Second Chances by Abbie Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

to the small balcony outside my third-floor room and sank onto a plastic patio chair whose turquoise hue suggested Miami Beach.
    The Kansas sky was clear and wide and rosy-tinted with the first hints of sunset as I called Shore Leave. Gran answered after three rings with her unmistakable “ Hel -lo,” lots of accent on the first syllable. It was more of a demand than a greeting and I said, “Hey there,” and drew a deep breath.
    â€œJoelle, where are you?” she asked. It was Sunday, so the café would be relatively quiet. I imagined Gran leaning over the front counter with its toothpick dispenser and ancient till that tinged a cheerful bell with every sale.
    â€œWichita,” I said. “I decided to stop for the night. I’m exhausted.”
    â€œRich called today and talked to Joanie for an hour or so,” Gran informed. “She told him you were on the way.”
    My heart clattered hard. I whispered, “What did he say?”
    â€œHe wasn’t surprised. He promised not to tell Blythe until you were already there.”
    My heart was aching at how close I was to him, to Blythe. It had only been a few days since I’d seen him, but it felt immeasurably longer. And we’d parted with such uncertainty. I finally said, “I’m glad Rich understands. And I’m so nervous to meet Christy.”
    â€œAw, she’s a sweet girl, and understanding,” Gran reassured. “And it’s not as though you forced her boy into something unwilling.” She squawked a laugh. “Ain’t that right?”
    My face flooded with heat. I said, “Gran, come on.”
    â€œHere’s Camille,” Gran said then, and a second later my oldest’s voice was coming over the line. It always startled me to hear my children’s voices over the phone; they sounded too grown-up.
    â€œHi, honey,” I said. “How are you feeling today?”
    â€œUgh, not great,” Camille responded. Away from the phone she added, “Thanks, Gran,” and then I heard her taking a long sip of something. “7-UP,” she explained. “Why don’t they tell you that morning sickness has nothing to do with mornings? It’s all day, Mom, seriously.”
    I laughed. “I remember. But it goes away from one night to the next and then you’ll just be starving.”
    â€œWhen is that?”
    â€œI’d say for you, in about three or four weeks. Try some saltines.”
    â€œI did,” she said, sounding pitiful. “No help. Clint and Tish just drove the golf cart into town to get me strawberry yogurt. It’s the only thing that has sounded remotely good today. At least there hasn’t been the fried fish smell all day.”
    â€œOh honey,” I empathized. “I was just like that too. But I promise you’ll feel better in a few weeks.”
    â€œOkay,” she agreed. And then, “Here’s Ruthie. Love you, Mom.”
    I blew her a kiss and then my youngest chirped, “Hi, Mom!”
    â€œHi there,” I responded. “Did you have a fun day? What’s Aunt Jilly doing?”
    â€œShe’s out with Justin,” Ruth told me. “They took out the paddle boat after Justin got done with work.”
    She chatted about the rest of her day, and before she hung up I requested, “Honey, have Aunt Jilly call me later, all right? And say ‘hi’ to Tish and everybody.”
    â€œK, Mom,” she said. “Talk to you later.”
    â€œI love you,” I told her. “Good-night.” And then I leaned and tossed the phone back into the room; it bounced off the bed but I didn’t have the energy to retrieve it at the moment.
    The sky had become streaked with mackerel clouds in shades of lavender and violet. I inhaled deeply; someone was using a charcoal grill in the vicinity and it smelled fantastic. I realized I hadn’t eaten since mid-morning and was debating whether to