Second Chance at Life

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Honora removed her wire-rimmed glasses and polished them on a dainty white linen handkerchief that she withdrew from a pocket of her dress. “I must admit that EveLynn made me re-evaluate my definition of love. I thought I could love unconditionally. But EveLynn tested me. Could I love her despite the fact that she can’t love me back? At least not in the way I had hoped?”

  “What was the answer?”

  “I learned that there is love, and there is ego. My ego wanted her overt affection. Once I put that aside, I decided I could love her no matter how little she gave back to me.”

  “Sounds hard.”

  “It has been.” She carefully folded the white cloth and continued, “As she grew older, I despaired of her ever finding a way to make a living, because working with others is nearly impossible for her. As much as I’ve tried to help, she doesn’t pick up social cues. Fortunately, she was blessed with fantastic mathematical abilities and a prodigious memory for numbers. Once she was introduced to a sewing machine, everything changed. She found her life’s work, her whole world. Interior designers love working with her because she never forgets a measurement. Her mind is geared for the sort of precision they appreciate when working with expensive fabric. All of her hems and seams are perfect. She is much in demand.”

  I could see where those skills would be useful.

  “Life is full of compensations,” Honora said, more to herself than to me. “I’ve learned to concentrate on the glad rather than the sad. I am glad that she’s a part of my life. I’m glad she’s found a trade she can enjoy. I am sad because I’ll never know the joy of her spontaneous affection, but that’s because that’s what I need, not because she is consciously withholding her love from me.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “There now.” She tucked the handkerchief back into her pocket. “The first order of business is for you to find me a place to hang my hat. I mean that literally.”

  Her abrupt change of topic surprised me, but I realized she was eager to get down to work, so I ushered her into the back room. MJ sat at her desk. The phone was glued to her ear.

  Sid must have arrived while Honora and I were talking, because he came out of my office when he heard our voices.

  “Hey, Honora. How’s life?”

  “Wonderful, just splendid, Sid,” she said. Turning to me she added, “Sid does all my shipping for me. He handles my website.”

  Honora pulled a four-inch hat pin out of her straw boater. Her practiced manner told me that wearing headgear was a longtime habit. Her silvery-white hair rested in a neat bun on the back of her neck.

  “Cara, dear, is it all right if I put my hat and my pocketbook on top of that filing cabinet?” she asked. Once everything was in order, she patted her hair and smiled at me. "There. Much better. Now I’m ready, willing, and able to work. Start by giving me a tour. Introduce me to your puppy, please. MJ told me about Jack. I’m eager to meet him.”

  She made over the Chihuahua, and he decided she was good people, but soon he was making “I have to go outside” noises.

  “Honora? Help yourself to the coffee or tea, while I take Jack for a quick walk.”

  Hearing his name, Jack responded gleefully, his small tail wagging double-time. In quick order, we were out the front door and enjoying perfect weather. However, my stomach knotted up as we rounded the corner and approached my grandfather's gas station. Even from the front, I could see the yellow crime scene tape forming a skimpy border, encircling the back section of the lot. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, I found myself wishing Poppy was here. Although grumpy and unpredictable, he was a comforting presence. Since my parents had died, he and Tommy were my only family.

  I didn’t count Jodi.

  I turned away from the Gas E Bait and started back the way that Jack and I had come. It was all too much for me. The image of Kathy Simmons’ dull eyes had been seared into my brain. The smell of her corpse still clung to my clothes. The signs at the gas station announced it was a construction zone. The placards reminded me that nothing lasted forever. But the hardest memories to turn loose of are those we think will never change. When they are ripped away, we become like boats that have lost their anchors. We drift about dangerously.

  On impulse, I called Kiki Lowenstein, my good friend in St. Louis. The call went immediately to voice mail. I'd been silly to think I could contact a woman who'd given birth just two weeks ago, but I still felt disappointed that she didn't answer.

  Jack and I were three storefronts from The Treasure Chest when my phone rang. I figured it was Kiki returning my call.

  “Mom?” Tommy’s voice surprised me.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Not so good.”

  "How come?"

  “Dad asked me about my grades. I was truthful with him. They’re bad. He was upset. Really, really upset.”

  That figured. My ex-husband had a nasty streak, especially when the world refused to kowtow to his wishes. While I wasn’t happy that Tommy had partied too heartily during his first semester at college, getting mad wasn’t going to change anything. Tommy had admitted that he’d goofed off. The proof had been in his grades. I had my son’s word that he’d settled into dorm life, and that the freedom he’d abused wouldn’t get in the way of good grades.

  “So you told your father that you’ll work harder, right?” I tucked Jack under my arm.

  “Yeah, but that won’t matter.”

  My heart sank. Was my son giving up on school? I hoped not. I asked him, “What do you mean by ‘that won’t matter?’”

  “Dad says he won’t pay for my next semester. After the spring term, I’m on my own.”

  CHAPTER 18

  I told Tommy not to worry. Somehow we’d come up with the tuition. “Keep calm and carry on, honey.”

  “Mom, do you know where that saying came from? It’s from the start of World War II. The British government had posters printed to keep the populace motivated in the event of the predicted wartime bombings. The slogan was rediscovered in 2000.”

  I laughed. “That’s why I don’t want you to drop out of University of Miami or to give up hope. Not yet. See what an education can do for you? It opens your eyes to new horizons. So what if we’re facing a financial crisis with your dad. No one is bombing us. We’ll survive this. We’ve got each other, right? You and me, kid. We’re in this together.”

  “Love you, Mom,” he said in a voice cracking with emotion. “I wish Dad wasn’t so mad at me.”

  I knew Dom and his tricks. Every fiber within me ached to tell Tommy that Dom had been waiting for a chance like this. My ex-husband was tall on promises, but short on delivery. Knowing Dom, he’d been hoping for a chance to wiggle out of his commitment to Tommy.

  My son had, unwittingly, opened the door just a crack so that his father could exploit a path to fiscal default. Should I have warned Tommy that Dom’s promises always came with strings attached?

  Tommy wouldn’t have believed me. By bashing Dom, I would have looked petty and small. While Tommy would have struggled to stay loyal to both of us, communication between my son and me would have suffered. Eventually, I would have felt like a heel, knowing that I’d poisoned my son’s relationship with his father. Besides all that, there’d been the possibility (although unlikely) that Dom would treat Tommy better than he had treated me.

  No, I’d done the right thing by keeping my mouth shut about Dom’s faults. Years ago, a therapist had warned me, “Tommy will have to come to his own conclusions about his father. You can’t form your son’s opinion of his dad. If you try, Tommy will only resist and think your motives suspect. As the years go on, he’ll learn who his father is. He’ll see through him. But you need to let your son make up his own mind about Dom.”

  I stood there, a hundred yards from The Treasure Chest, willing myself to go forward and not being able to move my feet. The store’s colorful awning beckoned me. So did the twin urns of flowers I’d planted outside the front door. Had I made a terrib
le mistake in buying the place? Six months ago, I had enough money in the bank to pay for Tommy’s tuition. It would have been a stretch, but I could have covered the amount.

  Instead, I’d put a down payment on this building. I’d rolled the metaphorical dice and taken my chances.

  Had I made a huge error in judgment? Had I put too much faith in my entrepreneurial abilities?

  Jack sensed my mood. He pawed at my leg and I picked him up. Once in my arms, he licked my chin. His concern touched me. “You won’t go hungry, Jack. I promise. I won’t toss you out of a moving truck either.”

  Take it one step at a time, I reminded myself.

  I couldn’t do anything about Tommy’s tuition problems right this moment. I needed to get through the VIP event tomorrow night. Then I’d think about how to handle this. I would begin by going through my father’s papers. Usually he kept meticulous records of his business dealings and any agreement he’d made with Dom (on my behalf) would be there in the pile.

  Unless it wasn’t.

  He’d met with Dom right after Mom had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Had my father actually gotten Dom’s agreement on paper? I vaguely recalled Dad working with Ed Wilson, our family attorney, to craft a document. Had it been properly signed and witnessed?

  A fierce anger bubbled up inside me. Why did I even need that piece of paper? After all, Dom had given his word!

  How could I encourage Dom to keep it?

  With a sinking heart, I knew the answer…he wouldn’t.

  If Tommy was to continue college, I’d have to come up with the money.

  The question was: How?

  CHAPTER 19

  MJ was still on the phone when I put Jack in his crate. It sounded like she was selling a Highwaymen painting.

  Honora had finished her cup of tea so I gave her a quick tour. As we walked side-by-side, I caught a whiff of lavender and lily-of-the-valley. From her ears dangled clip-on pearl earrings that matched a strand around her throat. Although her shoes were orthopedic, they’d been polished to a high gloss.

  We worked our way from the back of the display floor toward the big windows, pausing for her to admire two large chests of drawers that I’d stenciled with what was now our signature starfish design. I was explaining how I’d come up with the pattern when Skye popped in through the front door. "Things are kind of slow right now, so I took a short break from Pumpernickel’s. I figured you would forget to eat," she said.

  Glancing at my watch, I realized it was nearly two.

  "Thanks so much,” I said, as I took the foam clamshell from Skye. “Honora? This is Skye. Wait until you see the fabulous jewelry that she has made. She’s the brain behind our spa recipes."

  “Of course I know Skye. She’s my favorite waitress. How are you, sweetheart?” Honora gave Skye a big hug.

  “Glad you managed to get here today,” said Skye, avoiding my eyes. “We can sure use your help.”

  So MJ and Skye had conspired together to add Honora to our merry band of misfits. I felt miffed, but when Skye shrugged at me, I couldn’t stay angry. My friends were only trying to help.

  Honora and Skye discussed display options for the miniatures. We had turned stray dresser drawers into shelf units by hanging them flat against the wall. These would be perfect for showing off Honora’s merchandise.

  On my way back to my office (the space formerly known as the storage closet), I bumped into Sid. “That woman called again. Darcy? She’s called twice a day every day since Monday. She asked if any of us have heard from her roommate, Kathy Simmons.”

  I swallowed hard. Lou had asked us to lie, and I would, but it didn’t come easily. “No, I have not heard from Kathy Simmons. Have you, MJ?”

  She turned toward us, hesitated, and then shook her head. “No.”

  “Geez,” said Sid. “That Darcy chick gets more and more frantic every day. I wonder what the scoop is.”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” I said honestly.

  Eating didn’t appeal to me. I put the bag from Pumpernickel’s inside the refrigerator. MJ came over to grab a bottle of cold water. She said, “I know you are worried about money, but it’s great that Honora will be working with us. You’re going to be thrilled with her, so you can start thanking me anytime.”

  “You and Skye conspired together to bring Honora onboard?” I said in a slightly “Et tu, Brute?” tone of voice.

  “Mainly me. I ran the idea past Skye and she agreed.”

  “Thanks, I think. Will that miniature stuff really sell?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Especially once Sid gets the shopping cart on our website up and running. Collectors from all over the world will make purchases from us.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Miniatures are big business, especially overseas. Go online and check it out. Actually, the market for quality miniatures is even bigger internationally than it is domestically. It’s a win-win.”

  “I don't remember seeing any tiny pieces in the shop when Essie owned it.”

  “Honora didn’t consign merchandise with Essie until ten years ago. That was during the years you quit coming to Florida,” she said.

  “Why are you so hot on having her come to work with us?” I asked.

  “In France they train pigs to find truffles. On the Treasure Coast we have Honora to uncover hidden treasures. She once went to a mahjong game and came back with two Chippendale chairs. Another time, she was playing bridge and called me to come and pick up a Hoosier pie safe. She has contacts galore. She’s friendly with all the other seniors. They trust her. When they decide to sell a piece of furniture, Honora will suggest that they call us. She has friends who frequent the club on Jupiter Island, so she’s over there a lot. Really, you can’t lose.”

  “I’m going to run down to the copy shop to get these handouts made for the VIP event.” Sid rushed past us.

  “I’m tired of Sid showing up late," I said, as he slammed the door behind him.

  "He's having trouble sleeping because his roommates party all night," said MJ.

  "Then he needs to find a new home.”

  "He can't. He's not old enough to sign a lease by himself, and he has no credit. Plus he wouldn't be able to come up with the down payment and security deposit."

  The whole world seemed to be chronically short of money. Me included.

  “I know that expression,” said Skye, poking her head in the back room. “That’s your worried look. You haven’t eaten your lunch have you?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Look, Cara. Don’t be silly. Your emotional tanks are empty. Most of the time you run around being hungry, angry, lonely, and tired. That’s not helpful. Not to you, not to us, and not to the store. What you need is a break,” said Skye. “Something to take your mind off your troubles. Tell you what. There’s a concert tonight down at the RiverWalk Park. What do you say to the three of us going? A girls’ night out? You, me, and MJ? How about it?”

  “I’m in,” said MJ.

  I hesitated and then said, “Sure. Why not?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Thursday late afternoon

  ~Lou~

  "Captain Davidson wants to see you," said the department secretary, by way of greeting Lou as he walked into the police station.

  "Close the door." The older man gestured with his hand, indicating the need for privacy.

  "Where are we on the DB?"

  "I just got back from meeting the roommate, Darcy Lahti, at the morgue to identify the body. She was so distraught that she couldn’t string a sentence together. Here’s what I’ve got: Katherine Marie Simmons, age twenty-three, born in Tallahassee, graduated from various community colleges, currently working as a part-time reporter. Her mother is Mary Eberly Simmons, currently of Gainesville, Florida. As you know, Ms. Lahti called in early Tuesday morning with a missing person’s report, when Kathy didn't come home Monday night. According to Ms. Lahti, she had tried to call Kathy several times, but the phone went straight to voic
email. The roomie said that was unusual. Says they’d made a pact to always answer each other’s calls.”

  “This is the same Ms. Lahti who phoned us because her apartment had been broken into?”

  “Right.” Lou pulled his notebook from his pocket and consulted it. “The call came in at eleven-o-five on Tuesday night. Uniforms arrived to take a statement. Nothing appeared to be missing.”

  "Interesting.” Davidson rocked back in his big black chair. Despite his receding hairline, he was a nice looking man, or so the women in the station seemed to think. Lou had overheard them speculating on why he was still single. Five years ago, when Lou joined the Stuart Police Department, Davidson had recently buried his wife. According to gossip, Rita Davidson had been a real pill, which might explain why he seemed uninterested in taking a new wife, although he dated frequently. Maybe he’d decided that one bad marriage was enough for a lifetime. Lou couldn’t blame him for being altar-shy.

  “What have you got for a timeline on Ms. Simmons?” asked Davidson.

  “She visited The Treasure Chest, for a media event, Monday evening. Went back to the Shoreline News office to file her story. Called from there to speak to Cara Mia Delgatto later that night. Turned the phone over to her boss, Adrian Green, who had a few questions for Cara. Then Ms. Simmons goes missing until we found her body this morning in the trunk of her car.”

  “Where’s her cell phone?”

  “Missing. I’ve requested records of her phone calls from the phone company.”

  "What are you thinking?" Davidson’s gray eyes turned the color of wet concrete when he was troubled or thinking. Right now, they reminded Lou of sidewalks after a deluge.

  "It's ugly.” Lou explained Faraday’s theory that Kathy had been drugged, kept in the trunk, and then suffocated.

  “Where are we on locating the next of kin?”

  “Ollie Anderson has notified the authorities up in Gainesville. They’re en route to share the bad news with the mother. That's it, that's all."