A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay today, George? I’d be happy to stay home and take you out for the day.”

  George grinned sheepishly at her. “No offense, Avery, but you’re really not my type.”

  Avery chuckled as she crossed the room to where he sat, hunched and wrinkled. She placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “I really love you.”

  His weathered hand reached up, took hers, and placed a kiss there. “Maybe when I was younger, Avery, but ol’ George can’t manage a lady on each arm anymore.”

  She gave him a playful nudge. “Just my luck.”

  He nudged her back. “Now you git.” After she left, he wiped a tear from his eye and dialed the bedside phone. “Rita, this is George. I know I told you I’d take a look at those pests in your garden, but I’m still feeling a mite under the weather. Uh-huh. Maybe another day. Sure, that’d be fine. Okay. Bye.”

  He took his time getting showered and dressed and then ambled out to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal to eat with his medicine. He felt a chill wash over him, so he moved out to the deck, where he hoped the morning sun would warm him. He winced as he passed through the doorway into the bright sunshine, then smiled as the warm rays washed over his chilled skin. With painstaking effort he dragged a chaise into a sunny spot, but that small effort wore him out. He was more tired than he’d felt any day since being released from the hospital.

  As soon as he was situated in his chair, he dozed off, and somewhere in the fog between sleep and consciousness he heard a voice calling his name. It was a woman’s voice, and in his drowsy state he thought he recognized it. “Sophie?” he whispered. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder as the voice again called his name. A giddy pleasure washed over him at the thought of his dear Sophie calling to him. He was not afraid to cross an ethereal plane to see her. “Sophie . . . ,” he whispered as a smile stretched across his lips.

  The hand became firmer, shaking him, pulling him back to alertness. “George.”

  His eyes fluttered against the sunshine, where silhouetted against the bright sky was a slim brunette woman, calling his name. “George!” There was panic in the voice, and the frightened timbre jarred him. He forced his eyes open and stared into a familiar face. “Gina?”

  She knelt beside him. “You had me scared half to death, George. And you’re burning. We’ve got to get you inside and out of this sun.” She helped him up and into the house, then handed him a glass of water. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Fine, fine.” He wiped a shaky hand across his sweaty face, and Gina ran off for a cool washcloth.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked as she softly patted the cloth across his face.

  “The whole bunch of them headed off to Disney World for the day.”

  “Mark too?” she asked with feigned disinterest.

  “Can’t say. I sort of told a little white lie so they’d go on without me, and then I laid low this morning. I sure am glad you stopped by, though.”

  She shook off the compliment. “I wanted to see Avery.”

  George nodded thoughtfully. “Did your father fly out yet?”

  “No. Tomorrow night. I, uh, heard he came by.”

  George made a clicking sound with his tongue and waggled his head. “He was pretty rough on Avery.”

  Gina winced. “I was worried when he left the house.” She carried the washcloth and glass back to the sink. “It’s our fault. He was reacting to Emilia and me.”

  George nodded. “I knew he was defending his girls, but there was something more.”

  Gina headed back to her chair. “I wish I understood him better. He’s so contradictory about family. He has no contact with his own family. I’ve never even met either of his parents. I think one of his sisters came to my mother’s funeral, but I never saw her again after that. But let anything upset me or Emilia, and he comes out swinging. Funny thing is, now that I’ve stepped back, I can better appreciate Mark’s obsession with home and family. He has always wanted the white-picket-fence life, so I can understand why he tried so hard to save our marriage.”

  George noticed a look that resembled regret on Gina’s face. “I can’t see how anyone who’s ever loved someone wouldn’t want such a thing. Seems to me the only real question a person needs to answer for themselves is whether or not it’s possible.”

  Gina leaned in closer. “How can a person ever know, George?”

  George closed his eyes and tapped his chest. “Try praying. You’ll know.”

  George’s brow furrowed as a twinge ran through his shoulder. He adjusted his position and returned to make his point by tapping his fingers on the table. “Marriage is not just what you do the day you take your vows, Gina. It’s hard work. Maybe the hardest. And a happy marriage is not a show-up-get-married-and-get-the-blessings kind of thing. It’s the things we work and pray and sacrifice for every day that get us those blessings. And then we have to keep praying and working and sacrificing to hold on to them.”

  Gina set her elbow on the table and rested her head in her palm. She blew out a rush of air and closed her moist eyes. “It sounds exhausting.”

  George grimaced slightly then smiled and rubbed his left arm. “It’s like buying a pair of shoes.”

  Gina chuckled.

  “Some people are content to go barefoot and stub their toe on everything in the road. Others will buy a fancy pair for Sundays and squeeze into them for a few hours a week, but they’re uncomfortable, so as soon as they get home they kick them off and don’t put them on again until the next Sabbath rolls around. See, religion can’t really work like that. You can’t take it off and put it on once in a while and expect it will have much impact on your life. I ought to know. I dressed up and attended church for years and never let it change a single thing in here.” He tapped his chest again. “But then I lost Sophie, and I needed Him so much. I never wanted to be without those promises and feelings of peace. Now, I’m walking around in the same shoes on Tuesdays as I do on the Sabbath, and I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing or suffering. It just feels comfortable.”

  Gina slumped back again in defeat. “I’m glad for you, George. Maybe I would have liked it if I’d tried it, but it’s too late now, at least for Mark and me. I’ve hurt him so many times, I don’t think he’d give me another chance.”

  “What’ve you got to lose by trying?” George grunted softly and wiggled his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” asked Gina, placing a hand on his arm.

  “Just a little cramp.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer. Finally he said, “So?”

  “I’ll tell you what I have to lose. I don’t think I could survive being rejected by him a second time.”

  George leaned forward with obvious difficulty, noticing Gina’s worried expression. He shook his head, again dismissing her concerns, and tipped her chin with his finger. “I want to tell you a story.”

  “Another story?” It came out more as a sarcastic breath than a reply.

  George sat back and wriggled until he felt comfortable. “Yes. Another story. A true story, too, so wipe that grin off your face.” He shook a finger in her direction. “It was back in forty-nine. I was a young jockey, full of vinegar but little sense. I was hired by a stable to ride a beautiful filly. Her name was Tipperary.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “She was a sweet little thing, only fifteen hands high, black as onyx and as persnickety as they come. I was running her with some other horses the owner had on the property one day. One of them was the owner’s champion, a giant bay stallion, nearly nineteen hands, named May Day.”

  George used the chair’s arm to pull himself forward. “Well, I knew May Day’s rider was egging us on, positioning his mount to kick mud back at our faces, and thumbing his nose at us, so I urged little Tip on. The faster I pushed her, the harder he pushed May Day, but even so, we were drawing up on them. We drew within two lengths, and I tried to take him, but his jockey swerved May Day right into our path and his right rear hoof slammed into Tipperary�
��s face.”

  George slumped back and shook his head sadly. “His shoe cut and bloodied her up bad. She wailed so hard and loud. Nearly broke my heart. Well, the owner ran over to us and chewed us both up one side and down the other. He nearly let us both go on the spot, saying we ruined his animal. I stormed off but it turned out he was right. Pretty little Tip went crazy around other horses after that. She wouldn’t get back in the gate, either, and worse yet, she changed her entire posture. She carried her head all high or dangled it low but she wouldn’t stretch it out anymore, as if she was protecting her nose.” He tapped his own.

  “I felt just awful after that. Spent every free moment with her, trying to get her to trust me and trying to make her forget that fright. I must have fed her a thousand carrots and apples. Held them out at arm’s length so she’d have to crane her neck to get them, then I’d rub her forehead and nose and talk all soft to her. After a while, I got her to get back into the starting gate, but she did that scrunching thing with her neck again, and when the gates would fly open she faltered, afraid to stretch and run. It took months of running in a tight pack of horses to get her to settle down, but finally she did.”

  “Did she ever win a race?”

  George was thoughtful and didn’t answer quickly. “Yeah, she finally did. In fact she went on to win some impressive stakes—made the stables some good money and bore some foals who did even better than she did. But the point of my story is that she learned an important lesson, one you’d do well to learn too.”

  “What’s that, George?”

  “That sometimes when you stick your neck out you get hurt.”

  Gina’s expression darkened. “I already know that.”

  “Yeah? But don’t forget this—sometimes when you stick your neck out, you win!”

  The Disney crowd dragged themselves into the house about midnight, after having called home every hour on the hour since five p.m. to check on George. Avery went to his bedside. Once she was satisfied he was fine, she placed a gift on his nightstand and turned to leave.

  “Avery?” he called out.

  “You’re awake!” she replied as she returned to his side.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  Avery couldn’t conceal her pleasure. “I did, George. Thank you.” She pointed to the gift. “I brought you a T-shirt, and here’s a little blown-glass horse so you can start a new collection.”

  George’s sleepy face offered her a pleased smile. “That’s nice, that’s real nice. I left you a note on the kitchen table. Gina came by today.” He yawned, and his eyes fluttered closed.

  “Gina? I thought you went out. Oh, George, I knew it! You were here all alone today!”

  George’s hand began its mollifying wave. “Shh. I did have plans with a lady. Things just got changed, as they do sometimes. Besides, I told you. Gina was here.” He yawned again.

  Avery pulled a chair up close and sat down heavily. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I left you a note. It’s not too late, Avery. It’s not too late.” His voice trailed off, and his eyes stayed closed.

  Avery listened for the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and then she tucked the light knit blanket around him, kissed his forehead, and left. She found the note on the table and read George’s scrawl:

  * * *

  Dear Avery,

  Know how they say cool water runs deep? Well, there might be a reason why Gabriel Carson was so cold the other day. Gina and Emilia, too. Don’t give up on them just yet.

  I hope you had a good day with your kids. Today, for a few moments, I had a dream that I was with Sophie. It was a good day for me too.

  Love you, girl, George

  * * *

  Avery looked at the clock and knew she would soon have to give George his 2:00 a.m. meds, so she pondered his note’s mysterious meaning while passing the time. She checked her emails and was not surprised that there was nothing from Gabriel. She told herself she didn’t care, though she knew she cared very much—so much so that she reread every email from him still stored in her inbox until the tears welled up again. There was an email from her editor informing her that the manuscript had been accepted and the initial evaluations were great. She would have days of revisions to prepare the manuscript for publication, and she felt glad for the diversion. Though her personal life was in shambles, the news made her feel like an author again, and she could barely wait to tell George the good news.

  When she entered his room, and saw his arm dangling beside his bed, Avery’s heart caught in her throat. She hurried to his side and shook him, but there was no response. Crouching by his bedside she dialed 911 and stammered through the pertinent information. It was then she noticed that George was smiling, and that his other hand was clutching the small, glass horse.

  The paramedics called it a massive coronary. Avery castigated herself at the ER for leaving him alone that day, but the doctors reminded her of two things she knew but needed to hear to give her comfort. There had been no hope for a recovery, and George had registered a “Do Not Resuscitate” card with the hospital.

  When she and the kids arrived home, Gina, Emilia, and Mark were waiting on the front porch. Emilia stepped forward. “Dad saw the ambulance lights, Avery. He woke us up and called Mark too. Is there anything we can do?”

  Avery looked down the driveway and saw Gabriel standing under the streetlight, his strong shoulders slack. He looked as lost and bedraggled as she felt. Avery longed to run to him, to forgive him and find comfort in the arms he had seemed willing to extend to her just a few days before, but she was too wrung out to feel, so she turned back to the house with, “I need some time alone, please.”

  She reverently entered George’s room and sat on his bed, glancing at the cardboard box in the corner. It contained the sum total of everything the boys had managed to salvage from his house after the fire—a few charred books, three surviving figurines, and a few medals with burned ribbons. They found his old Bible lying on the front seat of his Chevy, and an address book was stuffed into the glove box.

  Avery lay on the bed where the smell of George’s Gillette aftershave still scented the pillow. She wrapped her arms around it and began to cry. For three years she had watched Paul wither and die, and now George, her sweet friend George, had died on her watch. It all became too much. She tried remembering his note:

  * * *

  Today, for a few moments, I had a dream that I was with Sophie . . .

  * * *

  Avery smiled a salty grin, but then another wave of sorrow hit her, and she succumbed. She heard a knock on the door, and Luke entered the room.

  “Can I do anything, Mom?” he asked in a voice that was shaky and emotion filled.

  Avery swallowed hard and shook her head. She reached her hand out to her floundering son. “I’m all right, Luke. I’m just sad right now.”

  “It’s like reliving Dad’s death.”

  She sniffed and nodded. “Are you all right?”

  He ran the back of his hand across his nose. “I guess we’re all grieving again.”

  She slid her arm around his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you how long these feelings will last.”

  “It’s okay. Mr. Carson was here, and he said to tell you grieving takes as long as it takes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sarasota, Florida, July 11

  George’s funeral turned out to be a celebrity affair. Avery had no idea how deeply the man’s history and accomplishments resonated throughout the racing community, and she doubted George knew either. She found addresses for both his children, but neither one was current, so she decided to move ahead with the service and continue searching for them later.

  Emilia and Gina attended the funeral, and Gabriel had secretly worked until the hour of his plane’s departure, personally preparing a beautiful blanket of roses for George’s casket and a horseshoe arrangement for the graveside. Mark, Luke, Wes, and three of George’s co-workers from the museum ser
ved as pallbearers, and Ruth read selections from Avery’s manuscript highlighting George’s life and career. After all George’s friends left the graveside, Avery pulled the little glass horse from her purse and set it on top of the casket, saying, “Welcome home, George. Welcome home.”

  The ladies from church provided a luncheon after the service. As soon as she felt it appropriate, Avery asked her family to drive her home, where they quietly sat around the living room, no one knowing quite what to do or say.

  “This isn’t the vacation I had planned for us,” Avery mumbled. “I don’t know what I would have done without you this past week, but I think I’m ready to go home with you guys.”

  “Are you sure, Mom?” Jamie questioned. “You came here to get your feet back under you, and you’re only halfway through your lease.”

  “I’m sure. Despite having good days and bad, I don’t regret a day of this trip. I’ve met some wonderful friends and gotten past my writer’s block. I’m ready to be a grandma now. Wes, can Luke still finish the summer out here and fly back with you at the end of August?”

  Wes squirmed in his seat. “I was waiting for the right moment to tell you. I’m not going back at the end of the summer, Mom.”

  The collective gasp was deafening. “What?”

  “Mark and I want to start our own company. We’ve been using the classifieds to research houses we can buy and renovate. I’ve got the construction skills, and Mark knows the island and the locals. He can get two million dollars in loans on his name alone, Mom. That’s the kind of reputation he has around here.”

  “What about your education?”

  “I’m only a few credits short. I’ll finish up online. I’ve already worked it out with my counselor.”

  Avery shrank in her chair. “It never occurred to me that one of you would move so far away.”

  “It’s only a couple of hours by plane. If things go as well as we expect, we should be able to make a good profit in a few years, and then who knows? Maybe I’ll miss the mountains and move back out west.”