The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) Page 4

  “She and her brother don’t get along?”

  “They’re okay, I guess. But he always wants to do boy stuff at home. She says they get to do girl stuff at Brownies. With real girls.”

  I consider asking what other kind of girls there are.

  “Mostly her and Kyle are friends though, yeah. Mom, do you ever think I’ll have a brother or sister?”

  I keep my face straight. “Who knows?”

  She trails her finger through her Legos. I feel myself tighten because I recognize the gesture. It’s what she does when she wants to tell me something or ask me something and isn’t sure how I’ll react. There was a bit when she mentioned Brownies earlier, but it was mostly lost in the effort it took to pull my attention away from the phone’s delicious candy.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Alice’s Dad sometimes helps her do her Brownies stuff. But it’s really cool. Like, they don’t have to build things as much as Kyle’s Boy Scouts, like cars and things, but she still always gets better projects than the other girls, and she said that at the last camp, he volunteered to — ”

  “Honey,” I say.

  “It’d just be neat if someone could do that. Maybe you could, I mean, or Grandpa. But … ”

  I know exactly where she’s going. This is the ultimate We’ll see in our little family of two, and Mackenzie keeps testing me to see if I’ve weakened, to see if another jostle will cause new information to fall. I don’t want to talk about it now, at all, but this is Mackenzie’s day, not just mine. If she wants to bake cupcakes, we’ll bake cupcakes. If she wants me to ask about Brownies, I’ll ask Alice’s mom about Brownies. And if she wants me to delve into the painful past, I’ll do it. But only a bit because there are things she needs to know and things she shouldn’t.

  I grew up wanted by my father. Mackenzie didn’t. The truth isn’t always the best policy.

  “All families are different,” I say. “It’s the differences that make them special.”

  “I know that. But — ”

  “Alice’s family has a mom, a dad, and two kids. And that’s great because they can work as a team. Her dad can volunteer with Brownies. Her mom can take Kyle to school, or they can all four go roller-skating.”

  Mackenzie is looking away, down at the Legos.

  “But us? We have two members here, and Grandma and Grandpa just down the road. And that’s a different kind of great, isn’t it? We’re still a team, but Grandma and Grandpa do neat things that I’ll bet Alice’s mom and dad don’t, right? Like building dollhouses and making all of Grandma’s crafts? And the stories Grandpa tells. Older people have better stories than younger people, you know.”

  I can tell she’s not buying this whitewash. “Alice has a grandma and grandpa, too.” What she doesn’t add, maybe because she hasn’t thought of it and maybe because she knows how much it would hurt, is that we both know Alice actually has two sets of grandparents. I’ve met all four at family events for school, and they’re all great. These are things I’ve denied my daughter, and that her father never cared to provide.

  “Sure, but not like yours, right? And I’ll bet Alice doesn’t get to spend as much time with hers as you do with yours.”

  “No, but — ”

  “And do you know what else? Because there’s just two of us, we can do stuff other families can’t.”

  “Like what?”

  I think. “Like use one of the paddleboats on the lake in the park.” I rush on, anticipating a forthcoming point about how twice the people could hire twice the paddleboats. “And when you have four people, everything is more expensive so you can’t do as much stuff. Like if we wanted to go to Disneyland, it’d cost a ton for four people, but only half as much for the two of us.”

  Her eyes become saucers. “Can we go to Disneyland?”

  “Not right now, Honey. But someday.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  There’s a moment of quiet between us. I’m about to declare this unfinished topic complete and move on to fun mother-daughter activity proposals, but then Mackenzie blindsides me.

  “What was Dad like, Mom?”

  “Honey, we’ve talked about this.”

  “I just want to know what he’s like.”

  Now, which of a hundred ways should I answer that? Should I tell her I made a mistake by being with him, or the much more adult answer of how badly I pined for him, how intensely he drew me in? Should I tell her that he needed his own space or that he was selfish to leave us alone? Should I tell him that he was kind and gentle, or that he was a bastard?

  “He was just someone I knew a long time ago,” I say, knowing it’s a cop-out and that I’m a coward.

  Mackenzie isn’t pacified. She’s heard this non-answer before. But she pretends it’s enough and resumes shuffling through colored bricks on our tiny home’s miniature floor.

  I reach down and lift her chin. She looks at me with giant eyes that trust me. Eyes that I’d only lie to for her own good, and only if I absolutely had to.

  “He had his own issues, Baby,” I tell her. “But I know for sure that if he was able to come back, to meet you and get to know you, he’d be so proud.”

  This is not kind, or brave. It’s simply cruel. There is no benefit in saying what I have. Because as much as I once wanted the man we’re speaking of, my proposed hypothetical will never, ever come true.

  I was wrong about him. It doesn’t matter how I feel now. All that matters, from here on out, is this trusting little girl beside me.

  “Yeah,” Mackenzie says.

  The resignation in her simple, single word is painful.

  It wounds us both to the core.

  CHAPTER 5

  Grady

  Jack is behind me, jingling change in his pocket like it’s the music by which I’m supposed to proceed with my life. It’s nickel beer night at the little Podunk minor league baseball stadium where we were headed before this happened, and he resents me staying now as much as he resented me running back for the huge, thick gardening gloves I’m wearing.

  There’s a box beside me. It used to be filled with bags of frozen broccoli, according to the printing on its side. Why you’d need a box for bags, I can’t imagine. And why Jack hasn’t moved on with all his nickels to buy his beer, if it’s so important to him, I also can’t imagine.

  “Dude, let it be.”

  “I can’t just walk on, asshole,” I tell him.

  “Sure you can. Like this.” And Jack starts walking. He stops, though, because getting drunk on his own isn’t much fun. Not that I ever intended to join him in the cheap beer thing. My uncle was a drunk, and the last thing I wanted after being forced to live with the guy for a while is to be like him. I used to drink a bit in high school, back when I was acting like the badass everyone thought I was, but today a single draught to lay the dust is an occasion.

  Jack walks back toward me a few paces. I honestly wish he’d just go. He’s going to scare it. And I’m going to have to hear his jawing on. I barely know the guy, so I’m not sure why I’m putting up with him now. I was cutting a path from Portland to Chicago and ran into Jack and his buddies. They seemed nice enough. Cool and casual, smoking too much weed but otherwise good people. Except for shit like this.

  I reach forward. I get a hiss, so I back off.

  “It’s you, Jack. You’re standing too tall. Get down, or get back.”

  Jack speaks again, sounding almost pouty. “Man, why you want a cat anyway? You know Vince is allergic. He’ll never let you keep it.”

  “I’m not trying to keep it. I’m trying to save it.”

  “That thing doesn’t need saving. It’s a badass.”

  “It’s hurt, man. Look at its ear.”

  To his credit, Jack squats to look at the trapped animal with interest. It’s literally cornered this time, behind a dumpster. I’ve been trying to catch it for fifteen minutes, but now I have an advantage because as much as it runs, it’s too scared to flee the alley. Though
it’s obvious to me, Jack can’t see that this isn’t a street cat. If I had to guess, someone’s cat had kittens then the asswipe got rid of them. This cat might be six months old, and it probably had siblings that were eaten by predators.

  “It’s wild. Wild animals get hurt.”

  “It’s not a wild animal, Jack. It’s a cat.” I say the last in my most exasperated tone.

  “A wild cat.”

  “It’s not a stray. I mean, it is now. But … don’t you know anything about cats?”

  “I know they keep people like you from going to nickel beer night at the stadium.”

  “My uncle had a cat. You know what it did?”

  “Pooped on the rug?”

  “It had kittens. And do you know what my uncle did with the kittens?”

  “I don’t know, Grady. What?”

  “Drove out somewhere and dumped them. I was in the car with him because even though I was sixteen, he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, man.”

  I give Jack a glance. It sure broke mine. I liked that cat. I watched the kittens make slowly for the bushes as we drove away. And because we kept the cat, I got to see her stalk the house for weeks, looking for kittens that weren’t there.

  I point. “If you’re going to stay here and irritate me, go over there so it doesn’t run that way again. I’ll bet I can get grab it if it runs out from under.” I flex the gloves. I’ll probably get scratched or bitten, but they should help the worst of it.

  I know how this will go. We tried this a few times already, and I have a feel for how the cat wants to move. It is, as far as I can tell, terrified. That makes it hard to catch, but it also means it won’t run indiscriminately. This little dead-end alleyway isn’t much, but this cat seems to think it’s the closest thing to home it has.

  I rustle a wad of paper. I reach with one hand. The cat lunges to the left, away from where Jack is standing. I reach out and manage to grab it around the middle, and though the thing flails plenty, the attack lasts only about five seconds. Then it’s spent, panting through an open mouth, which isn’t something a healthy and happy cat does. I can feel its ribs beneath my fingers. Its eyes are vacant. It seems to have given up, as if my hands are a dog’s hungry jaws.

  I give it a look then place it in the box. I anticipate a fight, but the cat goes more or less willingly. Then the box is closed, flaps folded over-under to keep it sealed against all but the most aggressive wall thrashing, and I’m pulling the gloves off to lay atop it, heart thumping.

  “Thanks,” I tell Jack.

  “You happy now?”

  “Plenty.”

  “So you want to drop it off somewhere? Like a vet or shelter or something?”

  “Vets don’t let you drop off, and shelters will eventually kill them. Have you seriously never had a pet?”

  Jack shrugs. “So what then?”

  “I guess I own a cat now.”

  Jack laughs. “Vince is never gonna let you have a cat.”

  “I’ll keep it in my room.” Which is to say the laundry room. I bought a cot at Walmart. In the past, as nomadic as I am, I’ve been able to find friendly beds or even couches, but this time I had to spring for furniture to sleep on. I always get the minimum I can stand. Even traveling as I have the past nine years, I’ve added to my net worth, careful with the little my parents left me in their will. Unlike Jack and the others I’m with at the moment, I know now isn’t all there is. Some day, I’ll settle down. I’ve seen all forty-eight of the contiguous United States, so this chapter could close any time. I don’t know what’s next, but the Grady Dade story won’t end with me sleeping on someone’s laundry room floor.

  “Vince hates cats, man. I don’t mean to be an asshole or anything, but you’re not paying rent. I know nobody asked you for any and you’re cool, but dude, you can’t just show up with a cat and expect Vince to like it.”

  I’m about to suggest that maybe it’s time for me to pile into my truck (my mobile home, on more than one adventurous trip) and head for new horizons, but I don’t get the first word out before my phone rings.

  “We going to the stadium or not, man?” Jack asks me.

  I look at the box before I pull my phone from my pocket. I want to ask if he seriously thought I’d try to enter with a cat box under my arm, but the call is more pressing.

  I look at the screen. I recognize the area code because my phone uses the same one. The number, however, is a mystery. It’s not in my contacts.

  “Hello?” I say, accepting the call.

  I talk while Jack watches me. Beside me, on the top of the dumpster, the cat shuffles inside the prison, its every noise pathetic. When I hang up, Jack stares, waiting.

  I match his eyes. I’m less annoyed with his impatience now than I was a minute ago because I realize that my time looking at Jack Crawford and his buddies has drawn to an end.

  I don’t want to do what the caller said I should. I resent it, in fact. But I’m all that’s left, and there’s something inside me that won’t leave things alone, like this cat, when I know it’s my responsibility.

  “My uncle died,” I tell Jack.

  “Ah, that sucks.”

  “He was a bastard. He’s the main reason I left home to begin with — because after my parents died, the state decided I should live with him.”

  “Then … it doesn’t suck?”

  I shake my head. I pick up the box and plod off toward my temporary home, soon to be the last in a string of my former residences. I have to go back and sort my uncle’s shit. As much as I hated him, it’s what Dad would have wanted. He was always trying to save Uncle Ernie, like I saved this cat. And just like the cat so far — though hopefully not forever, as far as cats are concerned — all Uncle Ernie did was thrash and bite.

  “No, you were right the first time,” I tell Jack, sighing. “It sucks plenty.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Maya

  The day is hard.

  When I’m occupied, things are fine, but I’m used to a certain degree of chaos. The ability to juggle orders, customers, and crises, alongside Ed, Roxanne, and my actual friends at the Nosh Pit has trained me to handle ten things at once, but when I’m with Mackenzie, there’s really only one thing at a time. This is supposed to be a good thing, and mostly it is, but still I find my mind wandering because I’m not quite busy enough to make myself forget.

  We make breakfast together, her seldom-asked but always-present inquiries about her father running laps in my head.

  We take a morning walk down to the creek, where I come alone to think on the mornings Mackenzie is at school and I’m alone, and I wonder if I’m being realistic or pessimistic. He’ll never come back to us. He’ll never claim his daughter, scoop her up for a piggyback ride, tell her she’s pretty and worth having. Wondering makes me feel weak. Of course it’s over with him. Of course he’s good for nothing. Of course we’re on our own. Allowing doubt — and hopeful doubt, at that — makes me feel weak, pathetic, and sad.

  We make cupcakes in the afternoon, and I find myself thinking of the good times. There were a few, before Mackenzie’s conception. Back when I was a girl, the world was full of promise. I was looking at a scholarship to a great school. I would have had a reason, with that scholarship, to finally leave Inferno. I don’t want to abandon my roots forever, but long to see more of the world than this tiny corner where my shackles were forged. I’ve always been a reader. I love stories of other places. And since I was small, I’ve wanted to see them. Grady left, supposedly to go and live that life for himself.

  I hate him for leaving me when I needed him most.

  I miss him so much, it hurts.

  Before Grady, I wasn’t like this. I felt confident. I’d only had a few boyfriends, and the luck of the draw — or maybe good judgment — had made them all good guys. Grady was the best of them. We were together for years before I got pregnant, and during that time, he always stood by my side. Back then, I sneaked out at night
so we could be together, but we were just dumb kids, fooling around in ways too mature for our years — but only with each other, and always with thoughts that some day, we’d share a future. Back in those naive daydreams, I imagined I’d be something: an architect, maybe, or a travel writer. I was rarely specific back then. With so many dreams, it didn’t matter which I picked.

  We’d come to Reed Creek, where Mackenzie and I went this morning. We’d lie down together, my head in his lap, and talk about what came next. School for me, definitely not for Grady. He was never a rule follower, and his family was a shaky foundation even before his parents’ death. He wasn’t just handsome; he was cool in a way that set off the school’s stodgy alarms, like he was a loose end. He grew facial hair before any of the other guys and refused to shave it. Just one act of defiance in a chain.

  Grady wanted to get out. But it worked because so did I. We’d get out together. I’d go to school; I’d get my dream job; we’d settle somewhere nice and travel when we could. Grady always had wanderlust. I caught it from him, from my books and dreams, like a virus.

  But then Mackenzie happened.

  And Grady left.

  And everything evaporated. I knew my priorities had to shift, so I declined my scholarship and focused on making a more immediate living. My parents never threatened to disown me, but their disappointment was a lead apron. All at once, I went from having everyone behind me to having no one at all.

  I came and went at home without speaking to Mom or Dad, both of whom were having the church pray for me, whispering in ways that weren’t much better than gossip. I moved out on my own as soon as I could. It was obvious I’d be a single mom, raising a kid without her father in the picture. Grady, always my rock, ran away and left me alone.

  I haven’t always turned to sex for comfort. It didn’t used to be the compulsive, addictive need it’s become after a decade abandoned. I suppose I learned that you can’t count on anybody, so you get what you can, then you run. You run. Before anyone can run away from you.