Second Chance (9 page)

There was a name and an address written across the front.

It was addressed to her.

FOURTEEN

Elle dropped the booklet of stamps and stared at the envelope. What had her grandmother been sending her?

She picked it up. It was thick, as if there were several sheets of paper inside. Her grandmother had never been much of a writer, had preferred phone calls or in-person visits. It was one of the reasons she’d footed the bill for Elle to come and visit each summer. She liked having her granddaughter around, liked having the time to cultivate and nurture a relationship with her only grandchild. And when the time came for Elle to go home at the end of each summer, they stayed in touch with phone calls. Never with letters. She’d send a card for her birthday and for different holidays. But letters? Elle couldn’t remember receiving a single one.

She flipped the envelope over in her hands, examining it. Part of her wanted to tear it open, to reveal the contents and see just what her grandmother had sent. But another small part of her wanted to savor it. She was holding the last thing her grandmother had wanted to give her.

A knock at the front door startled her and she dropped the envelope. It fluttered to the surface of the desk. She brushed her hair back, straightened her shirt and hurried to the door.

Kevin Stafford stood on the front porch, a clipboard in his hand. His face colored when he saw Elle.

“Oh. Hey,” he stammered. “I didn’t know this was your place.”

“It’s my grandmother’s.” She studied him. “And I didn’t know you had a job.”

He shook his head. “I don’t. Not really, anyway. My brother, he lives in Benton, owns a remodeling business. He’s on a job site right now in town, asked me if I could help out today.”

“You’re in construction?” she asked. She thought lay-offs in construction were reserved for winter months.

“No. Not at all.” He smiled. “I couldn’t build something to save my life. But I am capable of taking room measurements. Which is what I’m here to do.”

“Oh.” She held open the door. “Well, I guess you better come in, then.” She tried to put the envelope out of her mind and focus on the task at hand.

He wiped his shoes on the mat out front and stepped inside. He surveyed the living room. “Wow. This place is great.”

She nodded. “It is.”

“You’re really selling it?”

She nodded again.

“Damn.”

“What?”

He pulled a measuring tape from his pocket. “Wish I could afford to buy it.”

Elle frowned. “But you already have a house.” An amazingly nice one, she wanted to add.

He bent down next to the baseboard and hooked the measuring tape to the corner. “Belongs to Mary’s folks. We’re just living there.”

Elle didn’t know that. “How long have you been there?”

“Almost two years. We were doing a rent-to-own option with them. At least until my job ran dry.”

She watched as he pulled the tape along the bottom of the wall. He recorded a number, then released the tape.

“Where did you work?”

“The hospital,” he said. “IT department. They switched information systems, brought in some folks directly from the source to get things up and running. Layoff is only supposed to be for a few months. You know, they get the system going, then bring us back in a few months later and get us trained.”

“And that’s not happening now?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. But I can’t afford to wait around for a job that might not re-materialize.”

“So you’re working for your brother?”

He snorted. “Good lord. No. I sent some resumes out. We’ll probably have to move. Probably to Raleigh or Fayetteville. And walk away from the buy-in.”

She heard the resignation in his voice, could tell that he didn’t want to leave. She knew the feeling.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up.

“I’m really sorry about the nanny thing.” His cheeks flushed red again. “I can’t believe I let that fall through the cracks.”

“It’s OK,” Elle said.

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, frowning. “You flew all the way out here for a job that didn’t exist. It was a shitty thing to have happen to you and I’m sorry I was the cause of it.”

“It’s OK,” she repeated. “I actually got a call from Nice Nannies last night. With another job offer. So no worries. Really.”

He smiled. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.” She didn’t tell him she was torn about taking it, hadn’t decided what she was going to do. But she didn’t want him feeling guilty anymore. He was suffering enough.

He finished measuring the living room. “Are we just replacing the baseboard in here? Or somewhere else?”

“I think Cash wanted an estimate for the whole house,” Elle said. She’d done a cursory inspection of the other rooms and had noticed more rotting wood.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought he said,” Kevin said. “Good thing you hooked up with him. He knows the island market the best.”

She just nodded.

“And refinishing?” he asked, jotting down notes. “Are we doing that? Sanding and staining?”

She glanced down. “Probably.” She loved the deep, rich color of the wood. “Can we make them look like this? When they’re done?”

She shouldn’t care. It wasn’t going to be hers. But she wanted it to be the same, if not for her, for the new occupants.

“Sure,” he said. He wrote something else down. “I just need to grab a few more measurements. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes.”

He was quick. He reappeared, clipboard tucked under his arm, a smile on his face.

“Alright, John will be in touch.” He offered a quick goodbye and was gone.

Elle was back in her grandmother’s bedroom in a flash. Quickly, before something else interrupted her, she slid her finger underneath the sealed flap on the back of the envelope. She peeked inside. There was a piece of pink stationery, folded in half. And another envelope.

She pulled out the letter first.

Dear Elle,

Forgive me for not sending this along sooner. My memory isn’t so good these days—you know that. I don’t know what’s inside of this envelope, only that I was asked to send it to you. Let me know if you need to talk.

Love,

Grandma

Elle’s breathing quickened. There was only one person on the island who would have sent her a letter.

One person who had promised to keep in touch. And who never had.

Cash Brady.

FIFTEEN

The doorbell rang again.

She sighed. “Dammit.”

She wanted to open the envelope. She needed to look inside, to see what it was.

“Elle?” It was Cash, calling from the door.

She froze. Her heart slammed against her chest as her eyes shifted from the envelope to the door to her grandmother's bedroom. Quickly, she stuffed the envelope back in the top drawer and raced to the living room. She opened the door.

He lifted his sunglasses and smiled at her. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, no,” she stammered. “What’s up?”

“I was just on my way to the office. Thought I’d swing by and see if you’ve had any contractors pop over.”

“One,” she told him. “A flooring guy.”

He nodded. “John Stafford?”

“No. His brother.”

“Oh, right.” He shook his head. “Bad break for Kevin, losing his job. I’m hoping they figure out a way to stay here.”

It wasn’t what she expected a real estate agent to say. Most would be chomping at the bit to get their hands on that listing. But she was starting to realize that Cash Brady wasn’t most real estate agents.

“You going to offer him your services for free, too?” she asked.

He looked at me, puzzled. “What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Not free. A hundred bucks.” She looked at him. “Maybe you loved him, too?”

He grinned. “Nope. But I did take his wife to the movies. Before they were married, of course. Besides, they don’t own their house.”

She didn’t tell him she knew this. She didn’t tell him they were the couple she was supposed to be nannying for. And she didn’t tell him it stung like hell when he’d said he dated someone else. She wondered when. Had it been immediately after she left? Or had he waited a while?

“Elle?”

She looked up.

Cash was staring at her, a piece of paper in his hands. He handed it to her. A list of names and numbers. Her heart tripped just a bit at the familiar handwriting. Her grandmother’s had evoked feelings of warm nostalgia; his ignited something else. She remembered the love notes he’d written her, had tucked inside of her beach bag unbeknownst to her that summer before her senior year.

“Just thought you’d want to know who I’ve contacted.” He looked around. “I meant what I said earlier. I can stay and work from here if you need me. I have my laptop in the car. An air card. I can work from here just as easily as my office.”

Elle shook her head. She didn’t want him hanging around, not with that envelope waiting to be opened.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I was planning on working on the house.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? Doing what?”

“The stuff I mentioned before. Weeding. Taking off wallpaper.”

He glanced at the living room walls. “Gonna be a bitch to get that off.”

“I know.” She’d removed wallpaper exactly once in her lifetime. Her bedroom in the house she and her mother had moved into. It had taken an entire weekend to peel the paper off the walls of a 10x10 bedroom.

“Alright. You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

He took one last look around before leaving. As soon as she closed the door, she hurried back down the hallway.

This time, when she picked up the envelope, there were no interruptions. Her fingers shook as she ran her thumbnail under the flap. She pulled out a single sheet of lined paper.

Elle,

Eleven months.

Eleven months since you left.

Eleven months since I’ve talked to you.

I don’t know why you won’t return my calls. Won’t answer my letters.

Whatever you’re doing, wherever you are, I hope you’re well.

~Cash

She read it a second time.

Then a third.

Then a fourth, a fifth and so many more times that she lost count.

I don’t know why you won’t return my calls. Won’t answer my letters.

“Because there weren’t any,” she said out loud, shaking her head.

There weren’t any. She remembered that clearly. Too many times, the phone rang and her heart had skipped a beat, hoping it was Cash on the other end. And then it wasn’t. Too many times, she’d gone to the mailbox, seen a pile of envelopes and hoped one of them would be addressed to her. From him. Because he’d promised.

But they were just bills and junk mail. Nothing with his name on it. She could instantly recall how she’d felt when her mother announced it was someone else on the line or that there was no mail for her.

Hurt.

Angry.

Sad.

Confused.

Her fingers gripped the edges of the letter.

There weren’t any
.

And why did her grandmother have this? Her note said that she’d been asked to send it along. By who? Cash? Why hadn’t he just sent it himself? And where were all the letters he’d supposedly sent her in the first place?

None of it made sense.

But it was his handwriting. He’d written those words to her. He wanted to know why he hadn’t heard from her.

He hadn’t heard from her because she hadn’t heard from him.

SIXTEEN

She picked up the phone to call Cash, but the doorbell interrupted her again.

A painter, telling her Cash sent him. He was going to be outside for a few minutes, then he’d need to look at the inside. She quickly told him that was fine and to just come in when he was ready.

She watched him walk around the side of the house, then stomped to the kitchen table. She found his business card on top and punched his numbers.

And she cringed when she got his voicemail.

“Call me back,” she said after the beep. “So I know you got this. Since I guess we’ve always had trouble communicating.”

She ended the call and dropped the phone on the table. She knew she sounded like a bitch, but she was angry. Had he made a few phone calls when no one was home? Had some letter got lost in the mail? And he just gave up? For all these years, she had assumed he’d gotten bored or met someone else or about a million other things. And every single one of those things hurt. Stung. Left lasting scars that weren’t pretty.