The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) (18 page)

Mackenzie did this to him. In a split second, she cracked all that’s gone wrong between us.
 

“Mom says we can get a paddleboat. Can we get a paddleboat?”
 

“I don’t know?” Grady looks up at me. “I guess that’s up to your mom.”
 

“She said we could!”
 

I reluctantly nod. Grady turns back to Mackenzie. “Well then, I guess so.”
 

“Yay! I’m going to go watch them, okay?” Then she’s gone without waiting for an answer. I yell after her to stay close, but the grandstand is right by the water, and she stops at the railing less than fifty feet away, her attention fixed on the enchanting yellow boats making their way around in long arcs.
 

Grady stands.
 

“I guess we’re paddleboating,” he says.
 

“If you’d rather not, no big deal.”
 

“No, no!” He smiles broader, moving the wrinkles to the corners of his mouth. I remember this look, too; it’s the way he is in my locket photo. It’s also one of the reasons I fell for him all those years ago. “I like the idea. I just didn’t know what you had in mind. This seems … nice.”
 

“Believe me, it’s not what
I
had in mind. Mackenzie got it into her head.”
 

“What were you thinking of doing?”
 

That’s an excellent question. The truth is I had nothing in mind. I shot first and planned to ask questions later.
 

“No clue.”
 

“Well, then. I guess paddleboats are as good as anything.”
 

The smile stays on his face, but neither of us knows what to do with our bodies. I merely walked up; he stooped to greet Mackenzie then stood to face me. We haven’t moved to make any contact, though some feels warranted, and its absence is conspicuous, as if we’re more awkward through not greeting properly than any clumsy salutation could be.
 

Grady moves first. Once he comes closer, it’s easier to accept his hug and all the mixed feelings that come with it.

His arms feel good around me. Not just good; they feel
right
, as if this is where I belong.
 

I feel wanted and protected, despite all that happened.
 

And deep down, I feel hesitant and wary because this could end at any time. Regardless of the way this all began, part of me is still sure he never meant to come see me and might already regret it. I didn’t even let him see me first. No. I hit him with Mac right away, no hesitation.

His eyes flick to the little girl now hanging halfway over the railing — far enough that I’m sure she’ll fall in even though I know full well she won’t, the way I’m always afraid that terrible things will happen to her.
 

“She seems wonderful, Maya.”
 

My lips firm. There’s a moment where I consider twisting screws on Grady, but this isn’t the time. The sun is out, and my daughter is happy. Right or wrong, Grady and I are here together. There will be plenty of time for ruining later.
 

“She is.”
 

“Looks like you did a great job raising her.”
 

“I do my best. It’s not always easy, doing it alone.”
 

Traitorous lips.
I didn’t mean to say that, but it’s been at the surface so long.
 

Grady looks uncomfortable, so I move to smother it. We have a date ahead of us. Unless I plan to explain to Mackenzie why my old friend left so quickly and that the paddleboat errand is a bust, I need to be the bigger person. We both know who committed the wrongs in our past, but reminders now will only hurt.
 

“She’s independent,” I say, rushing on, trying to pretend that my last statement was a by-the-way mention that meant nothing. “You know me. I’ve always been stubborn. Stubborn comes with independence, or vice-versa.”
 

“You
were
stubborn. Do you remember how long you insisted that Arnold Schwarzenegger was in
Rambo
?”
 

“I did not.”
 

“You wouldn’t even let me look it up. And when I did, you told me that IMDB had it wrong.”
 

“You’re so full of shit,” I laugh. But I do remember. There was also a day I yelled at Grady because he was basing an estimate of something on twelve months in a year, whereas everybody knows there are only ten. I realized my mistake right away but had snapped so hard there was no way to admit he was right without looking like an idiot who’d never learned about November and December. If I remember right, I left the room, and the problem solved itself without me ever having to say I was sorry. I don’t always argue like a girl. I argue more like a man. Or, according to Grady, like a redhead.
 

“I think I see some red in that hair,” Grady says, looking at her.
 

“Maybe. Mine was bright red from the start, but Mom says it could always turn.”
 

“How is she? Your mom?”
 

“She’s good. She makes crap to sell on Etsy now. The Internet didn’t do this family any favors. Dad had almost squashed Mom’s love of making horrible things, but Etsy told her it was cool. Now everything has a cozy. In their bathroom, on top of the toilet, there’s this little crocheted woman with an extra TP roll under her dress, so it’s like she’s wearing a big hoop skirt. Mom added a little tag that says, ‘If you need an extra sheet, lift my skirt and take a peek.’”
 

“Wow. How salacious, from a crocheting standpoint.”
 

“Dad hates it. He can’t put a glass down anywhere without mom putting something under it. But not like a normal coaster. They’re little yarn things. You try setting a tall glass of liquid on a loose yarn coaster. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
 

“I talked to your dad,” Grady says, taking a few steps closer to Mackenzie. We move out from the grandstand’s shade into the sun, and a million summertime memories circle me like seraphim.
 

“When?”
 

“Before I texted you.”
 

“And?”
 

“He’s funny. I always liked him.”
 

I sigh. “He always liked you. Mom too. I never really understood it. You had a reputation as a bad boy and then … ” I trail off. I’m trying to make a point, not accuse him.
 

“What? They
still
like me? Even after I … even now?”
 

“Maybe they do it to infuriate me.”
 

“It’s because I get your dad. He’s stodgy and accidentally racist, but he thinks he’s cool. He likes anyone willing to acknowledge his inner Fonz.”

“I always knew you were trouble, Grady Dade. I saw it in my parents’ affection. Parents aren’t supposed to like their girls’ boyfriends. Maybe that’s why we broke up.”
 

He looks at me with playful eyes, but the expression doesn’t last. We both know why we broke up, if that’s even what we did. We’re both trying hard not to touch those old wounds — not yet, anyway — but they surround us like land mines. We can tread lightly, but we’ll eventually trip some no matter what.
 

There’s an odd few seconds of uncertain movements, eyes flicking various places as smiles flatline on our faces. I can practically hear all the things he’s not saying, and I’m sure he can hear everything I’m keeping inside. The air is thick with unspoken conversation, arguments that could potentially erupt. But we’re both trying to hold back the floodwaters a little longer, and so the moment passes with effort.
 

Grady reaches out. He takes my hand. I’m at least 50 percent sure I should extricate myself — not with anger or malice, but just because it’s not right, even if only for Mackenzie’s sake — but I don’t. I let the hand stay where it is as all the strange emotions and impulses of the past few days churn inside me like a witch’s brew.
 

There is sadness.
 

There is bittersweet.
 

There is joy, or imagined joy.
 

There is disappointment, anger, and hurt.
 

There is indignation and fury.
 

There is the memory of love.
 

And there is lust. Pure, unattached, meaningless
lust
. If not for Grady, then for someone, something, somewhere, to release the pressure.
 

When Mackenzie starts to turn, I finally reclaim my hand. I do it with a kind glance so Grady doesn’t feel rejected, even though everyone in my life would agree he deserves it. But my daughter comes first, and I won’t confuse her because of something my heart — or any other part of me — seems to want. I’ve put myself ahead of her too often. I won’t make this harder than it needs to be, or give either of us false hope … of a thing I’m not even sure I’d wish for if I knew it would come true.
 

Oh, God, this is hard. It’s so, so hard.
 

We don’t go for the stupid paddleboats right away. We walk first. Dalton Park is stunning — a much better park than a little dip in the highway like Inferno Falls deserves — so we circle the lake with its beautiful railings in all the right places, its aromatic and immaculate landscaping, its many nooks and crannies as the path dives toward the water and away. There are hundreds of people here, but because the park sprawls with many walkways, we never feel crowded. We’re three people going about our casual business.
 

This park wasn’t here when Grady left. Or rather it was, but it wasn’t nearly as nice. It was a smallish lake surrounded by a rough path. We went to Reed Creek when we wanted to be alone with nature. It’s where I still go today when I have mornings to myself. Where I go to think.
 

About us, more often than I’d care to admit.
 

Grady falls into a natural rhythm with Mackenzie as we walk. Maybe he’s doing it to make nice and impress me, but it’s damn convincing for a sham. He stays at a suitably platonic distance from me, not knowing how much I want him by my side. Mac is surprisingly silent — she’s never been especially quiet. She’s always had a thousand questions, and I’ve done my best to answer whatever I could.
 

She finds her voice and asks me if I know the names of all the flowers. I don’t know, so she asks Grady, as if he’s an old friend she’s known all her life. The unabashed way she faces him with her questions reminds me of the need to renew Stranger Danger lessons — but really, she’s not this friendly and open with every adult. It must be something about Grady she’s drawn to, as if she senses a connection.
 

Grady surprises me by knowing a few of the flower names: anemones, lavender, and yarrow. He looks back at me after rattling off
scabiosa
as if it were as common as
rose
or
daisy,
and I feel myself react to his cocksure, handsome look. The look that first made me melt for him. The look that got me in so much trouble.
 

I don’t have to ask how he knows what he knows because Mackenzie does. Grady tells her that when you travel as much as he has, you run across interesting people and learn interesting things.
 

That lights something inside me, stoking my old urges to get out into the world — urges doused with cold water the day I learned I was pregnant. With a few unremarkable exceptions, I haven’t left this town my entire life, but it’s all I wanted to do when we were kids, for all the reasons Grady is giving Mackenzie now.
 

She’s as curious as I am, instantly familiar, instantly his best friend.
 

Who did you meet, Grady?
 

Where did you go, Grady?
 

Did you really go to all fifty states?
And then, when he corrects her that it was only the lower forty-eight, she peppers him for details.
Which was your favorite? How long did that take you? Did you see the Grand Canyon? How about Mexico and Canada? Do you have a passport? Can I see it?
 

Grady answers her with patience that makes me feel like a bad mother. Mac’s questions often exhaust me. I sometimes snap when I’m tired, telling her that not everything is something she needs to know, particularly if it’s about my life, or that we’ll talk about it later. But not Grady, not now. It’s like he’s been dying for someone to show interest in his travels. Like she’s his biographer and he’s finally able to unload his long list of experiences — a list that makes my own blighted list feel millimeters by comparison.
 

1. I was born.
 

2. I had a kid.

3. I went to work.
 

4. Some day, I will die.
 

It’s not fair that he’s done all that he has. It’s
incredibly
unfair that I’m hearing some of the things we talked about on cloudless nights, on our backs in the clearing just down from the creek, staring up at the stars. Grady says he rode the badlands on horseback. He hiked part of the Appalachian Trail. He’s wintered in Maine, something that reading endless Stephen King novels made sound like a necessary pilgrimage. But those are all things
we
were going to do. He and I, together.