Second Chance Friends (13 page)

“Yes. When?”

“Um . . . Friday night? LaEats? Around seven?”

She nodded. “Sounds fine.”

“Well, I'm glad I live up to my reputation as ‘fine,'” he said. He pulled out his phone. “Can I have your number?”

She held out her hand and he passed his phone to her. She quickly keyed her number into his contacts list and handed it back. “You can call for my address,” she said. “And you can eat inside now. You've won.”

She turned and joined Antoinette, who stood with her palms over her ears to shield them from the wind, a shocked expression on her face.

“You didn't tell me you were going to do that,” she said as soon as they were out of Marty Squire's earshot.

“I didn't know I was going to,” Karen said, walking so briskly, for a change Antoinette had to work to keep up. She felt oddly exhilarated and excited. Wary, but excited.

“That was crazy.”

“Yet not the craziest thing I've done today,” Karen said. “You wouldn't believe.”

They reached the Mexican restaurant, which they could smell before they even opened the door. Karen's previously upset stomach growled.

“You two are going to make a really cute couple,” Antoinette said, batting her eyes as she walked inside the restaurant.

Karen didn't answer. But she thought that weirder things had happened in this world.

“
I
'm going to see her,” Melinda said, before the other two had even sat down. She'd arrived early, looking very put together in her pressed and tucked uniform. Eager for the day to begin. The truth was, she was far from either of those things, but somewhere during her sleepless night—the likes of which there had been too many to count since Paul had gone—she had decided that it was time to stop pining and begin the process of moving on with her life. If that was what she was going to have to end up doing.

When Melinda was thirteen, she'd felt like the most unlovable creature on the face of the earth. She was small, but not in a cute way like some of the petite cheerleaders. She was boyish. She sat with her legs spread apart at the knees and walked with a side-to-side swing of the
shoulders. She knew nothing about makeup—her mother didn't believe in it, and she was too afraid to sneak it the way Holly did—and wore her cousin's hand-me-downs, a decade out of fashion. Her arms naturally fell in a rounded way about three inches apart from her body when she moved.
Like a muscleman
getting ready for a fight,
her grandma used to say.

No thirteen-year-old girl wanted to be a makeup-less muscleman.

Especially not a thirteen-year-old who was desperately in love with Mitch Duvell, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, handsome soccer player with whom all the girls were in love. Mitch sat next to Melinda in science class. They were lab partners, and he was always really nice to her. And for about three months, she believed that maybe he really did like her. Maybe he could see the girliness underneath the plain face and the bruiser gait. She had her friend Jackie ask him if he liked her.

He'd laughed. Had thrown his head back and laughed out loud. Melinda had been waiting around the corner by the vending machines, so she didn't see it happening, but she heard. She definitely heard, and she burned with shame and turned and ran out of the school before Jackie could even find her and relay the message. She knew what the message was.

And two days later she saw Mitch Duvell holding hands with adorable Amber Crane, who wore ruffled short skirts and had a fake tan.

For the rest of that year, Melinda didn't even bother to
make eye contact with anyone, much less find another boy to like. She was certain that she would be alone forever. That no boy existed who would ever love her for who she was. And she knew that no matter how much she might want to, she couldn't change.

And now, all these years later, her husband gone more days than Melinda cared to count, with no word, she felt like that thirteen-year-old all over again. Unloved. Unlovable. Forever alone.

Might as well be good at the one thing I'm good at,
she thought.
Might as well put on the uniform and go save lives.

And so she did, though in her heart she prayed that tonight would be the night that Paul would finally call. Or come home. They would work this out. They would figure out what to do next to save their marriage.

She was hopeful. Terrified, but hopeful.

And she needed to see Maddie Routh. She couldn't explain why, but touching base with Maddie was what she needed more than anything. Knowing that Maddie was okay would somehow let her know that she would be okay, too.

She'd texted both Karen and Joanna and told them she would be at the diner—an unnecessary formality at this point, as they were all at the diner most days, what sometimes felt to Melinda like three people clinging to a life raft, each hoping that she would not be the first to slide into the water. Or die of thirst. Or be eaten by a shark. Especially not the shark. They all seemed to have their own sharks circling the raft.

But now that they were finally here, she realized she
had wanted to tell them only that she was planning to visit Maddie Routh, something she could have told them easily via text. But she supposed she had sort of hoped that they would want to go with her.

“I'm going to see her,” she said, before they had even had a chance to sit down.

“Who?” Joanna asked as she slid into her side of the booth.

Melinda got up to let Karen in. “Maddie Routh. I'm going to see her today.”

“At the hospital? Are they just going to let you walk in and see her?” Joanna asked.

“They might,” Karen said. “They let me walk right up to see Curt MacDonald that one time.”

Melinda shook her head. “She's not there anymore. They kept her for the requisite seventy-two hours and sent her on her way.”

“Oh, that's right, I forgot you have an in at the hospital,” Joanna said. “So they let her go?”

“Yes, and there's no way she's ready to be on her own again already, but there's not really anything they can do. All she has to do is convince them she's not a danger to herself or others, and they have to let her go.”

“I don't think she would be able to convince me,” Karen said. “Not after the scene here four days ago.”

“Me, either,” Melinda said. “That's why I'm going to see her. You want to come?”

Karen shook her head. “I can't. I have to get to work. And I have . . . plans . . . tonight.”

“That sounds loaded,” Joanna said, leaning across the table.

Karen seemed to blanch at the thought. “I'm going out with that guy I've been telling you about.”

“The stalker?” Joanna asked, her eyes wide.

“I don't think he's a stalker, really,” Karen said. “I think he's just tenacious.”

“So are rapists,” Joanna said. “Are you sure about this? You should be careful.”

“He's not a rapist,” Karen said. “He's an accountant.”

“Accountants can be rapists, too,” Melinda said. “It's not like rape is job-specific. Is he really a stalker?” She realized she'd been so into her own problems, she'd only been barely listening to Karen's and Joanna's.

“No,” Karen said, a little loudly. “He's a guy who works in my building. He's been pursuing me for a while, and I finally said yes. I'm tired of being alone.”

Sheila appeared at the table with her coffeepot. “What's it going to be today, ladies?” she asked.

Karen glanced at her cell phone. “Can I have my coffee to go today? Sorry,” she said, looking from Joanna to Melinda. “I can't stay. I really do have to get to work. My son's girlfriend is moving, or maybe already moved—I don't know—and I'm wanting to meet with Travis's lawyer to see what sort of options I have to see my grandson. Probably none.”

“We'll all take our coffees to go, then,” Joanna told Sheila. “And can you add a slice of Boston cream pie to mine? Actually, make it two.”

“What happened to the grapefruit?” Karen asked.

Joanna made a pained face. “It's too gross. Besides, it's a pie kind of day, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble with Stephen?” Melinda asked.

“Stephen is wonderful,” was all Joanna said, but she didn't look as dreamy-eyed about it as she used to.

Sheila disappeared and came back a few minutes later with their coffees, and a bag for Joanna.

“You coming with me, Joanna?” Melinda asked.

“Not this time,” Joanna said. She opened her bag and peered inside. Then she reached in and pulled out a foam container. “On second thought, I don't want to wait for my pie.” She opened the clamshell and dug inside the bag for the plastic fork. “Tell Maddie I hope she's doing better, though,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate and cream.

•   •   •

Right away, Melinda recognized the car Maddie had been driving. It was parked in her driveway, blocked in by a newer car behind it. It was the kind of car an older person would have—white, shining in the afternoon sun, windows reflective and clean, nothing but an umbrella on the floorboard.

Melinda walked past it, peering inside curiously, on her way to the front door. She was past any feeling of invasion when it came to Maddie Routh at this point. She'd saved her life twice. She was part of this woman's history now. She was part of her future, too, and she intended to make sure Maddie Routh had one.

“Oh, no,” the woman who opened the front door said,
resting her hand on her voluptuous chest. She was an older woman with frosted hair and wide-lensed glasses, with the unmistakable air of upper middle class about her. Her nails were manicured with taupe polish; her tunic was spot free; her jeans were designer, but not stylish. She was larger than Maddie Routh—much larger, since Maddie had lost so much weight—but Melinda could see the resemblance just the same. “What's happened now? It isn't Brad, is it?”

“Brad? No, it's . . .” At first, Melinda was confused, but then she remembered that she was wearing her uniform. “I'm not here because of any sort of emergency. I'm on my way to work.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said. “I don't think I can take another tragedy. What can I do for you?”

“I'm here to see Maddie,” Melinda said.

“She didn't say anything about a friend stopping by,” the woman said, but she said it not accusatorily, but rather with a relieved smile. She reached one arm out toward Melinda. “Please, come in.”

Melinda followed her inside, noticing right away how much cleaner it was than it had been the last time she'd been here. “I'm Helen, by the way. Maddie's mom. I've been staying to help out.”

“Melinda,” Melinda said as she backed onto the couch. Helen stayed standing. “I'm not really Maddie's friend. I mean, I'm not
not
her friend, either, if that makes sense. I'm . . . I was there. That day.”

“Oh,” Helen said, suddenly growing much more
serious. She sank onto the couch, too, trapping her hands, flat, between her knees. “You're one of the ladies who had her taken to the hospital.”

“Yes, I called the police,” Melinda said.
I also kind of tackled her,
she thought, but didn't say aloud. You never knew who in this world was lawyer-happy. “And I was there the day of the crash, too.”

“I had no idea,” Helen said. She gazed at Melinda in awe. “My God, I need to thank you. You saved my little girl.” Melinda thought she saw Helen's eyes get swimmy behind her giant glasses.

“No, I didn't do anything anyone else wouldn't do. It was instinct. I was just sorry we couldn't save her husband.”

Helen scooted back in her seat and arranged a pillow to support her. “The family all misses Michael very much. It's been a rough few months around here, as I'm sure you can guess. We're all trying to help as much as we can, but it's impossible to take the pain away. And it's impossible to be with her twenty-four/seven. So we come, we visit. Half the time she throws us out. We make food she won't eat. We try to have conversations with her and she's just nasty to us. She's the worst to her father. He won't even come around anymore. It breaks his heart to see her this way. He can't handle it. We never thought she would suffer something like this, so none of us is really prepared to deal with it. No mother wants to think of their child as having to suffer in their lifetime. It's unreasonable to believe they won't, but it's just the way it is. Seeing your child in pain is just . . .
terrible. Michael's mother—wonderful woman—is in awful shape. She doesn't deserve this. Nobody does.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Melinda said, because she didn't know what else to say. Every word Helen spoke punched her in the heart. She wished, speaking of unreasonable, that Paul were there, so she could point to Helen and say,
See? See, this is exactly why I take those pills!

“Thank you,” Helen said. She reached up and touched the corners of her eyes under her glasses. “Well, I'm sure Maddie will be happy to see you. She's actually out on the back porch. Too cold for me, but she says she likes it this way. She says the cold makes her feel better. I'm just glad to see her get out of bed.” She got up and headed toward another room that Melinda couldn't quite see from her vantage point; Melinda followed. “Now, don't take it personally if she's not much of a conversationalist,” Helen warned. “She's not having the best day. I wish she would have stayed in that hospital.”

You and me both,
Melinda thought. She followed Helen through a sunny kitchen with a large sliding glass door. Through the door, she could see the top of Maddie's head poking above a patio chair back. She stepped outside.

It was still cold, but at least the wind had died down. One of those late November afternoons that were crisp and chilly, the brightness of the sun deceptive. Melinda sat in a patio chair on the other side of Maddie's.

Maddie was wrapped in a coat and a blanket, but they both had the appearance of having been placed over her,
rather than put on. Her hands rested, gloveless, on top of the blanket. They were red and dry looking. Cold. Maddie made no motion to indicate that she realized she'd been joined by Melinda. She seemed to be staring out at nothing, not even blinking. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and Melinda guessed they were from the cold air more than anything.

“Hey,” Melinda finally said, pulling her own coat closed around herself.

“What are you doing here?” Maddie asked, but in a monotone, and without tearing her eyes away from the nothing that she was looking at.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” Melinda said.

“Really.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Melinda said. She cleared her throat. “Really.”

“No, I'm not okay. I've been telling you that since the first time you invaded my privacy,” Maddie said. Her voice was brittle, accusatory, but still lifeless. “What, do you take yourself for some kind of superhero, is that it? You a savior now?”

“No. I never took myself for anything. I'm just checking up on someone who I thought might need—”

“You just have to rescue the poor widow, don't you, Spidey?” Maddie asked, and even though she was being angry and snotty, Melinda couldn't help but smile. As long as Maddie Routh was fighting, she was living.