds and then the amplifier made a sudden, shrill squeal before someone adjusted it. Sonnet tucked herself closer to Luke and placed a hand on his far cheek to draw his face closer to hers. “Let’s go. The concert’s about to start.” Then she kissed him right in front of Jillie.

  Luke knew Sonnet had done it intentionally, and she landed it with artful perfection, judging from the hurt apparent on Jillie’s face. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed the rush of being the subject of two girls’ interest, but discomfort flamed his cheeks. Sonnet passed the camera off to another girl and began leading Luke away. He looked back at Jillie and nodded toward the cars. “Promise me you’ll go home, okay?”

  The look of disappointment on her face cut him as she cast a final mournful glance his way before turning and walking away. He felt an invisible chasm open between them, between who he was and who he’d become.

  The live music began, and the fire illuminated the entire dam area in an amber glow. Sonnet sat on their blanket and raised her hand to Luke, inviting him down, but his mind was consumed with loss—the loss of Jillie, of the goodness she represented, and of family memories Jillie had shared but Sonnet would never understand.

  “I need a minute,” he said as he released her hand.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need a swim,” he replied as he hurried into the brush at the edge of the river, purposely seeking a spot so secluded that Sonnet wouldn’t find him. His legs felt like jelly, barely able to support his weight, so he buried himself in a thicket.

  Safely tucked into the solitude of the bushes, he lay on the ground and stared up at the starry night sky, trying to pull pieces of himself back out of the chaos shredding his world. Tears stung his eyes as he wondered if his father was watching him from Heaven. What did he think of his fair-haired little boy now?

  Luke’s thoughts raced on to his mother and to all the lies he’d fed her to hide his depressive spiral. Her texts and calls were filled with invitations to come to Florida, but he pushed her away. To spare her, he told himself. No, to punish her, he confessed in a spasm of tears. Because she wasn’t able to save his dad. And worse, because Luke believed she secretly wished she could follow him.

  He threw an arm across his eyes in an attempt to stop the images and thoughts, and then his mind flew on to the apparent expectations waiting for him on the blanket—sex with a girl he didn’t love. A girl who barely knew anything about him.

  What am I doing?

  Over and over he put that question to himself as he lay there, awash in pain that came in waves between bouts of numbness. His mind cried out, Dad! Help me, Dad! I hurt!

  He thought of the remedy in his pocket. He pulled the bottle of pain meds out. I’m in pain, he told himself as he considered how easy it would be to make the hurt stop. And then he read his father’s name on the label. Like an incantation, it
summoned a memory of a day spent together on the TIME OUT. The wind had kicked up, and dark clouds threatened them when they were still miles from the harbor. He wanted to crawl below deck and wait out the storm in the cabin, but his father had other plans.

  “You steer her, Luke, while I man the sails.”

  His hands began to shake as he remembered his terror over being given that responsibility at age twelve.

  “I can’t!” his twelve-year-old self yelled into the wind. “It’s too hard. I’m scared.”

  “Just listen to my voice, Luke. You’re safe as long as you’re in control. Just set your course for home, and don’t let the wind, or the waves, or anything else alter that course. Got it?”

  “But I’m still scared.”

  “I know. I get scared too sometimes.”

  “You?”

  “Sure. But that’s when I remember that I’m not in this alone. None of us are in this alone. We’ve got our family, and they’re always pulling for us, and even when they don’t know we’re in trouble, the Savior does. I’m here with you right now, and I’m going to talk you through this. You’ll see. But even when I’m not beside you, remember that you’re never alone. Got it?”

  Luke felt as if his father were right beside him in the thicket. “Got it, Dad,” he said, pushing the bottle deep into his pocket once more. He closed his eyes. “Thank you, Dad, and please, God. Please help me.”

  He had no keys and didn’t dare face Sonnet to ask for a ride, so he ended up spending the night there. At first light Luke walked out of the thicket and back to where the fire still smoldered. Stephen, and Luke’s truck, were missing, and Luke didn’t know any of the remaining people well enough to ask for a ride, so he started walking up Route 89. Then he did the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life: he dialed Jamie’s number.