Second Time Around (3 page)

“An attribute.”

“I’ve already heard the buzz about me moving to Kansas City. A reporter asked me about it.”

“What did you say?”

“That I’d fallen in love with the town when I’d come here to participate in the Time Lottery. And after my experience in the past, I felt the need for a fresh start. Plus, I said I’d befriended the most amazing, sexy man who has the ability to make my epidermis tingle in a most delightful way.”

He leaned his head against her neck. “You saved me, you know. My decision not to go back—”

“Shh.” She began to rock, and he joined in the rhythm.

“I want to tell the world about us, Cheryl. I do.”

“I know.”

“We just need to get through the next lottery. Then the attention will be on the new winners, and we can be free to be you and me.”

“Free to be
us.”

He closed his eyes and was comforted by the beat of her heart.

If only…

TWO

No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame,
but they will be put to shame who are
treacherous without excuse.

Psalm 25:3

Bangor

David Stancowsky sat in his office on the top floor overlooking the Penobscot River. Snow fell and occasionally attacked the windowpane, dying against its warmth. David smiled at the victory. The cold couldn’t get to him. It wouldn’t dare. He was safe in this world of his creation.

But was he happy?

It was not a question he pondered often. Yet ever since buying a Time Lottery ticket… He leaned back in his leather chair, holding the ticket between his hands. He’d made no secret of the fact he’d bought one, but
had
couched his purchase by buying a ticket for every employee of Mariner Construction. If he could have bought a hundred for himself, he would have done so. But the Time Lottery people had set it up so there could be only one entry per person. Most likely they didn’t want some wealthy eccentric buying up a million tickets, skewing the balance between rich and poor. An annoying concession in this age when political correctness ruled.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and let such inequities go. He had one chance, and if God was good and merciful He would let David win. After all, didn’t he deserve it? After Millie’s death he’d never married. Though he couldn’t say he’d been completely faithful to her memory, she was never far from his thoughts. And he hadn’t abandoned his promise to Millie’s father, either. Ray Reynolds was the founder of Mariner Construction, and upon Millie and David’s wedding engagement in 1958, Ray had named his soon-to-be son-in-law his successor. When Millie died, David had stayed on and had even taken over when Ray retired. Now it was David who paid for Ray’s care in the nursing home a few miles north of town. David had suffered great loss with dignity and loyalty. And he’d done his duty.

Not that his life had been wasted. He’d had a good life, a successful career. He was well liked and well feared—a powerful combination in the business world. But the bottom line was that he deserved to win the lottery, to do it all over again with Millie by his side. Millie and children.

Was it his old age talking? Probably. At seventy-four, with more aches and pains than he mentioned to anyone, David was ripe for another shot at age twenty-eight, at making a good life better.

His secretary’s voice sounded on the intercom: “Earl Degan, line one. He’s checking on the delivery of the drywall.”

Drywall. Who cared about drywall when the drawing for the Time Lottery was tomorrow?

David picked up the phone.

And life went on—for now.

Decatur, Georgia

Vanessa Caldwell stood at the front door and took a deep breath.

“You want me to do it?” Dudley asked.

She glared at him, mad at herself for hinting at any weakness. “I’m fine.”

Dudley took the key ring away. “Sure you are. Though I must say I
am
a bit surprised by your reaction. Your mother’s dead; it’s not like you’re going to have to talk to her.”

But to enter her world…

He pushed the door open and stepped aside, forcing Vanessa to go first. She stood on the threshold and peered in. Sunlight streamed in the windows, and she could visualize the entire floor plan from her position. The tiny living room was to the left, the kitchen could be seen beyond a beaded doorway straight ahead, and a small hall led to the back, to what certainly would be a bedroom and bath. The depth and breadth of her mother’s world consisted of four rooms. Vanessa’s master-bedroom suite consisted of four rooms. Her closet could have swallowed this living room whole.

Dudley peeked past her at the eclectic mix of antiques and homespun. “A blast from the past, isn’t it? Hippie city.”

Once a hippie always a hippie?
Vanessa went inside and picked up a “World’s Best Teacher” picture frame that showcased her mother with a gaggle of smiling kids. Tie-dyed curtains framed windows that held a parade of African violets. A quilt hung above the fireplace, and a ratty pair of clogs sat next to an oak rocker close by. An odd mix, yet the home had an unusual charm, more than Vanessa had expected—or wanted. She’d always pictured her mother living in a hovel, dressed in hand-me-downs. Barely getting by. Paying dearly for leaving and causing the divorce.

There was a knock on the opened front door. “Hello?” An elderly woman stepped inside, then stopped. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but when I saw the car…” She carried a stack of mail held together by large rubber bands and extended her free hand toward Dudley. “I’m Mildred Crown. Dorian and I have been neighbors forever. And you are…?”

Dudley pointed to Vanessa. “You want the daughter. She’s the daughter.”

Being deemed “the daughter” was an odd experience. Vanessa shook Mrs. Crown’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mildred stared at her, obviously studying her. “My, my. To finally meet…” She shook the rest of the sentence away. “I was so sorry when Dorian passed. And sorry that I couldn’t be at the service. My arthritis makes it hard for me to get around much. Yet when I saw your fancy car in the drive… I just had to come see, knowing it probably would be you.”

Knowing?

She took a step toward the door. “I’ll leave you be. I’m sure you want to take some time going through the trimmings of your mother’s life. She was an amazing woman. A wonderful woman.” Mildred glanced at the mail. “The postman left these with me since Dorian’s mailbox was full. I took the liberty of opening a few. Sympathy cards. Many from former students telling how your mother changed their lives. Dorian did love being a teacher. Almost as much as she loved you. And in turn, she was loved by so many.” Her hand found her chin. “Loved by
you,
I hope? Finally loved by
you?”

Dudley stepped toward her, showing her out. “Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. Crown.” He closed the door with a gentle
click.
“Well, then…”

Vanessa found herself rooted in the middle of the room, the mail clutched to her chest. She was appalled to feel the sting of tears and squeezed her eyes shut against them.

Dudley did not venture to touch her. He seemed to know better. “It will be all right, Vanessa.”

Yes, yes. Of course it will.
Everything always came out all right. She would make it so.

Yet it unnerved her that her next thought was to call Daddy. With difficulty, she shooed the thought away.

Her whole life had been a lie.

After going through various cupboards and closets, after having her mother’s life descend on her like a smothering shroud, Vanessa sent Dudley away to get lunch. She needed time alone to face her past. Her mother’s past. And try to find a future.

She sat on the quilted bedspread, the evidence of the lies spread before her. Near the footboard were forty-eight sympathy cards from friends and past students lauding Dorian Pruitt’s effect on their lives. Her mother had lived a significant life. She didn’t have riches or power or fame. But she’d lived well and touched others.

Vanessa’s father had lied. Her mother was not miserable and of no use to anyone; a pathetic nobody who had no purpose in the world. And yet that was not the worst lie. The evidence of that deception lay directly in front of her and revealed itself in the form of a second set of letters.

She’d found them in a box, in the drawer of the bedside table. Dozens and dozens of letters addressed to Vanessa and marked “Return to Sender.” Postmarks from her teen years to the present, with the latest marked last Christmas. All sent to her father’s house, trusting him to forward them on.

But he hadn’t. Not one letter had made its way into Vanessa’s hands.

Initially, after she read the letters, Vanessa’s anger had spread from her father to her mother. In the later years why hadn’t Dorian sent the letters to Vanessa’s home?

Then she remembered the video. Her mother hadn’t even known her married name—there was no reason she would know. In college, after following her father’s instructions to have an abortion, Vanessa had flunked out of school. She’d been an emotional and mental mess. When she met stable and kind Dudley Caldwell, without meaning to, or even wanting to, Vanessa fell in love—or at least intense like. When Dudley proposed, she’d agreed, and in an act of defiance against her father had foregone the fancy, society wedding and eloped. It was a decision that still elicited anger from Yardley Pruitt. But because of that one act, there were no society clippings for her mother to peruse, clip out, and save. In the fall of 1976 Vanessa Pruitt had quietly become Vanessa Caldwell and had slipped into the Georgia night. Forty miles from her mother, yet a lifetime away.

That was then; this was now. Vanessa looked over the final Christmas letter.

I love you, dear Nessa. May you find the true meaning
in the celebration of our Savior’s birth. I pray you come to
know Him as I have. I pray you find your true purpose in Him… Remember what I’ve always said: “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.” I’ve tried to live that motto, and by doing so I’ve found great happiness. Only
your absence kept it from being complete. Yet I’m afraid
that through your father’s possessive tutelage you may have
lived out too many opportunities because you could, not
thinking about whether you should. It’s never too late to change that, dear girl. Toward that end… please call me.
Just one phone call. I have a gift for you that could change
everything, something I thought of the other day and bought for you. I want you to have it, because I want you to have every chance to live a life of fulfillment and joy.

She lowered the letter into her lap. How many times had Vanessa heard her mother say that line: “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should?” Yet had Vanessa ever applied it to real life? The trouble with being Yardley Pruitt’s daughter, Dudley Caldwell’s wife, Rachel Caldwell’s mother, and a professional and acclaimed volunteer and fund-raiser was that the air was heavy with things she
could
do. Which made her remember her father’s motto: “Those who can, should.”

As if she’d been slapped, she realized her parents’ viewpoints were diametrically opposed. No wonder she’d been forced to create her own counsel. The question was, which parent was right?

Vanessa looked back to the letter. A gift? What could her mother offer her? Vanessa needed nothing.

The memory of Daddy pressing a hundred-dollar bill into her hands popped front and center. It was not a single memory but a collective one in her post-mother years.

“Go buy something,” he’d say. “Then come back and show me what you’ve bought. You do so much for me, Vanessa. I don’t know what I’d do without you helping this poor, old, lonely man.”

Annoyed at first, she’d come to accept and even foster the fact that he needed her. Though Yardley Pruitt managed to appear strong in his role as the president of Fidelity Mutual Bank—by hiring strong people around him—in his personal life he was rather pathetic. Vanessa enjoyed the position of power she earned by making him depend on her, one loyal daughter helping the needy man. Eventually she’d discovered that the power surge she gained by giving could be extended past her father’s domain. Anyone who knew Vanessa Caldwell commented on her altruistic nature. She hadn’t received three volunteer-of-the-year awards for nothing—even though her thank-you speeches suggested otherwise: “Thank you for this award and your kind words about my work. It was really nothing…”