Right Place, Right Time (Second Chances Book 2) (4 page)

Kate

I quietly shut the front door and lean back against it, smiling to myself. What an unexpected turn of events. I shake my head when I hear Jay’s bike start up and roar off into the distance. Death trap.

“You’re home late,” my roommate, Casey, calls from the kitchen, startling me. “And why do you look all flushed?”

“What are you doing up?” I ask her, ignoring her questions. I kick off my non-skid shoes, making a mental note that I’ll have to clean them before my next shift since the dirt and dust from the park is stuck to whatever restaurant gunk had already coated them.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says with a shrug, staring into her tea cup as if it holds the answers to the universe.

“You feeling okay?” I ask, resting the back of my hand over her forehead as I walk by.

She wiggles away from my touch. “Yes, mom.” I laugh at her as I grab a cup and fill it with the Brita pitcher from the fridge. I sit at the table and take in the tired, brown eyes of my friend.

Casey and I have been roommates since freshman year; we got on like a house on fire. I thought I’d won the dorm lottery when I got matched with Case, though she would argue that it was her who’d won. We’ve faced some obstacles over the years with her health issues, but in the end, we’ve come out stronger. We’re all each other has out here. As much as she drives me crazy, she’s my best friend. My only true friend, really.

Maybe that’s about to change, though. Maybe Jay will end up being my friend, too.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” Casey says, waving her hand in front of my face.

I snap to attention. “What look?”

“That faraway look you had when you walked in. You didn’t tell me why you’re so late,” she points out, raising her eyebrows.

I look at the clock, it’s only half past one. It’s not like I’m
that
late. But, Casey has a valid concern. Typically, you can set your clock by me. I stick to my routines. I’m predictable. I’m
boring
. Gah, what is Jay ever going to see in a person like me?

“Just a long night at work,” I quickly tell her so she won’t accuse me of zoning out again. “St. Patrick’s Day and all.” None of that’s a lie, really. It had been a long night at work, at least it felt like it.

She nods, but eyes me strangely, like she knows I’m hiding something.

“So what have you been up to lately? I feel like I haven’t seen you at all,” I say, changing the subject.

“Studying for exams.” Casey is in the psychology program at Stanford. She’s as smart as me, if not smarter. We often challenge each other to battles of wits. I know, I know…we’re pretty badass.

I groan. “This round has been a beast.”

“Tell me about it. I’m looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.”

“I have a test in my nine o’clock.”

“O. Chem?”

“Yep.”

“And you worked tonight? Are you crazy?”

I shrug. “I was originally scheduled to be off, but someone had an emergency.”

“I’m pretty sure an exam in Organic Chemistry is a bigger emergency,” Casey tells me. Her raised eyebrows and the death grip she has on her mug demonstrates just how freaked out she is on my behalf.

“Relax, Case. I got this,” I say, reaching across the table and patting the hand gripping the mug until she loosens up. Sure, I’m not going to be in ideal form tomorrow morning, but one of the many benefits of having an almost eidetic memory is that I don’t have to be in ideal form. “But I
am
going to head to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t forget to set your alarm,” she reminds me as I get up from the table and place my glass in the sink.

“I won’t, mom,” I tease her.

We’re both laughing as we say goodnight, but she stays at the table, staring into her tea, while I head off to my bedroom. I wonder what that’s all about, but I don’t dare pry. Casey will tell me when she’s good and ready, just like she knows I’ll tell her what’s up when I’m good and ready.

***

As I’d suspected, I aced my O. Chem. exam. The exam was electronic, so it was graded instantly. We’re able to log right into our accounts after the exam and see our results. Mine’s a ninety-eight. Not a perfect score, but it will do.

I’m heading across campus to my car when I hear the hum of a motorcycle engine. My heart speeds up as I look around, trying to locate the bike. Then I realize what I’m doing and roll my eyes. Jay is
not
the only person in California with a motorcycle.

As I’m walking, enjoying the warm spring air, my cell phone starts ringing the
Jaws
theme music. The ringtone I have set for my
mother
. Why is she calling me?

“Hello, Mother,” I answer.

“Katherine,” she replies in her take-no-prisoners attorney tone. It’s her only tone, really. “How was your exam?”
Of course.
She has copies of all my syllabi. She knows when I have exams, when I should be studying, when I should be in class.
When I’m on break…
not that
that
matters.

“I got a ninety-eight,” I tell her, proud of myself.

“Did you not study?” she asks, her voice stained with disgust. I can picture her cold stare and curled lip.

“Yes, I studied, Mother.”

“I expect you to do better next time. Does this professor offer extra credit? You know how I feel about extra credit, but if you can make up those points…” she keeps talking, but I stop paying attention. I’ve reached my car, but instead of getting inside—where I’d be able to hear my mother in surround sound thanks to Bluetooth—I lean against the side and watch the other students ambling about.

They’re smiling and laughing, talking with their friends. They’re all probably elated to have finished their exams and passed. Maybe some of the ones on cell phones are talking to their parents, and instead of berating them for not achieving a perfect score, their parents are praising them for having passed at all. I allow myself one moment, just one, to imagine what it might be like if I were one of them.

Normal.

Regular.

Average.

“Katherine! Are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Did you hear what I said?” she asks, plainly seeking an opportunity to call me out on yet another mistake.

“No. I’m sorry, Mother.” I don’t try to make an excuse. None would be acceptable.

Adelaide Dumont expects the very best from her only daughter. Nothing below perfection is allowed. Perfect grades. Perfect health. Perfect looks. Once, when I was in the third grade, I’d gotten sick. She’d insisted that I continue to go to school until I eventually ended up hospitalized with pneumonia. Even then, she’d had a school-approved tutor at my bedside, breathing mask and all, every day until I returned to school—just so I would still have perfect attendance. The tutor pitied me. Instead of working on math problems, she’d read me stories from some of her favorite children’s books. Mother never let me read children’s books. Janine Darcy was the tutor’s name. I never saw her again, but I’ll never forget her either.

“I said your father and I will be spending two weeks in Los Angeles. We’ll expect to see you for dinner one night.”

Two weeks and they only expect to see me one night. Anyone else see what’s wrong with this picture? I mean, I get it. Really, I do. My parents never wanted kids. They’d admitted that much to me years ago. They had me to keep up appearances and pass on their legacy. Maybe they would have liked me better if I was a boy. I was raised by nannies and spent more time with the help than I did with my parents. I’ve never known them as “Mom” and “Dad” like my classmates knew their parents. They were always “Mother” and “Father.” While some children’s first words were “Mama” or “Dada,” mine was “Baba”—an attempt at saying my nanny’s name, Bonnie. Those things considered, why would they want to spend time with me? It’s nothing new for me; I’d gotten used to it long ago. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting every once in a while.

“Of course, Mother. Just let me know the date, and I will make myself available.”

She lets out a derisive laugh. “Make yourself available…as if you’re even busy. You’re a student, It’s not like you have a
real
job.” I don’t say anything because, really, what is there to say? Nothing that won’t get me chastised or mocked. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t forget the extra credit,” she says just before I hear the click of her disconnecting the phone.

I drop my cell back in my bag and take a deep, cleansing breath. Peeking into my backseat, I see that I have my gym bag. Perfect. I unlock the car, hop in, and start the engine. Careful not to run over any of my happy classmates, I back out of my parking space and head over toward Sand Hill Road. I’m thinking a kickboxing class, followed by some yoga, is just what the future doctor ordered. 

Jay

In the bright light of day, it’s easy to see what appeals to Kate about this neighborhood. I arrived early for our lunch date, a little too early. I’ve been sitting in the park across the road for the past twenty minutes, taking in the scenery and people watching. There seems to mostly be a mix of college students and young, working professionals in her complex. I’ve also seen a handful of people walking dogs, one couple with a stroller, and an elderly woman being escorted from one of the first floor apartments to a waiting van with the local senior center logo on the side.

The most obvious characteristic is that it’s rich. Aside from maybe ten cars in the parking lot, they’re all expensive sports cars, luxury vehicles, high-end sedans and classy SUVs—Kate’s car included. One of the many reminders that this girl is completely out of my league. I know from her letters that her mother is a lawyer and her father is some kind of doctor—a plastic surgeon maybe? So it’s obvious she comes from money. Hell, even the car that broke down years ago had been a Mercedes.

I’m sitting at the same picnic table we sat at last night, only I’m backwards on the bench and leaning back against the table. I have a straight view to her apartment from here, so I’ll be able to see when she comes out. This spot seemed like a better place to wait than in direct sunlight in the parking lot. I wasn’t sure if she’d want me to knock on her door. A guy who looks like me—biker boots, worn jeans, plain t-shirt, and sleeves of tattoos—in a place like this? Someone might call the cops.

About ten minutes before noon, her apartment door opens, and I stand up, ready to meet her. But it isn’t her who comes out, it’s a girl with brown hair. She looks to be the same age as Kate, though. I sit back down and watch as the girl walks down the stairs and gets into an older model Honda, then drives away. Must be her roommate.

A few minutes later, the door opens again and this time Kate exits. I stand, and, instead of running across the street like a fool the way I want to, I take her in. Her long, blonde hair is loose, hanging down her back in curls—just like it had been the first time I saw her. She’s wearing a yellow dress. She really is like sunshine. I make my way across the street—surprised I don’t get hit by a car since I definitely don’t look both ways before crossing—and walk up to meet her on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” she gives me a beautiful smile.

“Hi,” I say as I step up beside her.

“I didn’t hear your bike,” she says, looking around the lot.

I point to the shady corner of the lot. “I got here early, I’ve been sitting in the park.”

“Oh,” she frowns. “You should have come up.”

I look away from her, not wanting her to see my shame. “I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

“Why the heck wouldn’t I? I invited you here.”

I look back to her and smile. She’s got a heart of gold. The sweetest person I’ve ever met. “Shall we?” I ask.

“We shall,” she says with a laugh.

“So where’re we going?” I ask as we start walking.

“Right around the corner. It’s this little café that has the best salads and wraps.” Rabbit food. Super. Her steps falter. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that was okay with you. It’s just one of my most favorite places to eat and I assumed…”

“It’s okay. I’m a guy. I’ll eat just about anything.” I smile to reassure her and hope she lets it go. No, I’m not excited to be eating at a place that has the best salads and wraps, but
she’s
excited and that’s good enough for me.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, looking down at the pavement with a frown.

I touch her arm, and she looks up at me. “It’s okay. Really.”

She gives me a small smile and nods. “Okay. But you get to pick the place next time.”

Next time…so she plans to go out with me again. I think I can get on board with that.

***

I’m pleasantly surprised that the rabbit food café serves more than just salads and wraps. Granted, it’s more “clean” eating menu items—whatever that means—but at least I can order a burger. When it arrives, it seems to have more vegetables on it than Kate’s salad. She giggles at my grimace, and I love the sound. They can serve me a salad burger every day if I get to hear that laugh along with it.

“So, how have you been? What have you been up to?” she asks in between bites.

“I’ve been…good. Things are different, you know?”

“That’s probably to be expected, though, right? Things change. Three years
is
a long time to be away from home.”

One of the things I like about Kate is that she doesn’t mince words. She’s a straight shooter, through and through. I got a glimpse of that in the short time we spent together years ago…how she says what’s on her mind. And I picked up on that in her letters, too. She speaks so freely. It’s nice after being at home with the people I used to know tiptoeing around me. That shit gets old. Fast.

“Yeah,” I nod.

“So you’re living in San Jose?” she takes a sip of her organic iced tea. This place is unlike any place I’ve ever been.

“Just outside. Near Santa Clara.” I hope she doesn’t ask to see my place because I will
never
bring here there. Someone as beautiful and innocent as Kate does not belong in my neighborhood.

“Where are you working?”

“A garage. A motorcycle repair shop.”

“Do you like it?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. I smile, pleased at her genuine interest in my happiness. Aside from my brother, Mac, and my best friend, Sean, there’s no one else who cares about me—or my happiness.

“It’s really great,” I tell her after swallowing the last bite of my burger. “I know a lot about car mechanics, but not a lot about motorcycles. I learned a little bit on my way out here, though. And the guy who owns the shop—Leroy—he’s been teaching me a lot, too.”

She smiles, and her eyes sparkle. “That’s really awesome. I’m so happy for you, Jay.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly as I choke down another swallow of the organic root beer Kate thought I’d like. I don’t have the heart to tell her it tastes like shit.

“So what
really
brought you to California?”

I sigh and push away my now empty plate. I can’t exactly tell her it was
her
that brought me here. Can I? I’m sure she knows it, though, she’s not stupid. Plus, I already told her I’d read her letters and had to make sure she was okay. Why else would I pick up and move to the other side of the country? I don’t know anyone else here. I don’t
want
to tell her, but I can’t lie to her either. Not when she’s been so incredibly honest with me over the years.

I finally look up and meet her chocolate eyes. This is it. This is
the
moment.

“You.”