Second Chance (8 page)

She pushed off the couch and made a beeline for the kitchen. She attacked the dishes in the sink, scrubbing furiously, trying to work out her frustration.

Why would he charge such a ridiculous amount as commission? What realtor charged one hundred dollars to sell a coveted beach house?

I never loved any of my other clients
.

Maybe it was charity. Maybe he felt bad at how he had treated her twelve years ago and this was his way of making amends.

Or maybe he just wanted to see her squirm. Anyone could see how uncomfortable he made her. Maybe he enjoyed that, liked watching her stammer and stutter and blush. It was probably a big ego boost for him. Not that he needed it.

Her mind was spinning. She’d never been able to figure Cash out. Not when they were teenagers and certainly not now.

She drained the sink and re-hung the kitchen towel on the oven. The dishes could sit in the rack; she’d put them away in the morning. It was after nine and she was tired. Not because of the hour, but from the three beers she’d inhaled and the heated conversation.

She switched off the light in the kitchen, picked up her phone from the counter, and headed for the bedroom. She turned on the phone, wanting to set the alarm for the morning, and saw a missed call.

Nice Nannies.

She listened.

It was Connie. With a job offer.

Back in Madison.

TWELVE

Elle listened to the message again. A couple in Madison, both doctors. The wife had given birth to twins six weeks ago and had planned to take a three-month maternity leave. She’d decided to go back early and they needed a full-time nanny as soon as possible. They wanted someone local, someone who would be able to stay through the summer months and commit to a long-term assignment.

She swallowed hard as she listened to the salary again. The full-time position paid more than what she’d made teaching at the private school in Mauston. And they would provide health insurance.

It was a dream job.

Working with kids. A decent salary. And, hopefully, no colleagues who thought sexual harassment was a “perk” of working there. Elle felt herself tense up as the memories of the job from hell came flooding back. She pushed them out of her head, focusing instead on the message from the agency. Connie had described the house, the living arrangement, the hours. A private bungalow on the property, just for her, and a 40-hour work week with weekends and Mondays off.

Elle listened to it a third time, letting the words sink in.

There was no reason not to take the job.

She needed money.

She’d found a realtor for the house…someone who had connections, who could supervise the work that needed to be done.

And she’d done what she set out to do—come back to Keefer Island one last time.

Her mind raced as she mulled it over. She really could get online and book a flight back home tomorrow. Say her goodbyes—to the island, to the memories of her grandmother—and permanently close that chapter of her life. Start fresh with a new job, a new place to live.

Yes, it was back in her hometown, but she liked Madison. Especially if she didn’t have to live with her mother.

Up until three years ago, Madison had always been home. First, in her childhood home and then, after her parents divorced, her mother’s new house on the east side of town. She’d gone to college at the U, gotten her teaching degree there, too. She loved the seasons, loved the people.

But she loved Keefer Island, too.

Her gaze drifted over the room and she sighed. She knew she could always come back and visit. Maybe not to her grandmother’s house but certainly to the island. But would she? She hadn’t until now, until there’d been a concrete reason to come back. She felt like she’d been given one last opportunity to return, to spend time on the island. And even though the job had fallen through, the opportunity was still there to stay for the summer.

What to do?

Elle glanced at the clock. It was an hour earlier back in Wisconsin and the call had come just a half hour earlier.

She touched the screen and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Elle?” Connie said on the other side of the line. “I was hoping you might call back this evening.”

“I’m sorry to call back so late. I just listened to your message.”

“No problem at all. So what do you think? I thought it was an absolutely perfect fit for you. And I’m fairly certain the family will cover your airfare back to Wisconsin,” she said. “They love the fact that you’re from the area and are a teacher.”

Was a teacher
, Elle thought. “It does all sound terrific.”

“Now, I know it will probably take a few days to get you back here, but I’d like to give them your answer tomorrow,” Connie said. “I just need confirmation from you that you’d like the job. And a start date.”

“Right,” Elle said. “Is it possible that I could call you tomorrow with that information?”

The line buzzed for a moment. “You sound hesitant, Elle.”

Like you don’t even know
. “I just need to think a couple of things through.”

“Elle, I know the position there didn’t work out and I’m terrible sorry,” Connie said. “But I can assure you, I’ve double-checked with this family. This is a sure thing and a tremendous opportunity. We owe you that, given the trouble you’ve experienced.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Elle said. “What happened here wasn’t your fault. Has nothing to do with Nice Nannies at all. The opportunity in Madison seems absolutely perfect.”

“So then I can tell them yes?”

“I promise,” Elle said, dodging the question. “I’ll call you tomorrow with an answer.”

THIRTEEN

Elle tossed and turned the entire night.

As much as she’d looked forward to climbing back into the bed she’d slept in every summer of her youth, she had too much on her mind to actually drift off. The harder she tried, the more awake she felt. When the darkness began to lift and the sky turned from black to light gray as the sun woke up, she gave up and headed for coffee in the kitchen.

She pulled on a sweatshirt and headed to the deck, clutching the warm coffee cup like it was a pot of gold. The steam swirled upward from her cup and the first sip burned the tip of her tongue.

The morning air was cool and damp, the sun still just a promise on the horizon. The sand was empty, save for one man letting his dog run loose on the beach. The dog raced up and down the shore, sniffing and galloping with abandon.

Elle thought about the phone call from the night before. She knew she’d be stupid to pass on the job in Madison. Connie wasn’t just giving her a sales pitch. It was perfect. And more money than she thought she could find nannying. But now that she was here on Keefer, well, maybe that wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Maybe she needed a summer on the beach to get her head on straight, to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, to figure out where she wanted to be.

And to figure out who she wanted to spend it with.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt like this was one of those moments that had the power to change the direction of her life for good. Pick a path and that was the one you’d travel.

She didn’t want to choose the wrong one.

She finished the cup of coffee on the deck, watching the sun and sea come to life. Birds exploded over the edge of the water, colors bloomed as far as she could see and more early morning walkers moved up and down the sand. The day was starting.

She needed to start hers, too.

She went back inside and poured another cup of coffee. Cash was going to get her names of people for the remodeling work, but she could start on some of the easier stuff. Taking down the wallpaper. Tackling the weed-infested garden. She glanced at the clock. It was almost eight o’clock. She could eat a quick breakfast and be outside in a matter of minutes. Spend a few hours out there and then, when the sun blazed hot in the early afternoon, she could take cover inside and start on the wallpaper.

And call Connie with her answer.

Satisfied, she opened the fridge and pulled out the leftover potatoes. She sliced off a pat of butter, set it in a cast iron pan and let it melt. She added the potatoes and while those warmed, unearthed the loaf of bread she’d made yesterday. She tore off a hunk and slathered it with butter. She’d had far worse breakfasts in her life.

Her phone rang as she finished the last bite of breakfast. A local number. She knew before she answered who it would be.

“I have some contractors lined up,” Cash said after telling her good morning. “Didn’t want to promise the work to anyone but I thought we could get some estimates.”

“OK.” She refilled her coffee, added a splash of milk. She’d forgotten creamer at the store.

“Are you home today?”

“Yep.”

“OK, good,” he said. “I told these guys to just swing by. I can work from your grandmother's today if you need me. You know, if you have other stuff going on.”

The only thing she had on her agenda was weeding and stripping wallpaper. And making a phone call. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” He paused for a second. “One thing I thought of last night. Do you know if your mom has the title to the house? The deed? We’re going to need that when it comes time to sell.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “I can check.”

“OK. No hurry, but I figured you might want to start hunting that stuff down now.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll poke around. Maybe I can find it here.”

“Alright. I’ll check in later today, see how everything is going.”

“OK.”

The phone went silent. He didn’t bring up their conversation last night and she didn’t know how to.

“OK, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in touch.”

He said goodbye and the line went dead.

She sighed. He’d been all business on the phone, focused and professional. He’d been that way last night, too, she realized. At least until she’d brought up the commission, had pressed him for an explanation. Maybe his explanation had been like her and the sandburgers. Teasing, making jokes.

She couldn’t believe she’d wasted an entire night’s sleep wondering about it.

She drained her coffee and, instead of heading out into the backyard, turned and headed back down the hall instead. She stopped at the first door on the right. Her grandmother’s bedroom.

She’d been in once since her return that first day, to strip off the sheets draped over the furniture. Her eyes had roved over the familiar furniture that filled the room. Her grandmother’s antique sleigh bed, nicked with age, and the rocking chair tucked in the corner, the table next to it still filled with books. The ancient roll-top desk and the small vanity that sat next to it, the place she’d loved to park herself while her grandmother puttered around the room, putting away laundry or making the bed. Elle would pull the heavy, silver brush from one of the drawers and glide it through her hair, loving the feel of the boar-hair bristles on her scalp. She’d play with the bottles of lotion and the magic eye cream her grandmother swore by, dabbing it under her eyes, rubbing gently, hoping she would be as beautiful as an old woman as her grandmother was.

She stepped into the room. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t find any information about the house in the dainty vanity. But the desk? Her eyes fixed on the drawers. There might be something in there.

She sat down on the chair and hesitated for only a second before pulling open the bottom drawer. It was lined with files and Elle breathed a sigh of relief. Jackpot.

She thumbed through the folders, reading the tabs at the top. Car insurance. Health insurance. House. She pulled the thick file and set it on the desk. The folder was filled with information—a manual for the new water heater installed in 1996, a receipt for electrical work dated 1992. No deed, no title, no sales information from when her grandmother had purchased the house.

She replaced it and kept looking. There were more files—vacation brochures and information, favorite recipes, tons of gardening info—but nothing else about the house.

Elle opened the middle drawer. It was smaller, brimming with mementos. Her heart lurched as she spied things written in her own handwriting. Christmas cards. Her high school graduation picture. Not the big one—that copy was hanging on the wall in the hallway—but the wallet-sized one she’d sent along with it. There were postcards from friends, invitations to baby showers, newspaper clippings for weddings and funerals. Her grandmother didn’t keep a scrapbook of memories. She’d kept a drawer.

There was one drawer left, the top one. It was narrow, slim, and was probably filled with writing instruments and paper clips. She opened it, anyway. Maybe her grandmother had put her really important paperwork on top. Easy access.

She let out a little sigh. She’d been right. A small plastic container filled with pencils and pens. A miniature stapler. A box of blank notecards and a booklet of stamps. Elle smiled sadly when she saw them. They were from 1999, the year her grandmother had died. She picked them up, held them in her hands. Her eyes drifted back toward the opened drawer. There was a sealed envelope that had been tucked underneath the booklet of stamps. She recognized her grandmother’s elegant script before she noticed what was written.