The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) (20 page)

Are you excited?

Like I said, I’m sure it’ll be fun.
 

I like him a lot, Mommy. I hope we get to keep seeing him all the time.
 

All the time.
 

Jesus.
 

I’m thinking this until Ed grabs a handful of my ass while he’s passing me. I spin so fast it almost breaks his arm off.
 

“What?’
 

“You
accidentally
brushed against me.”
 

“Oh. Sorry. It’s a tight squeeze thorough here.” Then he gives me that dumb smile of his, and I almost understand him. Ed doesn’t think he’s being lecherous. He thinks he’s flirting. It makes me sad.
 

“Maybe watch it,” I say, my temperature too high.
 

“Maybe hit table 10; they’ve been waiting forever,” he says, looking jilted.
 

I head out. Table 10 wants to order right away: a BLT and a cheeseburger platter. I want to chide them for being unoriginal. This is an award-winning restaurant: an intentional
diner experience
to contrast the other dives around town that are simply diners. The difference is subtle. If you look closely, you’ll see it in two places. We use a few ingredients that nobody here has heard of combining, like the hamburger with goat cheese. And you’ll also see it in our prices.
 

I take the order. Numb. Vaguely happy, and angry that I’m glad. Because for the whole morning, I had to hear about Mr. Grady, assaulted with questions Mackenzie couldn’t ask her new role model in person. All that mulling and probing has adjusted my expectations in ways I’m not comfortable with.
 

Do you think he’d go with us to the park every Thursday and paddle the paddleboat with us?
 

I wanted to say,
Until he skips town, maybe
.
 

Do you think he can come to every Sunday dinner with us? Grandma and Grandpa wouldn’t mind, would they?

I wanted to tell her,
Sure, he can keep coming, until he leaves us for greener pastures
.
 

Mommy, if the Brownies camp out, do you think he can pitch the tent?
This is a private joke between us, only minimally painful because Mackenzie hasn’t yet realized it’s serious. She has friends who camp, and I tell her that I can’t set up a tent. So far, that excuse has worked, and we laugh because we’ve never had a chance to camp. Some day, she’ll ask for real. On that day, I’ll disappoint her. Again.
 

I laughed that one off, but she kept looking at me with her big blue eyes, wanting an answer.
 

I don’t think Brownies do campouts, Sweetheart.

It’s a non-answer because I’m a coward. Like Grady. Running from problems.
 

But I
can
see him setting up a tent; that’s the horrible thing. I don’t know how long this honeymoon Grady will last, but I find myself wanting to enjoy it while it does — something that prickles my skin as much as my pride. I keep reminding myself that I’m angry at this man. But with each passing thought, I want to settle in. I know he’ll leave soon, and show his true colors, again. Why not fantasize until then? Why not let myself imagine what Mackenzie is imagining? The childlike bliss of it seems so tempting.

All shift, as I’ve been serving food, filling drinks, and clearing tables, I’ve been rolling a fantasy between my mental fingers.
 

Maybe he’ll stay.
 

Maybe I can forgive him, and he can forgive me.
 

Maybe we can start fresh. Forget what happened. We could be a family, on an outside, not-likely-but-
possible
kind of chance. I’m a decent mom. I know he’s only had a single-day trial, but it isn’t difficult to see Grady as a dad. Maybe he’ll want to stop roaming. He came back for something, and as I go about my work in a trance, I grow increasingly convinced that something could be me.
 

He could go.
 

But he hasn’t gone.
 

He could have flitted in and out of town without contacting me.
 

But he texted. As much as a man like Grady can bear his soul in a few characters on my phone, Grady bared his.
 

He could have refused our date in the park. He could have — and
should
have — balked at the idea of having dinner with my parents as if we’d never stopped being a couple, kid in tow.

But he went to the park. He talked and played with Mackenzie. And he accepted the dinner, with grinning relish.
 

He’s staying in town for me. He must be.
 

And God help me, in spite of everything, I still love him. I still love Grady Dade so much, it scares me.
 

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m betting it’s Chadd. The guy won’t take a hint, but right now I feel plenty strong enough to walk away, to keep giving him the cold shoulder I’ve been giving him through dozens of texts. There were texts in that group of increasingly impatient-sounding messages that tempted me plenty, as riled up as I’ve been.
 

But the pleasant lie I’m spinning has given me a Band-Aid. I’m not who I used to be. I’m not broken beyond fixing. For at least a little while, I’m allowing fantasy as a crutch. I’m starting to believe, even if I fear that faith will hurt me. Against that, the thought of even the hottest man’s relieving touch has no strength to weaken me.
 

I pull the phone from my pocket and move to delete the new text, but it’s not from Chadd.
 

It’s from Tommy Finch, and it says,
Look up.

He’s at table 14, right in front of me, smiling in a way that pops my dream like a bubble.

CHAPTER 23

My phone rings just as Joe is coming to pick me up. We’re supposed to take a drive out to see Brandon’s digs in Cherry Hill, and Joe said he’d drive. My truck has been terminal for months, and I can hardly blame it; it’s taken me through literally every state in the union and has twice the mileage of even the worst pieces of crap that hit the highway long enough to make it into legend. It’ll die soon for sure. But fortunately, thanks to Uncle Ernie’s single redeeming grace and predictions from the auction guys, it looks like I might have enough to buy a new truck.
 

Or, if this call is what it might be, a plane ticket.
 

“You ready?” Joe asks.
 

I gesture to my phone, beckon him in to sit on any of my lavish furnishings (a box, a crate, the couch with my bedsheets still on it), and step aside to keep listening. Joe shrugs and sits on the floor. Randomly, glancing over at Joe, it occurs to me that my hatred of Tommy is justified. Joe is as strapping and classically pretty as Tommy, but I don’t hate him at all. There really is something about Tommy. It’s not just his girl-melting appearance — that would make me petty.
 

I pace the apartment while on the phone, mostly listening, sometimes interjecting excitedly to ask questions. I find a pencil but not paper, so I scribble dates and potential figures on the wall. Fuck it. The auction guys will paint anyway.
 

After I hang up, Joe looks right at me. Not leaving his stationary presence for my conversation gives him the right, I suppose, to be nosy.
 

“You going somewhere?”
 

I can’t get the smile off my face. “Alaska, it looks like. One of my old roommates in Portland knows someone who knows someone … long story short, they’re looking for pipeline workers.”
 

“This is something you aspire to? Working on the pipeline?”
 

“I aspire to
Alaska.
It’s the only state I haven’t been to, other than Hawaii.”
 

“Hell,” Joe says, coming to his feet. “Give me Hawaii.”
 

“I’ll get there eventually, but whatever. Hawaii is for honeymooners. Now, Alaska?
That’s
wild frontier. I hear there’s nothing like it in the lower forty-eight.”

“Okay.”
 

“I was planning to use Ernie’s — ” I make air quotes, “ —
estate
to buy a new truck, but a plane ticket might make more sense.”
 

“Except that you’re stuck there if you do it that way, with no truck.”
 

“That’s what the job is for, Joe. Haven’t you ever been a drifter?”
 

Joe shrugs.
 

“Hey. Will you take my cat when I go?”
 

Joe looks at Carl.
“Take
your fucking cat.”
 

“I’m not going to take Carl on a plane. He hates traveling.”

“Rowr,” Carl says.
 

“See?”
 

“So, what, you’re heading right out? Not sticking around to hang out?”
 

“It’s
Alaska
, Joe. I’ve been wanting to go there forever. Only reason I haven’t gone yet is because it’s so far. I was going to go after Portland. It was always the plan to head north. But then … ” I gesture around the pathetic living room to indicate my distracting bump in the road.
 

“When?”
 

“Soon. Maybe a week?”
 

“Hell. What if the house doesn’t sell before then?”
 

“It’s an auction, not a normal listing. It’ll sell in a day.”

“What if it doesn’t?”
 

“No worries. I’ve signed the papers. They can keep trying without me.”
 

“You won’t have your money yet, for your ticket.”
 

“I figured I’d put it on a credit card then pay it off later. It’ll be a pricey ticket, but Ernie can handle it. Even if the house doesn’t get what they think it will, there should be plenty left even after the ticket to get me most of the way to a shitty new truck. I’ll make up the difference by working the pipeline job.”
 

“Isn’t that dangerous?”
 

“The job, or my plan to pay for the ticket now and pay it off later?”
 

“Both.”
 

I smile. “I repeat: Haven’t you ever been a drifter?”
 

Joe looks at me and sighs.
 

“What?”
 

“You’re not going to Alaska, Grady.”
 

“What choo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?” I’m feeling giddy, but watching Joe kills my grin’s most potent corners. My brain hasn’t caught on to whatever Joe
is
talkin’ ‘bout (Willis), but I’ve known him long enough to anticipate the times he’s right when I hear them coming.
 

“Where were you on Thursday, Champ?”
 

“Who are you, the FBI?”
 

“Why did you about bite Tommy’s head off the other day?”
 

“Because he’s a fuckhole.”
 

“You’re such an ass. Don’t you know everyone is talking behind your back?”

“Like I give a shit what Inferno Falls thinks of me.” I hate when Joe is like this. He’s smart and solid, honest and never impulsive. In our history, I’ve always had the wild ideas, and he’s always patiently explained why they won’t work. He’s not a buzzkill; he’s just not stupid like I am when I get worked up.
 

But I
want
to be right this time. I wasn’t kidding about Alaska. It’s been on my bucket list since I started my cross-country trek, and it was always meant to be the second-to-last state I crossed off — maybe the place I finally settled. But if I want to take Vince’s cousin up on his offer, I need to do it now. In a handful of months, Alaska will barely have any daytime left. I can tolerate a lot, but I don’t want to work twenty-hour nights if I can help it.
 

“I’m not talking about townies,” Joe says. “I’m talking about me, Brandon, and Bridget.”
 

“Oh, Bridget has too many damned opinions as it is.”
 

“We get together when you refuse to join us, and we talk about you. About how stupid you are.”
 

“Like this is news.”
 

“You’ve been spending time with Maya.”
 

My jaw works. Stubbornly, knowing it sounds childish, I say, “No I haven’t.”
 

“That shit with Tommy. The dreamy-ass way you keep turning us down. You were always good to go out and hang, Grady.”
 

“I’m older. Nowadays, I’m seasoned.”
 

“You’re being a whiny sack of shit. We all agree that you need to man up and stop being such a pussy.”
 

“Man up
and
stop being such a pussy? You’re so macho, Joe.”
 

He shrugs. This isn’t really a debate or a conversation. It’s Joe stating facts. It sucks because he’s right.